EDIT: Sorry, the line breaks didn't upload, I thought they would. It's fixed now.

“B’raw! B’raw, wake up, there’s Thread!” Sayri’s urgent voice drifted through his sleep, her hand shaking him violently.

“Late for jokes…” the brownrider mumbled groggily, turning over and peering at his weyrmate through the veil of blond hair in front of his eyes.

There’s no joke! two draconic voices screamed in his head as Sayri’s Rayomoth bespoke him alongside his own brown Eerdorth. Thread falls over the Minerhall!

The watch-whers and firelizards have been calling for us, Eerdorth continued alone as their weyrmates got ready. We must hurry! Thread falls, Thread falls!

“Oh, that’s right. I need to get a flamethrower,” said Sayri. “Hopefully, they still work…some of them were breaking in the last round of Games, remember?”

“I remember…” B’raw said, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he dressed.

“Mm. Well, we shouldn’t worry. Worrying about your troubles will only ensure they come, my father always said.” She smiled brightly at him. “I’ll see you in the sky!” And with that, she mounted her small gold, the youngest in the Weyr, and they were off into the air.

Wingleader H’lav and Weyrleader S’eng were there to greet him and his fellow fighting riders. They would split into two small wings, they were told, one led by each. Sacks of firestone were handed out, delivered by unharmed firelizards from the Minerhall’s camp, carrying the heavy bags in groups of three or four at a time. Some of them had been used by watch-whers, coming to the dragonriders nearly half-emptied. But they had to make do with what they could on such short notice.

B’raw wound up flying behind H’lav and Uldeuth, beside Wingsecond D’tib and his bronze Lyth. He couldn’t help but feel hopelessly outclassed by these bronzes, knowing one of them would likely take Sayri from him. It was knowledge they’d both had since waking up the morning after the flight. He and Eerdorth had been lucky to fly Rayomoth; there wasn’t any way – nor was it encouraged – that he would be able to fly her again. Now that Thread was falling, he felt that on a much deeper level. He felt a heaviness inside.

I know you are attached to Sayri. And I like Rayomoth. But it is not good to have a clutch sired by a brown in times of Thread.

“Sharding Thread…” B’raw muttered angrily under his breath.

Who likes it? Eerdorth rumbled, the feeling of sardonic laughter echoing in B’raw’s mind. I will follow Uldeuth. We go between.

It will be just like the Games, B’raw assured himself as he waited for the warm night over the Minerhall to replace the cold nothing of between. He never liked the Games much, but at least he had a reference point. At least he had some idea of what to do.

But there is more danger than a few ropes in your face. These are Games we must win.

“Yes,” B’raw said aloud as they emerged to a chorus of cheerful calls from watch-whers and firelizards. “Let’s win.”

“That’s the spirit!” D’tib called over to him from Lyth’s back, having overheard due to their unexpected closeness. They had come out of between a little too close together; Eerdorth’s wingtip brushed against Lyth’s. “Whoops, too close!” The bronzerider made a “move right” gesture towards them as the dragons turned their heads for the firestone.

“I can hardly see the Thread,” B’raw remarked as he closed up his firestone sack again.

The watch-whers offer to help us, Eerdorth said. They are tired from fighting the Thread before us, but they will lend us their sight.

Before B’raw could ask how, Eerdorth continued suddenly – Onath tells us to space ourselves, the watch-whers will be joining the wings! He sounded very excited to be following a battle order from the senior queen. His rider couldn’t help but smirk, even as Eerdorth obeyed the Weyrwoman’s gold and suddenly a low-slung being with smaller, stunted wings was flying alongside him.

He is Mossk, Eerdorth relayed to B’raw. In earlier days, dragons would be disgusted at communicating with watch-whers, but as Threadless times had brought the two closer together in function, it seemed to bring them closer in spirit, as well. Not that their relationship was entirely positive – Eerdorth’s tone was one of amused fondness rather than equal indifference. Something of a “how adorable, they’re trying to be dragons.”

Mossk says there is not enough firestone for him to fight with us, but he will be sending me what he sees so we may fight Thread. I wonder… Oh! This is how you see the world, Mossk? The amused tone was completely gone. B’raw, you must see!

And suddenly, B’raw was seeing an image, to the left of himself, the world masked in a cool blue filter, marked by shapes of yellow and orange – the dragons. He could see the heat of a body at work, the second stomachs showing up hot as they digested the firestone.

