Wow, twenty-seven chapters already... well, sort of 'already'. I know I haven't updated recently, but I've been busy researching vampires. Please forgive me!

Insert usual disclaimer.

"Have you seen M'kai or D'ron today?" B'kennor asked Drianne over dinner. "I meant to drop in sometime during the day, but I've been really busy. I never actually realised how much M'kai and D'ron do around here!"

"They take care of a lot of the everyday stuff. For example, I know M'kai takes care of food and medical supplies," she said absently, toying with her meal.

"What's the matter?" B'kennor asked.

"When I saw M'kai today, he was blaming himself for D'ron and Tyrith being injured, and he was in an 'end of the world' mood like he was when Diara died, but worse. He wasn't crying, but he's refusing to talk to anyone, even Kirsty, and he's been really bitter. I think I snapped him out of it, but Journeywoman Helida tells me that he cried for hours on D'ron's bed and she had to get J'nin to carry him back to his own weyr," Drianne admitted, putting down her fork. "I'm really worried about him."

"He'll get over it," B'kennor said reassuringly. "Remember that time that young blue rider got injured in his wing? He was upset about it for days, but he eventually got over it."

"But this hurt runs much deeper than a weyrling not ducking quickly enough," she pointed out.

"Then it will probably just take a bit longer for him to get over it," B'kennor said, loading his fork and transferring it to his mouth. "You'll see."

x

Time passed, and soon, Tyrith was completely healed, but found it difficult to balance as well as he once had. He would until he flew again, but M'kai seemed to have developed a fear of flying, and would not get off the ground. Tyrith, of course, refused to fly without his rider.

M'kai still refused to talk to anyone, and not a word had passed his lips since he had cried himself out on D'ron's bed. He wouldn't sing or even play anymore, and everyone missed the sound of music that usually came floating on the wind from the Teaching Hall or his quarters. He had completely shut himself off from the outside world, and those who attempted to speak with him felt that he stared right through them and didn't hear a word they said.

"So much for him getting over it," Drianne remarked to B'kennor dryly, watching M'kai bathe Tyrith one evening. Even when he thought he was alone with just his dragon for company, M'kai didn't make a sound.

"All right, so I may have been wrong about him getting over it," B'kennor admitted, running his fingers through his hair. "Maybe he needs some help."

"Maybe he just needs to talk to someone about it," said a familiar voice behind them. They both spun to find D'ron hobbling towards them with the aid of a staff.

"D'ron! Should you be out of bed?" Drianne exploded, moving forward in case she needed to catch him.

"Well, Helida said I could go for a short walk," he said with a shrug. "I guess we have different ideas of short."

"Very different, my friend," B'kennor said, giving him an arm to lean on. "Maybe you should sit."

"Not a bad idea," D'ron laughed, though he sounded exhausted. B'kennor helped him lower himself until he was sitting with his back against a nearby redfruit tree, facing the bay.

"You said 'maybe he just needs to talk to someone about it,'" said B'kennor. "Who did you have in mind?"

"Me, dimglow!" D'ron said, rolling his eyes at B'kennor's slow thinking.

"I wish you would. He hasn't spoken to anyone in a month," said Drianne anxiously.

"He'll speak to me," D'ron said determinedly.

"Hey, M'kai!" he called. "Come up here!"

M'kai looked over his shoulder towards the beach. Spying D'ron, he gave a half-hearted wave and began trudging up the beach, looking thoroughly dejected.

"What's wrong, little brother?" D'ron asked as he came within earshot. "Drianne and B'kennor tell me you haven't spoken to anyone in a month. You're worrying them to death!"

M'kai gazed at them blankly, and Drianne nearly gasped when she saw his eyes. They were lifeless, lacking the spark and intelligence that had always characterised them.

"M'kai?" Drianne said hesitantly, not quite knowing what to say.

There was a brief flicker in his eyes, as though he had recognised her voice, then they clouded over and became dull again.

"M'kai. Please don't blame yourself for what happened. It wasn't your fault we were injured, and it was just unlucky about Tyrith. Thousands of dragons are scored in their lifetime, but their riders are no less than those of unscored dragons," D'ron said gently.

M'kai turned to face him, but he showed no sign that he knew that it was his brother talking. For all the expression his face showed, he might have been listening to the waves on the beach.

"It was my last chance," he suddenly croaked, his voice dry and harsh from disuse. Drianne and B'kennor nearly jumped in surprise. "My last chance to fight Thread, and I blew it. I not only ruined it for myself and Tyrith, but for you and Jarrath too. And now, Helida says that you'll walk with a limp for the rest of your life, and Tyrith will never fly again as he once did," he said, his voice breaking in his distress.

D'ron sat very still for a moment, composing himself. He hadn't yet been told about the improbability of him ever walking normally again, and it had come as a bit of a shock. "It's still not your fault, M'kai," he said at last, pulling himself together. "Accidents happen."

"Yes, but everything always happens to the ones I love, and I'm always spared," M'kai cried. His knees seemed to give way, and he fell face forward into the sand. "I'm always spared!" he screamed, and beat his fists upon the ground while tears streamed down his cheeks.

D'ron leaned forward to pat him on the back, then stroked his hair as M'kai finally released the guilt and grief he had kept contained for a month and let it pour out onto the sand with his tears. B'kennor and Drianne, feeling like intruders as they witnessed this personal scene, glanced at each other and by silent accord quietly left, leaving the brothers alone.

Hope to update again before the end of the week. Apologies for the short chapters lately; they just seem to break that way!