Mountain Vale Cothold

Southeast of High Ground Hold, Mountain Vale Cothold resides further down the river and is well-nestled within the mountains. For a livestock cothold, there are precious few buildings outdoors - rather, the cave systems have been put to good use to house both animals and guests to this idyllic place. There is a main building with a cellar, a rickety stable for runnerbeasts, and a shed out back that's seen better days, but it's the caves that serve as home and shelter for beasts and workers alike. This is not a particularly bustling cothold, but it provides well enough for its tithes.

Hired hands provide most of the population here, aside from the beasts: plump porcines in particular, with an ample scattering of herdbeasts and caprines. Graeme, the cotholder that runs the place, is known to keep to himself and has few visitors aside from the workers that he has to hire to help tend his territory.

Midday runs hot across this stretch of the Northern continent, but it's not nearly as hot as Igen's desert - indeed, it feels more like mid-autumn, especially with the whipping of wind over the mountains. Below, the livestock cothold of Mountain Vale is well-entrenched, compact along the river and pressed in tight against the mountains. The livestock is secure within the caves of the cothold, while the windows of the hold itself - generous, considering it consists of a large house, shed, and ramshackle stable - are battened down. Many candidates have been at the cothold to work, so the injured riders and Weyrlingmaster's staff are on hand to drop off more candidate groundcrew members and the necessary flamethrowers.

Thread is already falling over Benden's territory and their ranks are ready to make the changeover, leaving this region's fate in Igen's hands. Unfortunately, it seems the wing-fouling winds and erratic spill of Threadfall is enough to cut dangerously through their ranks; even Benden seems to be flying uncomfortably light, with Thread having taken its due.

This is the sky that Igen's riders manifest in, with the trade-off from one Weyr to the other being imminent after so much time spent in preparations.

Below, the ground crew is aligned along the river, which presents its own challenges. The mountains are rocky enough that Thread will find no purchase, and there's plenty of water that they can safely put their backs to the river, but the rest? The rest is lush, green, and precious enough that burrows will need to be tamped out with a quickness. Vormaytha is present again, barking her orders and cackling as she herds candidates into buddy-pairs and points out the grid they'll be walking to make sure every inch of terrain is covered. Dajin's among the candidates, lips pressed flat as he looks at the flamethrower and double-checks it as instructed.

Issa checks Shabeth's straps one last time, ensuring everything is secure, as the Wingleader surveys Vesper's formation. Her gaze is sharp and focused as she checks each rider and dragon, ensuring their readiness in the formation. "This one's going to be tough," Issa murmurs to Shabeth, her voice steady despite the nerves twisting her stomach. Shabeth rumbles in response, a deep, comforting sound that reinforces their bond. Together, they wait for the signal for them to engage.

Zekaraiya is quite, quite certain he was supposed to be elsewhere — and yet, here he is, among the crew of dragonbait with his very own flamethrower. The cackling woman is given a sharp look fromm beneath his heavy brows as the longest candidate checksthe thing, absently chewing at his lower lip. One hopes5his will be over quickly.

Shuseran looks up, studying the lay of the land, from mountains to river, mentally calculating the effects on the wind and currents. Wind… one of the worst foes of dragonriders during a Fall. And today, the wind is up. He watches the treetops, for there are trees here, noting the fickleness of the wind, frequently changing direction and buffeting the foliage first one way, then another. Not a good sign.

Sirocco passes muster and, so, they join the other ranks in the sky when the time is right. Khu adjusts the collar of her jacket, setting it to mask the grim set of her mouth. The snarl and lash of wind and the Threads dancing in it- it's a nightmare just waiting to happen. A signal sets Sirocco into a subtly altered pattern, while Ixzhulqvoth relays finer details through the ink-and-white of his mind. Now, it's just a matter of doing the delicate changeover dance - while flaming the ancient enemy.

