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a cold evening, even with warm
klah
and hot mulled wine to keep him warm. He swallowed the rest of the dainty in one bite to give him both hands to wrap around the warm cup.
    He could hear the rise and fall of voices from inside the cottage but couldn’t make out the words. Bored, he walked over by the walled herb garden that separated the Harper’s cottage from Natalon’s hold. Natalon’s place was too big to be called a cottage. Besides, it was built properly of stone. When the time for Thread got nearer, it would be turned into the entrance for a proper Hold dug into the cliffside—perhaps one day even as large as Crom Hold.
    Kindan and the other youngsters had lived at Crom Hold for the better part of a year while Natalon, Danil, and the other original miners had sought out, found, and begun working the new mine.
    Crom Hold was a vast set of tunnels and rooms dug into the side of a high, majestic cliff. Kindan had spent a lot of time running through—or cleaning—the vacant rooms that would again house most of those who looked to Crom’s Lord Holder for protection when Thread started to fall from the sky.
    Kindan shivered at the thought. Thread. Shimmering, long silvery strands that fell from the sky whenever the Red Star drew close to Pern. Thread. Burning, eating, destroying everything it touched—wood and limb alike. No green would be allowed to grow near the Holds when Thread returned. The mindless Thread could grow incredibly fast, or so Kindan had been taught, and wipe out whole valleys in a matter of hours.
    Kindan squinted his eyes, trying to imagine how Natalon’s hold would be converted into a proper Hold dug into the cliffside. It certainly would have a great view of the lake below. But Kindan wasn’t sure that he’d like being cooped up inside for the next fifty Turns.
    Deep down, Kindan wasn’t sure that he even wanted to be a miner. He squashed the thought firmly. His father was a miner and a wherhandler. Kindan should consider himself lucky to get a chance at either.
    Miners were vital to Pern’s survival. Without the firestone provided by other miners, dragons could not breathe fire; without those flames, dragons could not destroy Thread as it fell from the sky. The coal that Camp Natalon produced burned the hottest and produced the best steel. Still other mines mined the iron ore that went into the steel which made ploughs, shovels, picks, nails, screws, buckles, and countless other things which were vital to life on Pern. Yet others found the copper, the nickel, and the tin, which were blended together to make brass for ornaments and tableware. Indeed, the miners in the great salt mines of Southern Boll and Igen supplied all Pern with salt.
    Watch-whers in mines were a recent addition, and Kindan knew that his father had done more with watch-whers and mining than any other. Dask, his father’s watch-wher, not only could warn the miners of pockets of bad air, but was adept at digging and hauling ore. Kindan suspected, from snippets of conversations he’d overheard between his father and his older brothers, that Danil had even greater plans for the use of watch-whers in the mines.
    While people were at their most alert during the day and slept at night, watch-whers were the opposite, sleeping during the day and awaking at night. That was why they were used to keep watch in the great Holds during the dark hours of the night. In the mines, the night shift could do more excavating of new shafts than any of the day shifts because of the watch-whers.
    But really, not much was known about watch-whers. Even his own father was largely self-educated—through his experience with Dask.
    Kindan had heard that originally there had been two other watch-whers at Camp Natalon. One had died, and the other had left along with his handler. Kindan had heard his brothers complaining about it, and about Tarik’s sour opinion of watch-whers.
    Kindan knew that he would be extremely lucky if he were ever