It was a bad fall, made worse by the weather. Fierce gusts of wind blew clumps of thread here and there making it impossible to predict. It was inevitable that injuries would be bad. Time and again dragons ducked between to free themselves of the lethal thread before it could devour their vulnerable flesh. Most, thankfully, were soon back in position, too many though, damaged enough to necessitate returning to the weyr.
T'lor didn't see the clump headed for him until a screamed warning made him look up. Zirth swerved, trying to avoid it but succeeded only in exposing his belly to the voracious mindless killer. T'lor could feel his agony as they went between.
"Back to the weyr!" he yelled.
"Take us back to the weyr!"
They came out of between mere yards above the bowl. He could feel himself slipping from Zirth's back as they fell, hitting the ground side by side. Stunned by the impact he felt strong arms pulling him away from his dragon, leaving room for the healers to do their work. But it was too late, he knew that before they could. The thread had eaten too deeply into Zirth's body for the cold of between to reach it.
"Let him go," he sobbed through their shared agony.
"You can't help him."
The healers moved away as Zirth struggled to his feet and with his last effort pushed himself far enough off the ground to go between. As the dragons began their keening T'lor collapsed in the arms of the men who held him, his soul torn asunder by the loss of his lifemate.