It's Luxeraeth's first Threadfall back from his tail's recent scoring, and thankfully this is not a complete Fall. Even so, the 'Seconds are prepared for a swap over as necessary to relieve the Weyrleader pair should the score prove an issue. Hovering within the sky, leading the top fore, he awaits the call from the Benden Weyrleadership. « Let's pick up where they're leaving off, shall we? … Let's go. » The bronze is certainly ready to return to action despite the dangerous winds, and as he finishes his ingestion of firestone, he lets out a flame moments after his order. T'rin's signal echoes a "Go, go, go!" as he grips his straps tight.

Madisyn is on wing duty this time around as she and Aireyanath make their place in Mirage's formation. With the unpredictability of this location, the pair is needed more in the air than back at the injury waiting area. Giving the green a good pat on the side, she closes her eyes for a moment to just feel the air around them. It looks like the bottom wing will be working extra this afternoon.

Parhelion is in fine showing, even if Sz'rkos might not feel quite the same way. Still, Evalyaszath is well-fueled and ready, nimble on the wing and ready to make the exchange. When the time comes, they're ready, and when the swap is made, the green is already flaming with precision, blasting a few particularly gnarly bits of Thread out of the air before she skips between, leaving another dragonpair to finish it off.

"It's ugly up there." Dajin grimaces, casting a cautious look skyward. "I've seen it like that before." He adjusts the hang of his flamethrower and starts to move, though it's too early yet for any Thread to even think about filtering down. So far, so good; it's proving to be a more typical Threadfall without any filaments drifting to the ground.

Meanwhile, Vormaytha continues to point and direct, with an eye on the skies and a clicking of her tongue. "Gonna paint some bellies, it is. The wind'll just whoo! flip it right on up under 'em!"

A bronze dragon trumpets alarm and disappears ::between!::

Shuseran winces as a Bendan rider takes a full-on scoring to his back right before the changeover, the wind having blown a clump past him, then right back at him as the wind direction changed unpredictably. The brown pair winked out ::between::. Bendan, so no way to know how he fared. Shuseran can only hope for the best for him. And if he Impresses, one day he will be up there in those treacherous winds. It's certainly enough to give one pause to think.

The awkward moments pass, with good old Zekaraiya eyeing the treetops whipping around overhead, then the riders even higher overhead in that ancient dance with the devil known as Thread with an ever deepening scowl. Were a scowl sufficient, some twist of the malevolent stuff would have crisped beneath it. Instead, he is left to wait, impqtient and unnerved, for whatever signal to do his part. The wait is made harder stillby his two firelizards' agitated squealing from somewhere in the treeline they'd been sternly banished to.

Larze is in the group of candidates, more sedate and serious than usual. He handles his gear a little more gingerly but otherwise moves along with his usual wide stride. When Vormaytha mentions how the thread will come /up/, he winces and jerks a look upward. Poor dragons. Poor riders. Not seeing any danger above, he shoulders the tank of his 'weapon' and gives a testing gout of flame harmlessly into the air, away from the team.

At T'rin's signal, Shabeth leaps into action. The brown dragon's wings beat powerfully, carrying them into the mid swap dance. Issa takes a second to be proud of all they had accomplished in the last turn as the rest of Vesper Wing moves into formation around them. Thread falls in thick clumps, but they meet it head-on, Shabeth's flames turning the deadly strands into harmless ash before skipping ::between:: and returning to finish flaming it from above.

"Why would a woman want to expose herself to this kind of danger?" Shuseran murmurs to himself. He just can't undertand why so many females seem to crave this life. "Why, when they could be safe at home raising children, happy?" Anyone nearby might have heard him say this.

Overhead, a blue in Arroyo keens abruptly and skips between - there's no call for mourning, but those looking would have seen the roiling of Thread engulfing one of his wings before he made it between. His absence leaves enough of a gap for some Thread to fall through and, while Mirage and Oasis get most of it, a few stray strands filter toward the idyllic territory of the cothold below for the ground crew to take care of.

"Why would a man risk his life, when he can just be safe at home, farming his animals and raising his family?" Dajin flicks a look to Shuseran, his expression a thing of carefully cultured neutrality. Benden by birth, the accent is prevalent on his tongue. "But, perhaps you should ask one of the female riders that, eh?" With Thread falling past the ranks of dragons, he starts to move. "C'mon, Thread this way."

