In Southern, the weather is not so simple as a clear and sunny day bleeding bright strokes of butter yellow light against the delicate shell of an azure sky. Nay, in Southern, winter is cast in dreary greys with clouds laden with the promise of a heavy rain. This adds a darkness, a grey-tinged cast to the skies and to the weyr. Yet still, Southern's denizens never cease to function in their duties, going about their chores and work with a single-minded determination to ignore the weather that Pern throws at them. Morning passes uneventfully, lunch hits which prompts people to emerge from their stalls and booths to partake of the day's repast before the storm that's cooking brews. The first silvery Thread falls unseen out of the sky for it is tiny and innocuous and shimmers like rain. Hissing, it hits the flesh of a child with unrelenting agony. This is when chaos devolves. The weyr is galvanized. The wings mobilized. Flamethrowers magically (not really) appear as residents young and old alike are thrust into the duty of being the ground crew. More and more Threads fall, more minor burns occur until the wings can get to the skies.

The thing about Thread is that it's a fickle bitch. Map it, prep for it and then hope to Faranth it plays ball. Today is one of those days where the silvery death has seen fit to flip the middle finger. Wearing a grim expression hidden for the most part by goggles pulled firmly into place with the insignia of Lynx emblazoned across the back of his flight jacket, Cha'el's voice is lifted in a bellow that easily carries across the bowl as the fighting wings scramble. It doesn't take long and like a well oiled machine, an intricate dance precisely choreographed, the wings lift up and with a raise of a gloved fist from the Weyrleader, the flights to fall into formation. With a bellow that stutters a lick of flame, Sikorth from the upper tier leads the charge.

The wings arrive into drifting tangles of Thread; they twist, turn, writhe.

« Weyrlings! Battle stations. » Klaxons roar to light and life, feet thrumming down the hall, paused as instead of taking the stairs, crewmembers slide the rails to reach the next decks faster. THUD. Calm efficiency on the crest of a hard stroke of adrenalin, Esanth and his weyrlings are scrambled!

Niyati and Kaiyth have seen falls before, but there's a big difference between resupply and actually flying in a fall. Kaiyth couldn't be happier because IT'S ABOUT TIME, but her rider carries that mix of excitement and nervousness that one might expect without the actual fear that probably should be there. Once her straps are double checked a silent query is sent to the others via one small green and they take to the air, heading for the threat they've been training to fight since they were ushered into the barracks. There may be a little uncertainty in the ex-weaver, but she'll let that show later. For now… «We fly! We fight!»

The wing flies in perfect formation, completely covering the fall and letting nothing through.

A small green dragon darts between two larger ones and catches thread with a blast of fire.

A sheeting ribbon of Thread drops silently off Kaiyth's wing.

Dhiammarath's pale golden hide gleams even in the dully lit lights of laden skies. Hers is the duty of leading the queen's wing and as they swoop into place, the first puffs of flame can be seen as the lower guard takes up position. "Let's go!" the tinny voice of the Senior Weyrwoman can be heard, barely, to those around her. Puma and the lower wings are set to go. Serval taking up position.

A long snaking filament of Thread tumbles downwards towards Sikorth.

As the threadfall progresses, the density increases, making it harder to catch every incoming strand.

L'denn and Vindryth are just there, the bluepair holding station next to Niyati and Kaiyth, Vindryth's mind is awash with the rushing water, there are no words from him, only images of rising to quench the hissing heat of Enemy in roaring torrents.

Kaiyth tips enough to render the clump off her wing to ash without going into a full roll (not that she wouldn't if she were allowed!) before sending encouragement in the form of brilliant solar flares to the others in the wing. FINALLY, they're allowed to do what they've wanted to do every Fall since they were hatched. For her part, Niyati seems focused on keeping track of everything going on around them- though a second is spared for a grin toward L'denn and Vindryth - while making use of the draconic bond to make sure nothing forward is missed. That part they're good at, it's the whole being responsible for OTHERS that has been the point of stress.

Sekhaenkath is the rush of sound; the staccato wingbeats that drive his position within Ocelot's wing formation. The bronzerider is youthful, yes, but not unseasoned. Nay, more and more the man he will become is getting etched from the boy he is. Gone is the good-natured frat boy, and in his place is the good-natured daredevil that will attempt to defy logic in the boldness of strokes. Possibly, to his own dismay.

Searing the a clump of thread ahead, Sikorth rolls to one side just in time to catch that which tumbles straight for him with a gout of flame. Off to their right and slightly behind them, a bluerider is struck square across the chest and with an agonized scream the pair disappear Between never to return again. As for Cha'el, he's a study of concentration, face darkened by the blow back of ash and mouth set about a determined line. He can't think about what's going on down below. He can only do his best by those that look to his leadership for protection. Commands are relayed back and forth with rapid hand signals as wingleaders report in clipped dialogue through their dragons, tightening and loosening the ranks as needed.

A blue dragon swoops underneath the formation to catch a thread missed by others before it can reach the ground.

