Landing in the same place he always landed before Threadfall – and the rider would always swear blind that there were neat depressions in the ground for his dragon's feet and tail – the bronze let out a bugle, calling his wing again.
They're already on their way, you know, the rider informed his dragon, amused despite himself.
The dragon ignored him. Instead, he turned his great head in preparation of accepting firestone from his rider.
Tollanath says it is chilly but fine where Thread falls. I have thanked him for you, the dragon added, pre-empting his rider's next words.
Ask the wing if they all know what they are to do, asked the rider, accepting firestone from a weyrling with a wave of thanks.
Torrith says, do you not trust his rider? Of course they do, retorted his dragon, his jaws working on the rock. Of the weyrling, he commented, She is a fine beast.
You're just saying that because you sired her, replied the rider, almost absently passing another piece of firestone to his lifemate.
Yes.
The two fell silent after this – no words were needed as they prepared themselves for the truest test of their bond – the dragon trusting his rider's directions implicitly, and the rider trusting his dragon's skill equally so.
The rider looped the firestone sack around the harness securely, knowing that his dragon had had enough, then looked back at his wing,. He took in the gleaming hides of the browns, blues and greens, almost unconsciously noting that they all appeared healthy and ready for the battle ahead. He saw the whirling eyes of each and every dragon, and knew that they were all as ready as his for the struggle. These riders, and their dragons, were his responsibility – his decisions could decide their very fate, and, as always, he swore that he would do his very best to live up to the trust placed in him.
We will do our very best, corrected the dragon, firmly, and then turned to watch the Weyrleader pair for the signal that would send them aloft and away.