There's a necessary bit of shifting up in Sirocco, though no major injuries manifest. A few 'scored wingtips warrant only a brief mention; Ixzhulqvoth is not immmune, with a grazing of Thread along a foreleg that will require numbweed and little else. He eradicates a clump of Thread in retaliation and is bathed in ash for his troubles. He'll wear it proudly.

Zekaraiya did indeed hear Shuseran, and throws the man a look — one part incredulous amusement and part warning. But Dajin's beat him to it."Those women," he pon

The blue sudden hit and disappearing makes Madisyn frown as she fights the urge to head back to the Weyr to help. "That one is going to need some major work," she mutters to herself just as her green drives suddenly to catch a strand that had somehow been missed by a brown in the wing above them, causing her to grab her straps tightly. Good thing that she is tied down, because she just might have just been flung off at how steep Aireyanath's dive is.

Whirlwind continues their flame, taking down several sheets from the top, even as not all can be caught and slip towards the flights below. T'rin frowns as a few extra dodges are needed than the usual due to the whipping winds, and he grips his straps ever tighter. Luxeraeth lets out a flame and sears a knot in their path. » You doing okay, buddy? « Luxeraeth rumbles in agreement. « Of course I am. 'Tis a flesh wound. » Good. Another stone is fed to the bronze, and T'rin signals a shift in Whirlwind formation to account for the wind.

Hearving Dajin, Larze flicks a look at the other candidate, wide mouth tightening at the question. It's not directed at him and so he just shakes his head. He does give Shuseran a curious look for his opinion. But, last time he let his attention stay, he got chewed up. Squaring his shoulders, he continues forward, blazing dead a patch of thread as he falls and following up on a few stray bits that try to escape between the rocks. Nothing reaches the earth to burrow!

Shuseran glances at Dajin, then fastens his eyes to the sky again, tracking a small clump that's ground-bound. He moves toward the target area even as he responds to Dajin. "Men risk their lives for their women and children. That's the natural way of things, isn't it?"

With Parhelion, Sz'rkos and Evalyaszath are flying well; the green is agile enough to avoid the worst, her rider quick enough to keep her fueled and steady. No fancy aerobatics here, though the two are capable of it; for this, it's more about efficiency, economy, and trying not to die. They're pretty good at it.

Zekaraiya takes aim at another bit of Thread, charring it before it an become more of a menace than it already is in this terrible weather. Freed from the command to stay, the lizards hunt down other potential burrows. "Have you met any women, man?" Zekaraiya ask Shuseran sardonically. "Thay are not all shrinking violets. 'Sides, aint the dragons supposed to know? They choose women quick as they do men."

Shabeth maneuvers deftly through the chaos, his flames incinerating Thread after Thread as Issa directs him with practiced commands. The mountainous winds throw the Thread into chaotic patterns, demanding all of the pair's focus to anticipate its movements. » Tell them to change to the scattered V, and let the B team know that they may need to be ready early. « Issa relays to her brown. With Vesper being mostly greens and blues, the change mid flight happens more than other wings. Shabeth rumbles in confirmation as he flames an incoming clump. The order is relayed throughout the wing.

At least the air is cool and it's not raining. Small blessings, right? Dajin squints upward again, tracking the progress of any other strands - nothing as yet, with the others being so quick about it, but there'll surely be something soon. He cants a look to Larze, then to Zekaraiya with a mild, "I think it's pretty apparent he has a narrow view of nature, too," he remarks, furrowing his brow as more dragons drop out from the skies above. "Weyrs have yet to fall to ruin and they have no issue with women fighting Thread or wearing pants or refusing to get married."

His response to Zekaraiya must wait while he flames the clump before it can burrow, then Shuseran turns to the other candidate, frowning. "You make a good point. Why do the dragonets choose so many women? My personal theory is there simply aren't enough acceptable male candidates on the Sands for them. Surely that would explain it?" He scans the sky again, alert for any Thread escaping the dragons above.

