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Threads
Falling at Lemos Hold
A dragon
screamed directly above F'lar.
Even
as he glanced upward to identify the wounded beast, both dragon and
rider had gone between where the awful cold would shatter and
break the entangling Threads before the could eat into membrane and
flesh.
A casualty
minutes into an attack? Even an attack that was so unpredictably early?
F'lar winced.
Virianth,
R'nor's brown, Mnementh informed his rider as he soared in search of
a target. He craned his sinuous neck around in a wide sweep, eyeing the
forest lest Thread had actually started burrowing. Then, with a warning
to his rider, he folded his wings and dove toward an especially thick
patch, braking his descent with neck-snapping speed. As Mnementh belched
fire, F'lar watched, grinning with intense satisfaction as the Thread
curled into black dust and floated harmlessly to the forests below.
Virianth
caught his wingtip, Mnementh said as he beat upward again. He'll
return. We need him. This Thread falls wrong.
"Wrong
and early," F'lar said, gritting his teeth against the fierce wind
of their ascent. If he hadn't been in the custom of sending a messenger
on to the Hold where Thread was due . . .
Mnementh
gave just enough warning to secure his hold as the great bronze veered
suddenly toward a dense clump. The stench of the fiery breath all but
choked F'lar. He flung up an arm to protect his face from the hot
charred flecks of Thread.
Then
Mnementh was turning his head for another block of firestone before
swooping again at dizzying speed after more Thread.
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