The countryside was silent. The birds, mammals and even the fire-lizards had disappeared from view, leaving the world dull and still. Even the wind seemed tranquil. On the horizon appeared a thick curtain of silver-grey material. Thread. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a clapping, like lightening, broke the dreaded silence. Hundreds of dragons; green, blue, brown, bronze, gold, appear and plummet straight towards the impenetrable curtain.

Q’leyne and Oryudioth shot at full speed towards the silver-grey curtain of live Thread. Oryudioth's huge bronze wings pumped rhythmically, matching the other members of his Wing stroke for stroke. Q’leyne was pressed against Oryudioth’s strong neck, his eyes fixed on the enemy, his hands gripping a neck-ridge firmly, his body taught. The wind buffeted their faces and the bronzerider thanked Faranth that he wore protective eye-goggles.

As the wing approached their destination, Oryudioth slowed slightly to stop himself from colliding with the deadly silver. Out of the corner of his eye, Q’leyne could see his Wingleader ahead of him, his own bronze’s wings driving the humid air aside. Oryudioth called out to Q’leyne mentally for some firestone. The man nodded and heaved the contents of the bag of the phosphorus rock into the gaping maw before him. The dragon snaked his head around again to face the thread and the rider felt more than heard the bronze dragon’s stomach juices churning the rock.

When it seemed the entire wing would disappear into the deadly fray, almost simultaneously a wall of dragon-fire was hurled against it with a throaty roar. Oryudioth turned on his wingtip, and swivelled his head around again for firestone. Q’leyne tossed the contents of another bag into the wedge shaped head. 

The wings came back again, and again, using more firestone, then finally allowing the last little bit of thread to fall the queens’ wing far below. They swept the countryside clean of any remaining threads with their fire-throwers, golden bodies glistening in the hot sun.

A good Threadfall, Q’leyne told Oryudioth matter-of-factly.

There is never a good fall, Oryudioth replied. 

Q’leyne sighed. I know, love, but we must protect out people, and we must fight the thread. We fought well, is what I meant.

Yes, Oryudioth said quietly. I know. 

Q’leyne smiled and rubbed the bronze hide behind Oryudioth’s huge head. C’mon. Let’s go home.

Oryudioth bugled, his head jerking upwards and forward. He hastened his stroke and then, along with all other dragons, of all colours and sizes, disappeared between.

The countryside was once again silent.

The sun throbbed down on the trees and grass, the tips of it charred by fire. Slowly, cautiously the birds and animals once again emerged. A birds high pitched call echoed around, to be answered by it’s mates’. A bronze flitter appeared and screeched to it’s mates. And then, the country was alive once more, completing the never-ending cycle.