(Un?)fortunately, Maeyrra's too far from the conversation to chime in - but, then, she might also just be the type to keep her mouth shut even if she did. She continues along, though she's largely in Vormaytha's shadow, keeping close to the older woman lest she be attacked by her own hair again. It won't be Thread that will get her: it'll be embarrassment.

The snarl and tangle of Thread overhead merely gets worse - with no sign of getting better. If anything, the winds are getting worse, turning some of the larger clumps of Thread into absolute nightmares, heavy masses that don't drift so much as plummet when they get to a certain size.

"I'd be proud of any of my sisters if she was selected to stand, even if I were worried about them." Larze says after a very long moment of burning up thread after thread with a vengance. He pauses to fix the cloth around his mouth and nose. "I don't think they would go running to do it, but they'd want to do the honor of protecting Pern if they were selected." And to echo Zekaraiya: "The dragon decides." He turns back to the work, scanning above and then plunging forward to run down a semi-circle of escaped thread. He's like a goat on the rocky landscape, experienced in this type of terrain. It's a good way to stay out of trouble. He gives Maeyrra a nod as he moves by her. A silent sort of support of her standing but he's moving away from her, knowing she can handle herself.

Kanyith blinks onto the scene, his yellow-streaked blue hide distinctive from a distance. He takes the place of one of the Vesper pairs that have had to drop out early, and within seconds, he's charred his first clump of Thread to sooty dust. « B Team, » he states, as chai-scented mirth lines his thoughts, glittering with the tiny diamonds of fine snow. « If by B you mean Best. » A long streak of fire leaves his dark blue maw before he tucks his wings and barrel rolls to the side. His wings snap outward to let him soar upward while Trek, as ever, clings to his back for dear life.

"Do you realize," Zakaraiya drawls,scanning the ground before him, "they even thrive on it? Women lead. Its why the Hold girls run to the Weyr, I've been told." Shuseranis given a sideways look, tinged with scorn. "C'mon, man. You really believe that drivel?"

Luxeraeth blinks ::Between:: from one clump of Thread to suddenly get in position to lay flame upon it for daring get so close, and so those in the path below aren't caught by its sneaky ways. T'rin starts running low on the firestone, bags depleting a lot faster under the chaotic Threadfall, so a refill's swiftly requested from the support riders.

It's clear to Shuseran that Larze is sweet on Maeyrra (and he need have no worry about Shuseran trying to take her away— he's got no time for romance these days, with other things on his mind). "I didn't say anything about not being proud of those who are up there now, male or female, but take Maeyrra," he says quietly, so the young woman doesn't hear. "What would you do if she took a clump of Thread to her back the way that Benden rider did. Is that what you want for her?" He looks at Zekaraiya. "Women should be far better treated than they are, some of them, I agree. They should be valued, not mistreated, loved, not abused. Then they wouldn't want to give up their lives so readily."

Nothing fancy for this green either as Aireyanath turns her head back to receive yet another piece of firestone; her mind full of the hum of an engine that no one seems to be able to pinpoint what it is the sound of. « Getting kind of tried here. » She calls to her rider, even as she turns to flame yet another clump that has fallen through the upper wings.

"Can't talk sense into people when they didn't sensibly come to their conclusions," is Dajin's observation askance to Zekaraiya and Larze. He blows out a breath and continues on, shaking his head as the conversation continues. picking up the pace as he spots more Thread falling up ahead - this time slipping through a gap in the lower ranks, with a brownrider in Parhelion being forced out of position: go between or get hit with Thread? They'll take between, thanks.

