"Take us back to the Weyr."

The utter still coldness of between acted as a bracer to Moreta. Then they were low over the Bowl, Orlith having judged her reentry as fine as that blue weyrling had earlier. The ground was studded with wounded dragons, each surrounded by a cluster of attendants. The piercing cry of wounded and distressed dragons filled the air and imbued Moreta with the most earnest desire to reduce their keening to a bearable level.

"Show me Dilenth," Moreta asked Orlith as the queen swung in over the Bowl.

His main wingsail is scored. I will soothe him! Pity deepened the queen's tone as she circled as close as was prudent above the thrashing blue. Riders and weyrfolk were trying to apply numbweed to the injured wing, but Dilenth was writhing with pain, making that impossible. As Orlith obligingly hovered, Moreta had a clear view of the crippled wing, its forestay tip flopping awkwardly in the dust.

It was a serious injury. From elbow to finger joint, the leading edge of Dilenth's wing had taken the brunt of the havoc wrought by Thread. The batten cartilages had wilted and were crumpled into the mass of the main wingsail; Moreta thought there was also some damage to the fingersail between the joint and batten ribs, where Thread had glanced off as Dilenth had tried to take belated evasive action. More damage marred the lub side of the wing than the leech. The spar sail appeared relatively whole. Nor could she discern if the finger rib was broken. She devoutly hoped it wasn't for without ichor to the head of the mainsail, the dragon might never regain full use and fold of his wing.

Dilenth's injury was one of the worst a dragon could sustain since both the leading and trailing edges of the mainsail were involved. Healed wing membrane might form cheloid tissue and the aileron would become less sensitive, imbalancing the dragon's glide. First Moreta would have to sort the puzzle pieces of the remaining tissue and support it, hoping that there was enough membrane left to structure repair. Dilenth was young, able to regenerate tissue, but he would be on the injured list for a long time.

Moreta saw Nesso bustling about in the group attending Dilenth. His rider, F'duril, was doing his best to comfort the dragon but Dilenth continually broke loose from his rider's grip, flailing his head about in anguish.

Orlith landed just in front of the blue dragon. As soon as her hind feet met the ground, Moreta released the fighting straps and slid to the ground. Weyrlings appeared to take the agenothree tank, her outer gear.

"Where's redwort to wash in?" she demanded loudly, more to mask the sound of the keening that beat between her ears. Orlith, control him!

The intensity of Dilenth's cries dwindled abruptly as the queen locked eyes with the blue. His head steadied and he submitted to his rider's ministration. The relieved F'duril alternately entreated Dilenth to be brave and thanked Orlith and Moreta.

"Half the noise is shock," Moreta said to F'duril as she scrubbed her hands in the basin of redwort. The solutions stung her cold fingers.

"The lacerations are major. The wingsail is nothing but rags and shreds," said Nesso at her elbow. "How will it ever mend?"

"We'll just see," Moreta replied, resenting Nesso for airing the doubts she herself entertained. "You can get me that bolt of fine wide cloth and the thinnest basket reeds you've got. Where're Declan and Maylone?"

"Declan's with L'rayl. Sorth took a mass of Thread on his withers.

Maylone is somewhere or other with a dragon." Nesso was distracted by so many urgent requirements. "I've had to leave the injured riders with only their weyrmates and the women to tend them.

Oh, why did Berchar have to be sick?"

"Can't be helped. Haura will be back shortly to help you with the riders." Moreta took a firm hold on her frustration and banished impatience as a useless luxury. "Just get me the cloth and the basket reeds. I'll want my table here, in front of the wing. Send me someone with steady hands, oil, and thin numbweed, then get back to the riders. And my needle case and that spool of treated thread."

As Nesso rushed off, shouting for helpers, Moreta continued her survey of the injured wing. The main wingbones were unscathed, which was a boon, but so much numbweed had been applied that she couldn't see if ichor was forming. Fragments of the leading sail dangled from elbow and finger joint. There might just be enough for reconstruction. Any shred would help. She flexed her fingers which were still stiff from the cold flying of Fall.

Dilenth's keening was muted but now another sound, a human one, penetrated her concentration.

"You know I had my feeling! You know we've both been uneasy. I thought we weren't flying true!" F'duril's litany of self-reproach reached Moreta. "I should have held us between a breath longer. You couldn't help yourself. It isn't your fault, Dilenth. It's mine! You'd no air space to dodge that Thread. And I let you back in too soon. It's all my fault."

Moreta rounded on the man to shock him out of his hysterics.

"F'duril, get a grip on yourself. You're upsetting Dilenth far more than-" Moreta broke off, suddenly noting the Threadscores on F'duril's body. "Has no one tended you yet, F'duril?"

"I made him drink wine, Moreta." A rider in soot-smeared leathers appeared from Dilenth's left side. "I've got numbweed dressings for him."

"Then apply them!" Moreta looked around in exasperation. "Where is Nesso now? Can't she organize anything today?"

"How bad is Dilenth?" the rider asked while capably slitting away the remains of F'duril's riding jacket. Moreta now identified the slender young man as A'dan, F'duril's weyrmate. He spoke in a low worried voice.

"Bad enough!" She took a longer look at A'dan, who was coping deftly with the dressings he wrapped about F'duril. "You're his weyrmate? Have you a steady hand?"

A solicitous weyrmate was preferable to no help, and certainly more acceptable to Moreta than Nesso's moaning and pessimistic outlook. Beads of ichor were beginning to seep through the numbweed on Dilenth's wingbone.

"Where are my things, Nesso?"

Moreta had taken but one pace toward the cavern to collect her requirements when the stout Headwoman floundered into view, laden with reeds, a pot of thin numbweed liquid, the jug of oil, and Moreta's needle box. Behind her marched three weyrlings, one of them carrying a hide-wrapped bolt of cloth as tall as himself and a washing bowl while the other two wrestled the table close to the blue dragon's wing.

"Oh, a long time healing if it heals whole," Nesso moaned in a dismal undertone while shaking her head. She took one look at the expression on Moreta's face and scurried off.

Moreta took a long, settling, breath then exhaled and reached for the oil. As she began coating her hands against contact with numbweed, she issued instructions to A'dan and the weyrlings.

"You, D'ltan." She pointed to the weyrling with the strongest-looking hands. "Cut me lengths of that cloth as long as Dilenth's leading edge. A'dan, wash your hands with this oil and dry them, then repeat the process twice, just patting your hands dry after the third. We'll have to oil our hands frequently or get benumbed by the weed as we work. You, M'barak." Moreta indicated the tall weyrling. "Thread me needles with this much thread"-she held her oily hands apart to the required length-"and keep doing 'em until I tell you to stop. You, B'greal"-she looked toward the third boy-"will hand me the reeds when I ask for them. All of you wash your hands in redwort first.

"We're going to support the wing underneath with cloth stitched to the wingbone and stretched from the dorsal to the finger joint," she told A'dan, watching his face to see if he understood. "Then we must-if you have to get sick, A'dan, do it now and get it over with. Dilenth and F'duril both will find it reassuring to have you helping me. F'duril knows you'll be the most loving and gentle nurse that Dilenth could have. A'dan!" She spoke urgently because she needed his help. "Don't think of it as a dragon wing. Think of it as a fine summer tunic that needs mending. Because that's all we'll be doing. Mending!"