The first to fall isn't the last to fall; Thread tumbles erratically throughout the skies. The weyrlings are about to rush headlong into the a thick patch unless a more seasoned wing can get there in time!

A tumbling ball of Thread sinks in deadly silence, just ahead of Kaiyth.

A tangled mass of Thread descends above Vindryth.

Vindryth and L'denn roll (totally a full roll, Kaiyth, neeeener!) and flame the dickens out of the Thread as is hisses past.

Kaiyth flames the thread in front of her with ease that could appear born of boredom, though to anyone who has flown resupply with the pair before would see it for what it is: Calm observation of her surroundings. It doesn't do to become too tense, it narrows the focus. Niyati maintains her watch on their surroundings, though any warning she needs to give is conveyed silently. And that roll, L'denn? She'll have her turn and it will be GLORIOUS. ..and perhaps entirely her dragon's idea because Niyati believes in economy of everything when it comes to work, even movement.

A silvery clump of Thread tumbles on the winds, spinning close to Dhiammarath in its fall.

Tangled into a convoluted knot, a clump of Thread races by Kaiyth, as if to elude her dragonfire by its speedy descent.

A delicate spiderweb of Thread looms before Kaiyth, waiting to ensnare her.

Twirling around like some spiraling child's toy, a group of Threads spin dizzyingly down past L'denn.

Kaiyth receives a slight score on the wingtip!

Niyati receives a slight score on the ankle!

In the skies above, Dhiammarath is not quick enough to nimbly jump out of the way, but she's quick enough to skip between when that clump of thread is appears before their eyes. It is this clump that will be the first to fall through the lines…. down, down, down, down to the boardwalk below. The earth churns beneath the burrow. The ground crews — this would be your time! Hannah, once the gold's emerged back from between, is busy shouting back to Bailey and Tuli, the queen's wing shifting positions in an attempt to close the gap. All look towards Cha'el, the general of this battle.

In the skies above, Twisted strands of silver weave a taunting dance, as a tangle of Threads snake across Sikorth's path.

Kaiyth lets out a cry of pain that is mimicked by her rider just before instinct drives them ::between:: just long enough to cool the wounds and kill any thread that might cling to them. Then they're back in action. Niyati adjusts her foot enough to ease the destroyed leather of her boot away from the wound while Kaiyth remains completely silent about the small score to her wing. Later, she'll claim it's nothing and might even take a bit of pride in the fact that she has her very first score (not to mention being grateful that it's such a small thing).

L'denn's teeth grit in worry as Thread falls all around his Wingleader, but he's got his own tangle to worry about. Fly and turn, breathe and burn!

"Ahhh, hah hah hah!" El'ai might have some echoing words for the yells of the weyrling, but he's gone between at the first hint of nearly getting caught by that clump of Thread. Reappearing quickly, the bronze and rider, swoop back into position. "For Southern!" Because it is what one would say. Coated in ash, the great flames bursting for from his bronze's mouth, the young man looks like a grim survival of an apocalyptic event, but still. They fly.

A silvery tendril of Thread falls near Kaiyth, fanning out as if to ensnare her.

A writhing knot of Thread drops alongside Vindryth.

Cha'el receives a medium score on the wrist!

A gold wheels around to let her rider catch an incoming thread.

Two dragons flame in unison, completely obliterating a clump between them.

In the skies above, If only the skies would open up and consume Thread that marches across the skies; the grim reaper of the Pernese. It is silvery and bright, and flashes like quicksilver in the storm-laden clouds. It is the beautiful side of evil, for nothing comes of Thread but pain and destruction.

A silvery tendril of Thread reaches out to curl its deadly grasp around Sekhaenkath.

Vindryth catches a maw full of firestone from L'denn, chews, then wheels, diving, to flame the hissing mass before it falls below his reach.

Kaiyth gets her chance at that roll (Take THAT, Vindryth!). This time it makes sense to fold her wings in briefly to get an angle on the clump that will push it away as it's flamed and leaves her in position to catch the next. Despite the discomfort of her ankle, Niyati manages to enjoy the excuse for a little fancy flying though she's all business when it comes to tossing firestone to her lifemate. There is only one grumble from the tiny green. «The thread falls slow. We're much faster.»

Straight into the writhing seething mess, Cha'el leads Lynx. All around them dragons blink in and out of Between, blazing gouts of flame staccato flares against the gray cover of the wintry day. "D'NO!! CUT RIGHT! CUT RIGHT!!" The Weyrleader yells as a bronze careens dangerously close to Sikorth's left to avoid a clump. "YOUR OTHER RIGHT, YOU DUMB SONOFFABITCH!!" Anger broils for this isn't the first time the bronzerider has been a danger during a fall. So focused is he on pulling the flights together that neither Cha'el nor Sikorth see the silvery thread that twists and turns before eating through leather. White hot pain envelops his wrist, the tight grip about strapping lost. For a moment the pair hang suspended and then in a blink are gone Between.