Shabeth weaves and dives, flames licking at the silver menace. Despite their skill and coordination, the unpredictable nature of Thread in high winds leaves no room for error. In a heart-stopping moment, a missed strand whips out of nowhere, its vile touch slicing through the air with malicious intent. Before either can react, the strand lashes across Shabeth's side, burrowing its hungry, burning tendrils into his hide. The brown dragon's anguished cry is a thunderclap in Issa's mind, resonating with her own scream as the Thread simultaneously wraps around her leg, its caustic burn searing flesh and bone. Instincts and training take over; there is no time for thought, only action as the pair disappear ::between::. They emerge above Igen, the familiar sands a blurry landscape through their pain. Shabeth, struggling to maintain flight, manages to land in a staggering, clumsy descent that brings ground crews running.

Threadfall's peak is swift-approaching and, with it, a spike in injuries; a wicked gust of wind sets Thread roiling and it cuts a hideous line through the ranks of the upper tier. Sirocco loses three dragons in a single swipe, injuries ranging from mild to severe. No casualties - though, for the older brown that gets his neck entangled, it might be too early to tell. Khu doesn't have the luxury of panic; Ixzhulqvoth is already arranging the wing again, swapping out for some of the greens and blues in reserve. He will be aware of 'score along his own tail much later; for now, he is only aware of keeping everyone together through tendrils of black on brightgloom.

"True that," Zekaraiya agrees amiably enough; Shuseran will either see the folly of his ways or forever lag behind, a relic among more progressive minds. Meanwhile there's more Thread ahead to burn. "Think I'll ask if I can follow healer around for the next craft. Always did like plants." Perhaps it will keep folk from insisting he help them train their lizards like his.

More Thread? Not for long! Maeyrra's able to coordinate with Vormaytha to take care of a filament that's half in the water. Probably unnecessary, as it seems to be drowned, but the practice helps. She does spot Larze and flashes him a quick smile, but it's a nervous one; Threadfall isn't really great for her temperament, it seems, and she's still anxious. But, fortunately, she will be fine once she's over the worst of her nerves.

Larze only has time for thread and chores and learning. Ick. The late bloomer wouldn't know romance from crackdust anyway. The question Shuseran poses makes him stare a moment and then he asks, carefully, as though he's not fully understanding. "Do you -not- care how that Benden rider is?" He glances over at Dajin and then back to Shuseran, "I know Maeyrra, of course I'd be more concerned about her, but I'd be concerned about -you- just as much. You say there aren't enough acceptable male candidates? Then what, by the redstar, am I and Dajin and you and all the other male candidates?"

T'rin blinks once at the call that Vesper's Wingleader did not return to formation following ::Between::, even if he's given a swift update that Issa and Shabeth returned to Igen. Breathe in, breathe out. His Healer training comes into play as he keeps his focus on leading despite the unknown of the extent of his partner's injuries. He swaps out the empty bags of firestone for the fresh ones, and the last of the meager bag he already had is thrown to Luxeraeth to build his flame. Flame sprouts forth, taking out another sheet of Thread, burning it to char which is swiftly swept away on the wind.

"Chopped liver, Larze. We're chopped liver." Zekaraiya suggests with malicious good humor before he eyes Maeyrra with his head cocked — and a wink. N

Resupply is running into hazard after hazard; there is no real telling where Thread will be - or won't be. Khu signals for resupply, with Ixzhulqvoth briefly uncoiling his thoughts to touch at the edges of Shabeth's mind. It will be a busy day for the wingleader-slash-dragonhealer, but she can't allow her thoughts to stray beyond the necessary task of feeding her brown and making sure his flame is strong. Soon. Soon, it will be over - but not soon enough. Elsewhere, a green keens sharply as she's struck; she emerges at Igen for a crash landing.

Shuseran is momentarily stricken to see the brownrider take a score that way, she and her dragon. Why can't they understand, these others, that it's because he respects and values women that he wants a better life for them than this? He sighs and fastens his lips tightly together, focusing on his ground duties, until Larze addresses him. "I care much. I'd wished when I saw it happen that we could know how he fared. I care just as much for the Igen injured. I fervently hope we'll have no casualties or even serious injuries. And yes, I hope our presence will give the hatched more of a choice. But every candidate is more of a choice, isn't it?" Even as he says this, he realizes that holds just as true for female candidates. His mind shunts that thought aside for now. Time to reflect on that later. His thoughts fall to his own craft, to the things he hopes to accomplish, whether he Impresses or not. One way or the other. He looks at Zekaraiya. "Well, I'd rather lose on of us than a woman. I'd rather we risk our lives than they, that much is true."

