B'ton, Weyrleader of Telgar Weyr, sat astride his bronze Wubath, and looked down at the Bowl, where the weyrlings were filling bags with firestone. With Threadfall due the next morning, the flighted weyrlings were practicing going between from the Star Stones to Lemos Hold and back, a precautionary measure the Weyr had adopted early in the current Pass.

The current Pass. B'ton's thoughts lingered over the phrase. In three more Turns Thread would no longer menace Pern. In three more Turns... Wubath rumbled under him.

"You're right," B'ton laughed, and slapped the dragon's neck affectionately. "Let's go see what my brother wants." Eagerly, the bronze sprang aloft, strong wingbeat in the thin autumn air. He circled once, surveying the Weyr, then went between.

Mebeckle stood silently surveying the Threadbare valley. Loose topsoil blew away or sluiced into the little stream running down the middle. A shadow fell over the journeyman Farmer, but the short man didn't turn as the bronze dragon landed. Respectfully, B'ton dismounted and approached before speaking.

"You called?" He asked with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. Mebeckle turned then, and smiled wanly at his younger brother. B'ton felt a pang of worry, as the Farmer's face was indelibly marked with sorrow.

"Thank you for coming." He pointed to the sterile valley below. "This used to be a wooded valley, before the beginning of the Pass."

"Yes?" B'ton suspected he knew where this conversation was headed, having had a similar one only three days before with the Lord Holder of Telgar.

"Hardwoods take fifty Turns to mature." Mebeckle said. "You tell me that four times the amount of time will pass during the Interval. One could get four harvests before the Weyr needed the valley cleared again."

B'ton blinked. "Hardwoods?" He considered the valley, having expected to hear a protracted argument in favor of terracing. Trees however...

"Are you asking that we expand our coverage?" He asked tentatively. Not having to protect this particular valley meant that much shorter a Fall to fight, as the valley was the first in a series of canyon lands that ended in the mountains.

Mebeckle blinked in turn. "What? No, of course not. It'll take several Turns to nurture the seedlings before we could transplant them to the valley, and at the very least two Turns before we could build a proper cothold for the foresters." He shook his head. "No, what I'm hoping is that you will back me when I propose expanding the forestlands, after the Pass."

"When the Pass is over, I readily expect every fingerlength of Pern able to bear fruit to be put under plow." B'ton placed a hand on his brother's shoulder. "And I'll be the first in line to champion it."

Mebeckle smiled again, this time in relief. "My thanks, the rumors-"

"About C'seld of Benden?" B'ton grimaced. "Don't let that old fool bother you. I see no reason to sear vegetation that can do no harm and a whole lot of good." He gave his brother a squeeze. "Can I talk you into attending the Hatching? You need some time back with us, don't stay shut up in your cot with only her memories." B'ton coaxed him, trying to be as gentle as he could, in referring somewhat inelegantly to Mebeckle's loss.

The short Farmer shook his head. "My Holder won't like it, being so deep into the harvest as we are."

B'ton fell silent for a moment, thinking.

"How many untrained harvesters could you make use of?" He asked slowly, the seed of an idea germinating.

Mebeckle studied the bronzerider uncertainly. "As many as you can send my way. Why?"

B'ton grinned. "I have forty-two weyrlings needing keeping out of trouble between Falls. Do you think your holder will object to a little extra help?"

Mebeckle stared at him for a long moment, then much to B'ton's pleased surprise, began laughing.

"Oh, aye, if you send them, I'll come to the Hatching, and be glad of it!"

Reelon leaned against the door jam and watched the creek wind its way past the small beast hold. A journeyman of the beastcraft, his small cot hold had been very productive these last ten Turns. Not only had his breeding program produced small but sturdy bovine herdbeasts, he had managed to breed a herd of sheep with silkier wool. It was, as he had suspected when he first read about the trait in Craft records, a recessive trait. He smiled faintly in memory of the first bag of spun wool he had presented to the main Hold's weavers. Master Thursk had been summoned by a very excited journeyman, and gladly gave Reelon twice his asking price. The herdcaftsman smiled. One good shearing, and he could see financing his eldest's education at the Beasthall.

Charel, his eldest, trotted out of the stable, runnerbeast in tow.

"Pa!" A smile lit her face and warmed Reelon's heart at the sight of his twelve Turn old daughter. "I was just heading out. Do you want me to bring the herd to the creek side corral, or north pasture?

"Creek side. Let them get their fill of water before we leave." He replied, glad not to be riding. The small bones in his left foot still hurt after too long in the saddle, even some six Turns after the black cow had stepped on his foot.

