Practice Makes Perfect (Threadfall Drill)

Unath.

The Tideturner dragonets, big as they were now, did not have the skills of flaming and betweening necessary for a real Fall. There was not only the threat of Thread, but of their fellow riders. In a way the Weyrlings' short-lived excursions out into the Fall were highly dangerous in their own way, because they did not move as part of any official wing. They could appear anywhere that was convenient to pass their burdens of firestone along. They could be victims to the flames of their older peers as much as the alien enemy. And today the Weyrleader wanted to add their own utterly inexperienced firing to the mixture. It would be a second line of defense besides their relatively small size-- though Unath was bigger than most of the adult fighters already --and their agility. But they would not between away any accidental shots of flame in their direction. Nor could they repel the flames of another dragon with their own. They were at their most vulnerable.

Unath's head turned around on her thick neck to look at him, her jaws pointed at the perfect angle to receive a load of firestone. She never even got to answer Tigreath. Q'sis watched the wings out beyond where they hovered in the Weyrling lines, the dissipation and reformation of the flight structures following the lines of "Thread" to the ground. Many of the dragons had gone scarlet-eyed, but Unath's uncomprehending gaze remained blue as the unfiltered sky. He had only to think of sampling her a parcel of stone and her jaws canted apart. He could see her bright blue tongue nested between her fangs, twitching with expectation. Unath knew nothing of firestone, he thought. She could not make the connection between a rock to eat and a fire to burn. But she was lodged with a helpful complement of instincts, and she was following his lead as always.

His eyes rolling up to the Weyrlingmasters, Q'sis untied the neck of the nearest firestone bag. They had not even trained this on the ground. It would be the first light. But the Weyrlingmasters were not complaining, nor stopping anyone from feeding their young dragon the black phosphine. He suddenly realized the Thread-ropes were being tossed toward their sanctuary as a dragon in the uppermost line abruptly backwinged to dodge one. His fist was down in the firestone bag as he stiffened, checking the air for other filaments. The white ropes were not equally visible from every angle: they tended to blur or disappear when the wrong side faced the sun, or when they tangled up and lost their distinctive silhouettes.

The lone rope that had scouted the Weyrling wing continued plummeting, outside the main operation and thus, apparently, forgotten. Q'sis scowled behind his mask of glass and cloth. They were likely not to be called in till at least half the "Fall" was over, and the wingriders' own starter bags had been emptied. But then they would start moving very fast, adding their unique complications to the fray. In the meantime, it seemed they would be receiving no support for the strays that snaked their way.

He placed a flake of firestone the size of his sizable palm in Unath's mouth, his eyes still raking the skies for a time before he felt safe to monitor the Tan instead. The firestone sat on her wet tongue in a black, glistening pile, the surface flawed and faceted like a dragon eye. Unath had no idea what to do with it, but she did not push it out either. It was an ugly knot from which dragonfire bloomed. Q'sis touched his hand to his leather-coated throat, but it was not really his throat he had to think of was it? The Tideturners might not have practiced flaming before, but they had gone over the theory. He had to find the second stomach, something no human had.

It's okay, Q'sis, Unath said, with her usual tone of boundless expectation. He could sense her smiling across their bond. Dragons could crack toothy grins that a man might interpret as identical to a humanoid counterpart, but what they projected to their mates was a different breed of mirth altogether. Even his mind could be tricked by it, interpreting her voice like a touch to his skin, putting a physicality to a feeling that could not be understood any other way.

The Tanrider lowered his hand and tilted his face heavenward, watching for false Thread. At the same time he touched Unath back, wrapping his senses into hers, curling her tongue back to send the block of stone down her throat. He swallowed for her, aligning the firestone to the correct stomach-- that is, the place that felt most unusual. His own arm moved out to gather more, and he feasted her on the dragonrider's weapon of choice. When she was full he turned her head out toward the field of battle and concentrated on digesting the stomachful of obsidian sediment.

It was not an enjoyable sensation. Not like feeling the wind stretching her wings on each downbeat, or the minor adjustments of her powerful muscles needed to keep her place in the line. It burned inside first before it ever touched the air. Q'sis noticed that only he experienced the full unpleasantness: Unath seemed ignorant of the goings-on within her own body, or perhaps she was far more tolerant of it than her rider. In moments the character of the digestion changed, and the fiery core resettled in Q'sis' chest. He ducked his head, losing his focus on the sky, on everything but that hot stone tapping against his heart for release.

Unath spat out a brief, mostly transparent red-blue sheet of warmth, then shook her head and hacked up something that sizzled and smoked off her lower jaw and dribbled out into the air, disappearing so rapidly as it fell that Q'sis did not even have to warn the Weyrling line below them. He looked up for the deadly powdered ropes and saw nothing. He tried to guess the nature of the liquid afterbirth-- Unath was still quaking and spitting beneath him. Like the critical cap on a vein of pressure, that pathetic show of force took away the demand in her chest, but Q'sis realized he had to make her retain the remaining produce constantly, till it was needed. Maybe he had overloaded her, though the bag in front of him was only a quarter empty.

Her first attempt had been more of a fiery cough than a flame. Somewhat after the fact, she asked What is that? What is that? curiously, perhaps inspired more by the other Weyrlings lighting up around her than by her own paltry puff.

It's okay, Q'sis echoed back at her, though Unath never really required reassurance. The Tan's eyes had turned green, but were only now beginning to speed up their ticks of emerald shading as she watched Tigreath intently. She was excited rather than distressed, and Q'sis took heart from her in order to restrain the inferno in her gut. The lights of other dragonfires flashed orange glints over his shiny new wherhide, some of the flames so intense and broad as to creep into his peripheral view. The upper Weyrling line lurched out of their hover as the call came in to bring the backup firestone.

Q'sis reached forward and loosened the secondary restraints on his bags, as was needed to make them easy to pick off the straps and toss to the wingriders. He could estimate the size of Unath's proper plume by checking that of the fighters around him, then expanding the hypothetical blaze in proportion with his Tan's greater size. He settled back into Unath; her wings, her strength, and her fire his. Their next flame would be in earnest, as now their line was departing its so-called sanctum and racing after the wingriders with the much needed resupply.