Author's Note: Hey guys! After a long hiatus, I'm back with something new. For a long time I've wanted to pursue a theme that I dealt with to some extent in a short story, "Golden Mistake": the idea that riding a gold dragon doesn't mean your life will be easy or perfect. Regeneration is unrelated to that story, but it deals with that idea. I can't promise updates will be regular or even frequent, but I'll do my best. I love reviews, especially detailed critiques, so please let me know what you think!
Disclaimer: The plot and characters are mine, but everything else belongs to Anne McCaffrey.
Prologue: The Dream
The dream was always the same.
Speed; motion; wind in her hair. The muscles of the runner bunching beneath her legs. The dull thud of its hooves echoing in her ears.
A tree blocked the path in the distance, growing larger with every ground-eating stride, a fallen monolith. But it was nothing; she laughed, the runner snorted, and they were flying over it, landing lightly on the ground and speeding away. The sky was a faultless blue and the air was crisp and they would go on running forever. No one would stop them.
But something wasn't right—this wasn't right. She looked down, and just as she remembered what it was that she should have remembered—what she could never forget—the dream changed.
She was mounted again, but this time it wasn't a runner. Carefully crafted straps buckled her tight against the gleaming golden neck, and she was with her beloved Valeth.
Today is a good day to fly Thread, the queen announced, eyes spinning red with bloodthirsty anticipation. You are prepared? You have the flamethrower?
Primed and ready, she replied, clapping a hand against her eager dragon's neck. All around the dragons of the Weyr ground firestone, and occasional gouts of flame lit up the late afternoon sky. The Weyrleader gave the signal for the wings to form up, and Valeth leapt into the air, taking position behind her golden dam and grand dam. As one, the Weyr's dragons leapt between, arriving above High Reaches Hold, waiting.
It comes, the Weyrleader's bronze Brierth announced, and then it was there, all around, drifting towards the ground in thin filaments, heavy clumps, and whimsy spirals, moving with the wind before being engulfed by dragon fire.
It was a heavy Fall, the heaviest that she and Valeth had faced in their short career, and they relished the chance to flame. Valeth, still not fully grown, was more agile by far than the other queens. They darted up and down, back and forth, catching Thread that escaped the upper wings.
Watch out, she told Valeth as a tendril of Thread headed straight down above her head. Valeth promptly jumped between.
They returned to the fight into a fiery maelstrom. A weyrling delivering firestone saw Thread coming and went to flame it, paying no attention to the wing's careful formation. They came out of between just as the blue let out an enthusiastic burst of flame. She had just enough time to raise her hands in futile protest and jerk her head away as the flames grazed her side.
She and Valeth both shrieked as they felt the force of the flames, burning skin and hide. There was no time to think. Valeth jerked sideways, taking them out of the path of the flame. A few feet to the left and they would have been entirely consumed by flames, instead of just catching the far edge of the fire.
Valeth—are you all right? Her mind could barely form the words, numb with the shock of the burn that covered her left side and arm.
It hurts, the queen replied. We must return to the Weyr.
It did hurt, like a thousand knives were ripping across what was left of the skin on her arm, side, and hand.
And then she realized that there was another pain, a pain she had not noticed in the confusion of the burn. She looked down at her right leg and saw a silver strand sticking out of her leg, wiggling as it burrowed deeper into her thigh, pulsing a putrid mixture of grey and green. Valeth had unwittingly swerved into the path of a small strand of Thread that had escaped the attention of the other dragons.
A tiny bit of Thread that was growing steadily larger as it gorged on her leg.
BETWEEN, NOW was all she could get out before her vision went black.
Eva jerked awake all at once, clothes soaked with sweat, body shaking. It was the same every night, no matter how much fellis the healers prescribed to help her sleep. Every night she woke at the exact same moment.
She couldn't help it. She reached under the blanket and felt for the leg that wasn't there, the leg that was gone and could never be brought back. She could still feel the phantom limb, wiggle non-existent toes, clench invisible muscles—but there was nothing but an empty space on the bed where it should have been.
She lay back down and closed her eyes.
She could never forget.