As the leading edge of 'Fall pushes ever onward, clumps fall erratically through the upper flight, down through the middle flight and through the lower flight, towards the ground below. Where burrows are formed to greedily consume that which they could. The ground crews are stressed, but they are not overwhelmed. Still in the chaos, people are injured if they are in the path of the Thread that lands. Riders fall from the skies to seek the aid of healers for scores too heavy to not keep fighting. It is panic.

A school of silvery Threads surround Kaiyth, darting this way and that as the wind buffets them.

Dhiammarath skips between seconds before a clump of Thread would have ended Hannah's reign as Senior Weyrwoman forever, and so when they burst between it is to the white-faced woman who thanks Faranth that her head (and neck) are still attached. Cha'el's bellows are heard, but not for them, and so she continues on with Tuli and Bailey and any injured or pregnant riders.

A school of silvery Threads surround Vindryth, darting this way and that as the wind buffets them.

Sekhaenkath is able to twist hard, maneuvering a burst of flame through is throat as the darkly colored bronze rolls away from the clump that very nearly hit. A bellow of pain emerges from the dragon's throat as a wing muscle is pulled, though it's not bad enough to drop from the flight. What this does do is put the bronze and his rider into the precarious position of finding themselves slightly out of formation and slightly in the way of another clump of Thread.

The sky above seems filled with silvery strands and windblown ash, as dragons continue to fight the thread.

Remember that saying about being careful what you wish for? Kaiyth doesn't. In fact, she's quite happy to have a challenge and with her speed and manouverability, she manages all but one clump that drops toward her back before blinking out and then back into sight just after the danger is flamed by another dragon. «We must help them.» The little green's announcement should have come as a warning because she's after that incoming thread with all the speed she was born to posess before settling back into formation. And that thin lipped expression Niyati is wearing? WE ARE GOING TO TALK ABOUT THIS LATER. Possibly after getting a stern talking to. «It needed to be done.»

L'denn and Vindryth are pulled out of position making way for Kaiyth and her madcap charge. It is, coincidnetally just as Thread falls RIGHT WHERE THEY WERE. Fate is not teaching Kaiyth any lessons here. Nope.

A large chunk of Thread slips past Kaiyth, writhing in hungry eagerness to reach the ground below.

As a brown dragon disappears ::BETWEEN:: as it is hit, a green manages to catch the rest of the clump it missed.
A green rider yells a warning as an unseen patch approaches another dragon.

El'ai receives a medium score on the chest!

El'ai tumbles, faced with that Thread, into patch that lands on his chest, scoring through the flight jacket to sizzle into the flesh beneath. A shout of pain is all that is heard before the pair skip between. Sekhaenkath's inky, flame-forged darkness of shattered dragon glass gone for a moment. A breath or two, and the pair re-emerge.

Kaiyth flames the clump to ash before it can reach the blue pair and is that anger on Niyati's face? Mmmaaaybe. She doesn't have time to think about that now. Once they're settled back into position the thread that seems in danger of getting away is flamed and the anger is exchanged for determination as she glances to check on L'denn.

L'denn pumps a fist at Niyati and Kaiyth. Vindryth bugles and looks around to L'denn for more firestone. RAWR!

In the skies above, Tumbling end over end like a dandelion, a delicate wisp of Thread dances on the wind, bouncing past Sikorth as it drifts lazily downward.

Ash scatters as a huge clump is hit with flame.

Blasting out of Between right into the face of a tangled mass of thread, his injured wrist held against his chest, Cha'el curses heavily using thighs and his other hand to keep his balance as Sikorth shoots straight up to avoid it. A quick check is done of the fighting wings stacked one above the one in staggered formation, the placement of the queen's wing noted as are those reporting in with injuries. "M'LIR!" Comes the Weyrleader's yell into the wind as the bluerider rotates in with a fresh batch of blues and greens. "TAKE POINT ON MY LEFT." But no sooner are the words out of his mouth and the shaggy-haired blonde is giving a thumbs up of understanding and gliding into place when he and his dragon are caught in an insidious net of writhing silvery death. There's no scream from M'lir or bellow from his blue. One moment they're there and the next… gone!

Keening rises amongst the Flights. Chilling and short-lived as the pairs experience that momentary shiver and then… it's time. The chromatics are showing strain for sure, unsteady wingbeats, but their flames are still strong. The command does come, though, « Rally at the Ground Weyrs. » A communique beamed to those in Catmint rotating out. Repeated: « The Ground Weyrs! »

Niyati raises her hand in a signal to return while Kaiyth sends the message through the wing. «To the ground weyrs!» to back up Esanth's message. There is none of the usual energy left in the young green as she prepares to obey the order. Supply runs usually don't involve fighting thread and losing dragons- she's exhausted.
Still eager to fight and fly and flame, Vindryth and L'denn are on the falling crest of the adrenaline surge and suddenly tired. They reluctantly blink back to the ground weyrs to rally with the rest of the wing rotating out.

(Niyati's thread (HAR HAR) continues at the end of Chicks Dig Scars)