Kanyith's easy banter ends abruptly when Shabeth's anguished cry reaches them. Any fancier moves are abandoned as he and the others adjust to the disappearance of their wingleader until the brown pair's replacements can fill in. Flames spout from the V-shape of dragons, the blue and green bodies close enough to the ground at times to be recognized. Trek continues to feed firestone to her lifemate, but like the others, the pair soon has to blink Between, emerging lower to take the handoff of fresh bags.

Vesper is now without a Wingleader, but Issa's 'Team B' wingsecond Myla and her blue Kineth pops forward and takes command of the situation. « Steady » the blue calls out to the wing with a command that doesn't often come from a blue. « Keep to the formation.v » No they will not be back sliding without their Wingleader. Back at Igen, Issa is barely conscious, her world reduced to agony and the dim awareness of voices and hands, urgently working to save both rider and dragon from the Thread's deadly kiss. For those that touch Shabeth's mind, it is full of panic and pain.

"Best served with onions," Dajin adds on the heels of Zekaraiya's words. "It's the only way to do chopped liver, or so my grandfather used to say." He flashes the Southerner a grin, then tips a look to Larze, thoughtful, before lapsing into relative silence- until: "That- that doesn't look good." It's less a tangle of Thread and more of a ball, as sheets and tangles have collected together into what is, effectively, a cannonball that aims for a patch of ground not far from where the candidate collection is headed. "Ahhh, that doesn't look good." At all. Nope.

Perhaps fortunately, Sz'rkos and Evalyaszath are swapped out before they run themselves ragged; exhaustion will guarantee a deep, deep sleep later - once the adrenaline wears off, that is. The greenpair make a return to Igen, where they're promptly dragooned into helping out where they can. They aren't healers, but the Djazik still knows his way around a first aid kit.

Near Vormaytha, Maeyrra's squeak of horror can be heard. She freezes, wide-eyed, at the sight of that silvery mass and it takes a firm nudge from the older woman to get her in motion. "Aye, gonna need all the fire we've got, kiddies! BURN THAT BALL!" Vormaytha cackles brightly and hurls herself forward, moving as nimbly as any caprine despite her years.

Larze gives Zekaraiya a nod in agreement. The cotholder mutters as he shoots way too much fire at a bit of thread. "He sounds like my sharding father." In regards to Shuseran. He is scolded for wasting fuel and corrects the spray of fire, moving away from the hidebound candidate to let him ponder his words. He narrows his eyes and grees with Dajin. "Let's go GET it!" And he jogs forward, flame jetting out as he reaches the edge of the 'trouble'.

With the injury list getting longer and longer, Madisyn and Aireyanath receive the message to return to the Weyr as Madisyn's skills are needed both as a dragonhealer and as a former Journeyman Trauma Healer. With one last bletch of flame, the green disappears to head back to Igen and duties that wait there. Someone better be making some fresh Klah for the long night head.

Shuseran's eyes widen as he spots two more clumps, not far from the one Dajin pointed out, destined for the ground. "There," he points them out, then eschews further conversation as they hurry to flame out the Threads before they can do too much damage, but already they're burrowing. First for the biggest. He turns his flame on the widest setting and opens it up fully on the writhing silver menace, charring part of it. It's far too big for just one person, though.

"Great; now I'm hungry." What's new about that, one might wonder — the Southerner is always hungry. He starts to expound further, but that ball ofThread earns his full attention, no matter what else is going on around him; he's got eyes only for that tangle. "The hell…." The old woman's screeching is certainly not the call he was hoping for! And yet, it's the only one. He'll jog along with Larze, leaving Shuseran and the echoes of a father he'd as soon forget behind, encouraging his two w8nged friend to breathe fire upon the looming disaster. Maybe it'll help.

