In response to one review; no the rider is not HAD, but the dragons speak to whom they will, if Tollanath wanted both rider and dragon to hear him, then both rider and dragon would have heard him…

Thread.

Even after years of fighting it, he still got a thrill from the thought that he got to defend his world from the menace.

Wake up, he silently called.

I am awake. Today we fight Thread. Of course I am awake, replied his dragon, mock-hurt. You are just not ready yet.

What's the point in being ready, the rider countered, if you are not even awake?

The dragon snorted, audibly, then raised himself off the couch.

See? I am awake. Where's the… The mental voice trailed off as the rider strode in, carrying the harness.

"Where's the what, sorry?" he teased.

Hurry up! I want to fly!

"You will do, don't worry," the rider replied, never failing to be amused by the impatience of his dragon, like a petulant child on an outing.

He started to fasten the harness around the great bronze body, in a manoeuvre so often practiced by the pair that conscious thought wasn't necessary.

"How's Gretath doing?" he asked, ducking under the dragon's neck just as his partner raised his head to allow him to do so.

It is her first fall in a true wing. She is excited. Her rider is nervous. The dragon paused to consider. They will do well. They are both eager for the fight.

"Not like you, all calm and collected."

The dragon turned and huffed over his rider in response, then lifted his wing to allow his partner access.

"Ask Sprenith to ask M'car if his wing is fine in their position, or if they want to swap, will you?" he asked, testing the strength of the straps.

The Fat One says that they are fine unless they receive too many Threadscores. If they do, we will take the upper level and they will drop down. He reminds you that he has three new weyrling graduates in his wing.

The rider frowned absently, mentally picturing the tactics that were being presented.

"There's something…undignified…about referring to your Weyrleader as "the Fat One", you know," he commented lightly. "Right. Done."

He was the Fat One before Sprenith flew Bedreth. He has been the Fat One since I have been your world. When my egg cracked, he was the Fat One.

His rider grinned in fleeting remembrance of his Impression, how his new lifemate had wailed at "the Fat One" getting in the way of him as he desperately searched for a partner. Who'd have thought that the two newly Impressed bronzeriders would be where they are now?

"Call the WingSeconds. We're ready," he said, trying and failing miserably to inject some severity and gravity into his voice.

The wing is called.

As the rider leapt onto his dragon with practiced ease, the dragon let out a mighty bugle and exited his weyr to do the job he was bred to do.