“This is incredible…” B’raw whispered as they flew towards a cluster of writhing, yellow life, their enemy. He watched, through the watch-wher’s eyes, his own dragon belch a stream of fire, blinding, painful white. But for only an instant – Mossk closed his eyes.

Mossk, please do not close your eyes from my flame, Eerdorth counseled patiently. I can’t see if I burned the Thread or not.

Dragonflame couldn’t be as bad as sunlight to them, B’raw thought. Then, he heard Eerdorth relay: B’raw says it can’t be as bad as the sun. Please work with us.

Suddenly, there was a dreadful screech from the Leader’s Wing above them. All three pairs of eyes turned up, but Mossk’s was the only one that mattered, the other two borrowing his vision to see the terror above them.

Two groups of five dragons had come out of between without consulting each other first, all ten reacting rashly to their riders’ panic at the unexpected pain of Threadscore.

And all ten of them had collided with one another midair. All ten of them were stunned, and falling.

Oh, no. The terror in Eerdorth’s “voice” echoed B’raw’s, and he could even feel Mossk’s terror emanating from the watch-wher despite not being his handler.

Between, between, follow me, Mossk! Eerdorth cried, leading the watch-wher between before the falling dragons could crash into them. B’raw was sure his knuckles were white beneath his gloves, he was gripping the riding harness so hard.

They emerged into searing pain.

Eerdorth bellowed as the Thread ate into his hide, on his neck and flank. B’raw was screaming, too, and all he could hear from Mossk was It hurts! It hurts!

Follow, Mossk! the dragon commanded sharply as he ducked between again, sending a quick call for help to nearby wingmate Alorth. They came out behind the other brown and their watch-wher companion as he was flaming the cluster they had run into.

Thank you, Alorth.

You are welcome. Are you hurt badly?

We can still fly.

I’m glad to hear that. Your clutch, Eerdorth, don’t die before you see it. N’fac seconds that.

Tell N’fac thank you for me. And thank you.

I will, and you’re welcome. Now let’s fight.

Let’s. Eerdorth turned his head back towards B’raw for more firestone, ignoring the pain from the Threadscore in his neck.

Clutch, brown? Mossk asked.

I was lucky, Eerdorth said. But that means Pern is not.

Why not? Clutch is good. More dragons. These were less words than ideas with words barely attached, as is the way watch-whers are heard by dragons. Eerdorth was sure blues and greens were even less eloquent than his brown ally.

It will not be a good Threadfighting clutch, he explained.

Dragons fly, fight Thread. More dragons is good. More dragons, lucky Pern. Clutch is good, any sire.

Eerdorth inwardly chuckled at Mossk’s logic, and thanked him for his vote of confidence. I am happy, the watch-wher projected. Eerdorth assumed this meant “You’re welcome”. Then: I hurt. Fight quick.

Eerdorth laughed gently at his ally, and continued to fight. Luckily, they didn’t take any more injuries, and it was with the greatest relief to hear Artorth call triumphantly, The Fall is over!

As one, dragons, riders, watch-whers, and wherhandlers below cheered. Eerdorth felt little more than a part of a mass of joy, echoing from dragon to dragon. I’m so happy, B’raw! he told his rider. If he had been human, he would’ve been crying. We fought Thread! I did what I was born to do! We’ve done our duty as a dragonpair!

He felt a bitterness from B’raw, though. Yes, he was relieved that the Fall was over, and he was happy they’d won with no casualties (the disaster in the Leader’s Wing had righted itself, the dragons had regained their senses in time). But he hadn’t expected to fight Thread, nor had he wanted it. Eerdorth was getting the feeling B’raw was perfectly happy to be a deliveryman and transportation.

And, most of all…

Sayri, Eerdorth guessed before B’raw could think it. I’m sorry.

What are you two moping about? Rayomoth asked him. We can all feel it, you’re ruining the mood.

I’m sorry. My rider is afraid of losing yours.

What? Well, tell B’raw Sayri said to stop being silly. Before he could relay that, though, he heard Rayomoth say, B’raw, Sayri says stop being silly. And so do I. That goes for you, too, Eerdorth! You’re both being silly! Stop it and be happy! I can’t be with you every Threadfall, you know, I’ve got your clutch to guard, no more than three sevendays.

I can’t believe they let you fly.

I won’t complain.

Then, Onath interrupted: Atrine says well-flown everyone. Please report to the dragonhealers, and will the most able volunteer for sweepriding?

Not able, Mossk remarked. We’re tired. We’re hurt.

Yes, Eerdorth agreed. Let’s land and rest, cousin.