At long last, the trailing edge of Threadfall can be seen - soon, soon, the end will be upon them and the final tally of injured can be made. Fewer burrows can be counted, at least; despite the injuries, Igen's riders seem to have done well in protecting the land below. Still, the burrows that are there are nasty and quickly draw a convergence of candidates with their fire.

Larze winces away from the firelizards as though he expects them to fall upon him and his flame goes wide. Cursing up a storm, he focuses and widens the stream of fire so he can catch the big bits before narrowing his focus on the stuff taht's going to groun. The cussing is real creative and very 'backwoods'.

Another round of flame is thrown forth from Luxeraeth, now intent on staying in until the end regardless of how his tail feels. T'rin issues a swift swap order of two greens, the young K'varin coming up from reserves to relieve Shellis. It won't be long, with the trail coming up, but he wasn't going to risk it with the heft of this wind. Luxeraeth briefly touches Shabeth's mind; as soon as hidework and orders permit, they're going to check on them. Thread's not done yet - soon, very soon, but not yet. « Let's set the air aflame. »

The clumps will take a little while to burn through properly; they're large and hungry and hideously metamorphosing all the while that the fire is being flung at them. Char and ash fly up and swirl like snow, but steady progress is made and it'll be but a minute or two of steady fire before the burrow is reduced to stinking ash and burned earth.

With the end of Threadfall nearing, Khu holds her position for now; her wing needs a wingleader more than the Weyr needs a dragonhealer - at least for this little while. Another resupply rider is injured as they try to reach Sirocco; rather than risk another, she releases the flameless rider instead, sending them back. Again, the wing shifts; the gaps are larger than she'd like - but it will do.

Energy is flagging, and with it, so is attention. The injury list grows longer, but the flames needed lower in the formations start to taper off as Thread thins, only to burst forward as the wind-tangled clumps wreak their havoc. Kanyith barely gets another gullet-full of firestone in time to singe a chaotic twist, the tail of which just catches his own tail. Eyes glow red before he blinks ::Between::, emerging again in a blink to let fire take the last of the offending silvery junk.

Shuseran's lips press together grimly as his flamethrower wand follows the Thread into the earth, thrust deeply before he opens up fully. He keeps the flame going a good long while before finally ceasing and withdrawing the wand from the ground. He watches for a long moment to see if there's any motion, any movement that would betray any Thread still alive in the burrow. Finally he moves on to another.

Much like Sirocco, Vesper has too many gaps for Myla's liking. Sending the order to shore up the gaps as much as possible, the pair calls out for anyone still waiting to swap out to join them. Vesper will be tried tonight but they will answer the call.

Maeyrra and Dajin both do their part, though the young woman is quick to move away when it looks like the Thread's been burned to nothing. She promptly turns and rushes to the river to collect herself, ditching her flamethrower to double over, hands on thighs, while she struggles to catch her breath. Dajin, for his part, seems to be an old hand at this; once the deed's done, he looks up - but there's no more Thread falling past the dragons now. What's there on the ground is all there will be.

Finally, finally, the last dregs fall from the sky and, in a bitter twist of fate, even the winds grow calm. No more Thread drifts past the protective aegis the dragons provide; all that remains below is swiftly being seared to naught under flamethrowers. A mere handful of burrows in total: not terrible, given the circumstances. A few scattered bursts of dragonfire eradiate the remaining threat, but the air is otherwise eerily quiet, save for the beat of dragonwings and the occasional rumble.

Larze sens the thread to a fast, ashy death with a particular sort of glee. Die Die Die loathsome things! He finally relents but he's scouting for worm sign…erm….thread sign. "I think some is still here…couldn't have got it all…"

Zekaraiya will be all too glad to see the end of the Threads gone to ash; the stuff is absolutely terrifying up close, though he's long used to avoiding it in the way all free people avoid it: tiny caves or other stone shelter. Being of the guardian types, he'd spent way too much time securing their bit of territory fr9m the stuff. He'll join Larze on the hunt for more of the stuff. "Let the small winged ones go after it." He smiles, grimly. "They're good at it. I made certain of it."

