FOUR HUNDRED TURNS
by Anne McCaffrey ©1969
Four hundred Turns in the black of night
Four hundred of Rukbat's sun bright,
Four hundred Turns never a Thread
Dropped on Pern from the wand'ring Red Star.
Four hundred Turns to discard
As needless the Weyrs, and to disregard
The warnings sent down through ages in song,
That all must give honor those who belong
In mind and in heart to the great winged beasts
Whose flaming breath on grey Threadfall feasts.
"Four hundred Turns," Lord Holders said.
"We've nothing to fear from mythical Thread."
But the Finger Rock points upon Benden Weyr rim
To an Eye Rock red, in the dawn sky dim.
So F'lar, Weyrleader, bronze Mnementh's man,
Prepares the Weyr as well as he can.
With Records dust old, and a sharp, clear mind
He readies Pern with what help he can find.
Thanks to Lessa, his Weyrmate, and Ramoth her queen,
He rallies his scant force to go time between.
When black dust blows cold warning to all
That at dawn over Nerat, live Thread will fall.
"Four hundred t**he-paying Turns we have scorned,
And never a Thread since our grandsires were born."
Then the vineflowers' eyes peered out through the dawn
On the mythical menace they all swore was gone.
And the riders braved Thread as it fell from s***e
In a desperate battle between time and place.
With fearful mind, Lord Holders came
Show'ring plaudits on Benden's proud name:
Begging to know what help they might give
Now they had witnessed that Pern could not live
Without these bold riders abroad in the sky
Searing the Threadfall as they flamed by.
Four hundred Turns the weyr was alone.
Few were the dragons where many had flown.
In Ruatha's great hall hung a tapestry fair
Depicting a scene with dragons mid-air.
And footmen who guided bright flame:
So Benden's Weyrwoman, Lessa by name,
Gold Ramoth's rider, of Ruatha's bloodline
Saw in these woven strands beckoning signs
That would take her gold dragon between timeless s***e
Bringing forward the Lost Weyrs in a star-guided race.
Four hundred Turns of a cold black as death.
Robbing the riders of all sense and breath.
In Four hundred Turns let Pern honor still
Lessa and Ramoth of time-conquering will.
Praise Fandarel's craft, and F'lar's brave stand
Which have preserved our Thread-free land.
In Four hundred Turns let no man say
We need not depend on the Dragonman's way;
That Weyrs serve no purpose, tradition is dead:
That Pern is not threatened by Red Star or Thread.
Honor those riders the great dragons heed
Lest dragonless, all rediscover the need.
Four hundred Turns ago, four hundred hence,
Honor the Dragons - Pern's defense.
by Anne McCaffrey ©1969
Four hundred Turns in the black of night
Four hundred of Rukbat's sun bright,
Four hundred Turns never a Thread
Dropped on Pern from the wand'ring Red Star.
Four hundred Turns to discard
As needless the Weyrs, and to disregard
The warnings sent down through ages in song,
That all must give honor those who belong
In mind and in heart to the great winged beasts
Whose flaming breath on grey Threadfall feasts.
"Four hundred Turns," Lord Holders said.
"We've nothing to fear from mythical Thread."
But the Finger Rock points upon Benden Weyr rim
To an Eye Rock red, in the dawn sky dim.
So F'lar, Weyrleader, bronze Mnementh's man,
Prepares the Weyr as well as he can.
With Records dust old, and a sharp, clear mind
He readies Pern with what help he can find.
Thanks to Lessa, his Weyrmate, and Ramoth her queen,
He rallies his scant force to go time between.
When black dust blows cold warning to all
That at dawn over Nerat, live Thread will fall.
"Four hundred t**he-paying Turns we have scorned,
And never a Thread since our grandsires were born."
Then the vineflowers' eyes peered out through the dawn
On the mythical menace they all swore was gone.
And the riders braved Thread as it fell from s***e
In a desperate battle between time and place.
With fearful mind, Lord Holders came
Show'ring plaudits on Benden's proud name:
Begging to know what help they might give
Now they had witnessed that Pern could not live
Without these bold riders abroad in the sky
Searing the Threadfall as they flamed by.
Four hundred Turns the weyr was alone.
Few were the dragons where many had flown.
In Ruatha's great hall hung a tapestry fair
Depicting a scene with dragons mid-air.
And footmen who guided bright flame:
So Benden's Weyrwoman, Lessa by name,
Gold Ramoth's rider, of Ruatha's bloodline
Saw in these woven strands beckoning signs
That would take her gold dragon between timeless s***e
Bringing forward the Lost Weyrs in a star-guided race.
Four hundred Turns of a cold black as death.
Robbing the riders of all sense and breath.
In Four hundred Turns let Pern honor still
Lessa and Ramoth of time-conquering will.
Praise Fandarel's craft, and F'lar's brave stand
Which have preserved our Thread-free land.
In Four hundred Turns let no man say
We need not depend on the Dragonman's way;
That Weyrs serve no purpose, tradition is dead:
That Pern is not threatened by Red Star or Thread.
Honor those riders the great dragons heed
Lest dragonless, all rediscover the need.
Four hundred Turns ago, four hundred hence,
Honor the Dragons - Pern's defense.