"Yes sir!" Charel swung up into the saddle with enough enthusiasm to make the runner grunt. Laughing, she kicked it into a trot and waved as she departed up the dusty tract for the high pasturage.

"Is Charrie off to collect the tithe?" Gwedli, asked from inside the cot. Reelon turned to face his lovely wife, heavy with her fifth child. He joined her, taking the basket of fresh linens from her, kissing her on the cheek.

"That she is, best beloved. Where would you like these?" He asked, sailing out of the room with the laundry. Gwedli laughed softly, for despite the three previous pregnancies she still couldn't convince him to let her do the chores without his assistance.

"Medical closet, with the rest of them." She called, and sat down in the rocking chair he had traded his best milk-cow for. Smiling at his gestures, she picked up her needlepoint and worked on her Naming Day gift for Charel.

Charel made good time, and before the sun had made its zenith was whistling the bovines into a tight group. Her shaggy canine dashed to and fro catching any stragglers of the young herdbeasts. One, a young bull, bellowed a challenge only to earn a switch across the rump for misbehavior. The majority of this group, to be sent onto the Telgar Weyr to feed the appetites of the Weyr's hardworking dragons, was male, and idly Charel wondered if all that testosterone was good for them. She filed that question away with the others she had about dragon kin, knowing her father hadn't made the Weyr beasts a priority in his studies. She grinned suddenly. Let him not be curious about the brave dragons that charred the deadly Threads from the sky, but if she was ever to make it to the Beasthall she would insist on being trained in their care and maintenance along with all the other animals on Pern. Berk, her herding canine, barked, pulling her out of her daydreams. Whistling, she kicked her runner into a trot, and steered the herd down the path back to the cot.

Tibitha, her little sister, no more than four Turns was watching for the herd, and waved to Charel as the herd filed out of the slot canyon that the track ran through. The herdbeasts willingly continued on as she pulled her runner to a stop by her sibling, eager as they were for the creek just past the gates of the corral.

"Yes Tiblet?" Charel asked, smiling at fair haired little sister.

Tibitha first handed her a water skin, then told her lanky older sister all about the three men that had arrived a little after lunch.

"No beasts?" Charel was surprised, usually the help came with herdbeasts of their own.

"No, Pa said they was pastured at Doubleback." Tibitha said, carefully pronouncing her 'r's and 'l's.

"Makes sense, no point bringing the whole mess of them down here. Tell Ma and Pa I'm back, and I'll be in as soon as I brush out Star." Charel nodded, handing back the waterskin, and nudging her runner over to the corral gate, closing it as her sister trotted down to the cot. She then headed her beast after and to the stable, unsaddling Star and making quick work of currying the runner as it enjoyed a drink from the bucket in its stall. Done making sure the runner was taken care of and no longer able to procrastinate Charel returned to the cot, whistling to cover her slight discomfort. She'd seen the paint runner coming down the hill from the corral, and didn't fancy meeting its rider.

"She's here, she here!" Cried a chorus of voices, and twins Durzi and Relecca race out to greet her. Charel grinned at her sisters, identical brunettes. Where she was her father's help mate, the twins had been her mother's shadows, and most of the cot chores were divided between the two of them. The girls each seized a hand and dragged her inside the cot common room.

The furniture had been rearranged and pushed against the far wall to accommodate the 'gather table' where food was being placed out.

"Charrie, go wash up." Her mother called from the kitchen.

"Yes'm." Charel slipped free from her sisters, and not seeing the guests or her father hurried to down the stairs past the cold room. At the other end of the passage was the bathing room. It had been meant to be an extension on the storage room, but the diggers had misjudged the depth of the water table, and flooded two thirds of the room. Undaunted, her parents had put in a drain pipe and a bath tub, water for which Charel drew directly from the pool of water. It was a little chill, but it felt so good to wash off the trail dust. Charel made quick work of the bath, her belly rumbling, complaining that the bread and meatrolls from lunch hadn't been quite enough. Clean, and in 'cot' cloths (the soft tunic and pants that her mother insisted her wear around the cot) she returned to the kitchen, to be of whatever help she could.

The twins had things well in hand though, and shooed her into the common room, where her parents and the three drovers sat around the gather table, enjoying some sour beer.

"Here she is, our loyal fifth~!" Reelon said as she entered, and pointed to the empty chair next to him.

"Hello." She greeted the drovers with a shy smile, slipping into place.

"Charrie?" The oldest of the drovers blinked at her. "You've sprung up like a wild vine."

