Winds of Change
Dragonsfall Weyr
Amber Hills Hold
Vintner Hall
Healer Hall
Hidden Meadows
Dolphin Cove Weyr
Dolphin Hall
Emerald Falls Hold
Harper Hall
Printer Hall
Green Valley Hold
Leeward Lagoon Hold
Barrier Lake Weyr
Sunstone Seahold
Citrus Bay Hold
Writers: Iluva
Date Posted: 27th May 2025
Characters: Eyla
Description: Mostly good news post-Threadfall
Location: Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 6, day 17 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: Thiseta
Threadfall was over.
The battle in the sky was over, but here on the ground the aftermath raged.
Surgical tools clanged in buckets and on trays. Boots slapped across the stone floor, purposeful and brisk. Eyla heard it all: the moans of dragons and riders, the calls of healers - but distantly, as though hearing but not hearing, a dull roar just at the edges of her thoughts. Redwort stung her nose. Ichor slicked her gloves. Exhaustion sat heavy on her shoulders, in the air.
A brown, struggling against restraint, tore a half-ripped wing even further - from finger joint to finger sail. A blue’s low keen, straining to look back at the ragged hole Thread had eaten through his own.
It had been one of the better ‘Falls.
Sliding her hazel eyes down the list of patients, Eyla dipped her hands into redwort again. She wiped sweat from her brow with a cloth stained with Faranth knows what and slowly, measuredly, surveyed the room. The worst of it was over, a break in the onslaught was opening up. Time to resume checkups postponed by crisis.
“Alright, Creylanth, your turn.” She smiled up at the handsome bronze. “How are you today, sweetheart? Can you move your foot for me? That’s it, good boy.” Her hands moved gently over his foreleg, feeling the tension, the compensations. “Now your toes? Flex them out, like you're grabbing a buck.”
Creylanth shifted uneasily, rumbling low. Thakkorth padded up silently behind, pressing her snout to the bronze’s neck reassuringly.
“H’vas,” Eyla called, not looking up, “how has he been?”
She didn’t need his answer. She saw. The slight shift of weight off his injured leg, the subtle flinch. It all spoke volumes.
**Thakkorth?**
Her green responded slowly, gently, threading reassurance to the younger dragon. }:He says it doesn’t hurt. But... he’s afraid His will get in trouble.:{
Eyla’s hazel eyes narrowed, locking briefly on H’vas. **Too late.**
They were young.
They were young -- and it was all the more reason to address it now before it festered into a habit, before it bloomed into an infection, before a minor injury became a chronic problem. Someone else might have gone easy on them. Someone stupid.
“H’vas,” she said, finally glancing up, “has he complained since his last visit?”
“No. Not really,” he shrugged.
“Have _you_ felt anything? Even faint discomfort when he lands?”
“Well, yeah. A bit. I mean, he _did_ tear out his talon.”
Eyla didn’t respond right away. She was watching Creylanth’s posture, thinking. Then --
A scream tore through the infirmary. Hannith, an older and ordinarily unflappable green, flailed in distress as her rider struggled to calm her. A junior apprentice hovered nearby, unsure.
**What--**
}:Her wing burns. It’s too raw.:{ Thakkorth supplied.
“Balshi,” Eyla snapped, waving over a trusted journeywoman. “Help them,” which in Eyla-talk meant ‘Take Over’.
“On it.”
Eyla turned back, her voice going soft again. “Alright, sweetie,” she murmured to Creylanth, who, although already huge, quivered like the nervous juvenile he was, “you’re doing fine.”
Then, to H’vas: “This doesn’t look nearly as healed as I’d like.” In fact, there was dried ichor as well as fresh between the toes, dirt and debris from the ‘bowl ground in. Closer, she saw it: a stitch split. “What’s he been doing? Has he been resting it properly?”
H’vas hesitated. “He’s got so much energy. We both go a little crazy inside. I didn’t think…”
“You’re not wrong. It _is_ hard to keep them still at this age.” Her tone remained level, almost patient. “But if that grows back misshapen or ingrown, it could affect how he walks, lands, fights. If he compensates too much, it could even damage the other side. And,” because no, H’vas, she was not done, “if he ignores the discomfort, or pushes through, he may simply adjust to the sensation of pain. It’ll become normal. Dangerous. We want him to pay attention to it.”
She cleaned, stitched, and packed the wound swiftly. “He’s fine to fly. _Carefully_. But no ground sports. No running, jumping, wrestling. Someone else will need to hunt for him. He can bathe tomorrow. Not tonight.” Creylanth rumbled, unhappy. “Thakkorth will tell the Weyrlingmasters you’re scheduled here daily until it’s resolved.”
She added him to the chart, then pointed a red-stained finger at H’vas. “Flying and flaming Thread - that’ll be his job. This,” she jabbed again at the forepaw, “is _your_ job. He won’t remember to take it easy unless _you_ do. And he’ll push himself to please you. That’s just the way they are. Thakkorth will also be checking in.”
“I don’t need a babysitter,” H’vas snapped, flushing with embarrassment and indignation.
Eyla arched a brow. “Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Good,” she said simply. “Make sure it stays that way. Graduation isn’t far off. You’re almost there, lad.”
She watched him go before turning back to the mess: ichor-streaked floors, scattered bandages. The aftershocks of war. The harmony of a dragonhealer’s haunt undone by necessity. It was never clean, and it was never easy. Dragons didn’t trill here. They shrieked. They trembled. They bled. But there _was_ harmony still - in the relief, in the resilience, in pain. In the joy when a dragon walked out whole, in the heartbreak when one didn’t. This was the other side of Impression, of first flights, of survival’s mighty triumph.
Theirs was the world shaped by Thread.
And this was where people picked up the pieces.
A short while later and her thoughts were still circling her daughter, wondering. Quietly worrying. A sudden shift in the air drew her attention up. Injured dragons stirred, dull, distant interest springing to life and murmurs rippled among the healers, rising like wind through dry leaves.
**What’s going on now?**
Thakkorth took her time sorting through the mental chatter. }:News. Good news. Imbeth is Rising.:{
Imbeth. That meant Thiseta. Eyla smiled. Somewhere across the sea, Thiseta was about to become Pern’s newest Weyrwoman. **Good for her.** Good for Barrier Lake, too. Maybe a change in luck. A change in management. Maybe they’d create their own harmony and stitch something lasting back and strong into that new Weyr.
"Okay, back to work!" She barked orders at the apprentices, reviewed the charts one final time, and then finally -- finally -- sat down.
A pop of air. A blue blur preceded Aconite flopping onto her shoulder with a chirp, mottled leg held up expectantly. “Where have you been?” she muttered, pretending to be cross. He crooned, hopeful and unrepentant.
Eyla gave him a treat, planting a kiss on his head. “Next Threadfall’s your shift.”
Last updated on the June 10th 2025