« Wingleaders report! » Luxeraeth has a bit of extra annoyance in his mental voice tonight, whether that's from the renewed searing pain in his not-yet-fully-healed tail score, or from carryover of checking on Shabeth and T'rin's concern for Issa. The flights remain in their formations, allowing to take swift acknowledgement of fresh gaps. « Reserve dragonhealers, once your immediate duties are handled, you're activated. » That's rather straight and to the point for the devilish bronze. After reports are in, it'll be time to head home to lick their wounds.

Larze draws off his face cloth, mopping at the sweat on his brow. He offers Zekaraiya grim smile. "Thanks for that. Teamwork. Good!" He looks around the area, eyes narrowed, still wiping at sweat. "Do we need to make another pass to check the rocky spots to be sure we're clear? Makes my skin crawl thinking we mighta left some." He gives a wave of the flamethrower wand but doesn't flame. "I haven't really had time to talk with you during meals and what-not. Nice to work at your side."

From Ixzhulqvoth, there's a stream of information; images function faster than words and, thus, the list of the injured is relayed to Luxeraeth with reassurances that Khu will be putting her hands to work once they're back at Igen. As for the brownrider, she's scanning the skies for any lingering signs of Thread- but, now, it's down to waiting for the Weyrleader to signal them to go home. Once there, her real work will begin.

Zekaraiya nods sharply, passing a hand over the long planes and angles of his face. "We'd better." His own skin is getting the ick at the very idea of loose Threads bloating up the place. He gives Larze a crooked smile. "Same to you."

Kanyith banks to the left with two of the other pairs from Vesper, swooping low to do a last check for burrows. When the command comes for the dragonhealer reserves to report back, the blue of the trio angles his head upward to look toward Luxeraeth in uncharacteristically silent acknowledgement. Rather than return to Igen immediately, the blue drops closer to the ground, likely looking for any who need attention and couldn't skip back to Igen on their own.

"Well done," Dajin chimes in, with an eye to the firelizards for a moment or two before he falls back into a ready position, waiting for further orders. Vormaytha is on point, as always, this time calling for candidates to return the flamethrowers and prepare to return to the Weyr - though, of course, not all of them are going back. Some are staying at the cothold to continue helping there. She probably has a list. And Maeyrra? She's gained some control over herself and hands off her flamethrower, before she heads toward the cothold after offering a wave to Larze and Zekaraiya - she's one of the ones that's staying, it seems.

Kineth's report is clumsy but complete. List of injuries given starting from their Wingleader down to the loss of one of the greens and her rider from Igen's last clutch. But there is no time to mourn as Vesper's emergency plans will need to be put in action as word to Kineth is that Shabeth and his rider will be out of commission for an unknown amount of time.

Larze looks uncertain, like a hound still ready to hunt. While the tired candiates rush to turn in the flamethrowers, he'll take the lead if Zekaraiya will follow and just check one or two of the rocky spots, flaming into this crack and that, to be certain and some rather questionable mounds that suggest a burrow. When Vormaytha is calling more threatening, he'll surrender the hunt at last. "Guess they know it's okay. Right? How can they be sure?" He's putting his gear with the others at last though.

Larze also waves cheerfully to Maeyrra. "Hope all stays well."

The call from Luxeraeth goes out - it's time to head home. Ferries for the candidates are swiftly prepared, some differing from the ones that brought them to the Hold based on dragonhealing needs, or injuries sustained by the original riders. There's a lot of work to be done on the ground, back at the Weyr, better sooner rather than later. Once everyone is situated, T'rin issues the call and Luxeraeth echoes it across the wings. « Excellent work there. Let's go celebrate our success. » …so the injuries aren't in vain. « Catch you back there. » The vision's sent out, the familiar Star Stones of Igen Weyr, and then the ::Between:: order.

It had better be; Zekaraiya is hungry enough to try eating a tree. "Guess we're goin'." And he hands over his flamethrower, calling to his lizards as they prepare to leave.