"Three fingerlengths since last Turn." Reelon said with pride. Charel smiled bashfully, but privately wondered what height had to do with anything. Surely her skill mattered more to the other drovers, since this Turn she was going to accompany them on delivering the tithe.

"She's tall enough, I'll grant you, but are you sure a girl's tough enough for the road?" The other older drover asked, causing Charel to blink in astonishment. If her height had nothing to do with it, why would her gender?

"She's already slept out in the birthing pasture these past three springs, how is the tithe trail going to be any harder?" Her father said with an easy smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Eh, if Reelon says she can handle it, she can." Said Branth, the third drover, causing Charel to blink a second time. She certainly hadn't expected help from that quarter, and uneasily she wondered if he was being agreeable less because he thought she was qualified and more because he liked to look her over the same way her father studied cattle.

"If you're certain, Branth." The oldest shrugged. "The more the merrier." He glanced back at Charel. "But mind girl, iffin' you run afoul rustlers, you make a fuss, no foolish heroics, you understand me?"

"Yes sir." Charel nodded, knowing well the dangers of cattle rustlers. Her father had an ugly scar along his left arm where a rustler's blade had cut when he startled them in the act.

"It's settled then?" Reelon asked the remaining drover, who merely nodded. "Good, let's eat. Durzi! Relecca! Surely that stew is ready by now!" He called back to the kitchen.

Charel laid in her bed, watching the stars through the window at the head of her bed, the window open to catch the night breeze. Thread wasn't due for another four days, so she enjoyed the sweetness of the night air while she could. Tibitha was already sound asleep in her sleeping furs when there was a soft knock at her door.

"I'm awake."

The door opened and her father stood there, holding a single glow to light his way. Charel sat up to make room on her bed for him to sit down.

"Evening Charrie." He said, sitting down on the bed and glancing out the window, his gaze far and away.

"Evening, Pa. Is... is there something wrong, with me going?" During and after dinner she had wanted to ask, but there never seemed to be a good time.

"What? No, no pup, not t'all." He pat her foot. "But I did want to warn you about a couple of things, seeing as we're going to go through the main Hold. First... don't be too surprised if people don't believe you if you say you can do something."

"You mean because I'm a girl?" Reelon swallowed the laugh at her honest puzzlement.

"Yes, Charrie, I am sorry about that. Some folk- a lot of folk you're going to meet are going to think you can't keep up with the men because of your plumbing." He explained, smiling at her.

Charel snorted. "That's just plain dumb."

"Eheh, some folk are. 'Specially up at the Hold. You'll have less problems in the Crafthall, but you will find it there too."

"What should I do about it, Pa?" Charel asked, sensing there was more to this conversation than just a fatherly warning.

"Don't take it personal, for one. Folks that say dumb things are usually speaking from a place of ignorance. Secondly, if they want an example, 'specially of something that is dangerous, don't do it." He gave her a meaningful glance. "Just 'cause you can swim, or rope, or break runners, doesn't mean you should ever let them goad you into a situation where failure means getting badly injured."

"Yes sir." Charel replied, and hugged her knees to her.

"Also, if Old Larst offers you a sword, refuse him."

Charel blinked. "Why...?"

"A sword is like any other tool, pup. If you don't know how to use it, you'll only endanger yourself." Reelon explained.

"Understood. But... isn't that the case of sticking the pointy end into your attacker?" She asked curiously.

Reelon laughed.

"Yes, so it is, but just like using needlethorn is sticking the business end into a beast you have to know where and how to jab. If you're offered a sword, Charrie, politely refuse. I'll see to it that you're kitted with a field knife. "

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now, lastly, you keep your eyes and ears open while we're on the road, 'specially when you're around Branth." Reelon's deeply shadowed face took on a somber expression. Charel sagged in relief. So her father hadn't missed the looks the drover was giving her!

"In fact, I'd rather you stay close to me whenever we're not working. Even if I snore worse than Berk." He smiled faintly at her, and Charel smiled weakly back.

"Yes sir. ...And thank you, Pa."

Internally Reelon winced, knowing Charel had been spooked by Branth's behavior. The girl was just clever enough, and watchful enough to catch all sorts of subtle signals the young drover was giving her. It was why she was so good with the animals, but made her nervous around people. Not for the first time he wondered if it had been the right thing to raise his family so far from others.

"Alright then, you get a good night's rest, pup, we're leaving at first light."

"Yes sir!" They hugged good night and Reelon withdrew, leaving Charel to her thoughts.

Charel turned the conversation over in her mind for a few moments more, then rolled over on her side and drifted off into sleep.