Hours later, the stew was done and cooling, when the mournful cry of those weyr-bound dragons went up. It was heartbreaking, and terrible...and there would be one more empty seat in the dining hall that night.
She'd had a moment of stark and unexpected panic when a few moments later she'd overheard someone claim that a wingleader had fallen. That Z'tir had fallen. Had...had he been the one the Weyr dragons mourned for? A breath later she'd registered that, no, in fact he was alive, but it had been a startling realization that had he fallen between, she genuinely would have mourned. Not as much as she'd mourned her mother, but still.
Finding time to visit him (and she insisted it was only a visit, and not at all a check in to reassure herself that he was in fact alive) was a task. Her free time wasn't common, and between the man's recovering and whatever work he'd have to do to make sure the next threadfall went well in the case of his absence...it was several days later when at last she came around, knocking gently at the doorway to his weyr. "Wingleader Z'tir? ...Father? Do you have time...?"
Hopefully he wouldn't mind her intrusion.
Mx Cherie