the worst kind of pain [open]

[Avu]

She felt horrible. It was just after sunrise, and the wherhandler was curled up into a miserable little ball, face upturned towards the sun. She'd worked for nearly eighteen hours straight in the Rider Weyrs that served as an Infirmary, and she hadn't eaten in all that time -- until approximately five minutes ago, when Zesa had interrupted her dazed, automatic checking of the mostly-sleeping patients, dropping a skin of klah on her head and silently assaulting her with a wave of indignant scoldings until the wherhandler finally drank it, and then, also at the firelizard's urging, left the Infirmary, turning over her too-long shift to the other Healers. Funnily enough, she still wasn't hungry, nor was she sleepy -- she didn't want to sleep, because surely the nightmares would come, and above all, she dreaded the nightmares. So she'd come to the edge of the river, curled among the boulders there, crouched with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms wrapped tightly around her arms, leaning against a rock, head tilted sideways against the same cold, damp stone. Meisk had retired at her urging to sleep, the wher whining softly, but Zesa remained with her, the gold firelizard curled up on top of the rock, eyeing Hers with obvious disapproval.

"You don't have to stay, you know," Meira finally offered to Zesa, tired, pale eyes flicking upwards towards the bright gold firelizard, who merely blinked at her, and then fluted once. As long as Hers stayed, she would stay, or Zesa was fully convinced Hers would never get to sleep. She needed to. And yet, Meira had said -- very emphatically -- that she couldn't sleep, so the queen had allowed Hers to stay out a bit longer. The girl fell silent again, her eyes fixed on the water rushing, just as clear and just as beautiful and energetic as ever, in front of her. If anything, the river was even more bubbly than usual thanks to the rain. For a moment, she watched it, and then closed her eyes, taking a deep, shuddering breath, and wishing for the tears to come. It felt horrible, that she couldn't cry for those who had been lost, the dragonless, the people who had died defending Selenitas. Their Junior Weyrleader had died. Several bronzeriders had died. But -- and yet -- why could she not cry? She felt as if a physical barrier had been imposed upon the floodgate of tears, keeping them back. Tearless agony, Meira thought bitterly, eyes closing, was much worse than sobbing. The wherhandler wished she could cry, loosen the grief.

Instead, it stayed, a tight knot in her throat and chest. Slowly strangling, weighing her down, impossible to ignore or remove. What was it, exactly? -- guilt. Fear. Terror. Sadness that simply could not, would not, be sobbed out. She tried to cry, willing herself to let the emotion come. There was nothing, and Meira drew another breath, closing her eyes. How many people had died? Who had died, despite the wherhandlers' warning? -- too many. She had been unhurt; Meisk's wings had been torn at the membrane, but a dragonhealer had stitched the torn membrane together quickly, and the wher was hardly in any pain due to Meira being generous with the numbweed. Zesa, too, had been utterly unhurt. But people had been. F'neth, and Kloth -- her friends -- had died. Meira nearly choked as she pressed her cheek against the cool stone, inhaling another breath, closing her eyes again and bringing her knees even closed, until she was all but invisible among the rocks.

And then she remembered, her memory bringing back the vivid details she never thought she could remember -- the blue senior weyrling holding out his hand to her in show of playful courtesy, the laughter, his Salamandyr -- and Meira thought she would cry, then, the ache in her chest unbearably painful, but the tears still refused to come, and her thoughts shied away from the pain, turned to Selenitas Weyr. She thought she'd managed to evade the pain, when she'd come here. Escape the terror of the war, the horrors, the brutal scenes, and -- well, hadn't Baith -- used Selenitas, as a way of getting rid of C'leon and Morsrath? All of their deaths, for the Benden Weyrleaders'. Fort Weyr would be pleased, she thought bitterly, lashes fluttering against her cheek against the sun's warmth. How dare it shine, when everything was so -- so horrible? Everything was so cheerful -- and that only burned more. Things weren't perfect. There was always that fear, and anyone who told themselves otherwise -- Meira felt a flicker of guilt, recognizing that included her -- was merely deceiving themselves.

"Welcome to the world..."

[nightingale]

Walking was painful. Walking with a limp was slightly better -in the way that being stabbed in the gut was better than having one's eyes carved out with a wood rasp- but whatever discomfort Dani was feeling was being neatly disregarded. The brownhandler was was well aware that she would be better off resting, but with nothing more than a scorched leg and a sprained ankle to her name she couldn't justify sharing and infirmary room with the critically injured. Of course with the apartments burned to cinders there wasn't any real alternative, and so she had decided to go out for a little bit of a wander so she could pretend the awkward situation didn't exist for a candlemark or two.

She paused to yawn, rub at one of her eyes and hold the foot attached her sore leg a few inches off the ground while she gathered up the courage she would need to continue. She had asked that the healers not give her any painkillers, and was only thankful that she had been awake to make the request. The last time she'd been given felis it had almost killed her -something about an intolerance or an enzyme. She hadn't really been paying attention because they were stitching her up at the time- and she wasn't going to entertain the notion of dying when there was work to be done.

Finding someone alone by the river wasn't anything special when one considered the circumstances the entire Weyr had been throw into recently, but there was something about shadowy figures at sunrise that piqued Dani's curiosity. She hobbled over. "Heeey...sweetheart, this ain't no place to be takin' in the sunrise." She murmured gently, kneeling down next to the young wherhandler and almost sighing with glee at how much better her ankle felt without weight on it. She was pretty -this was a note made for future reference because Dani was not quite callous enough to take advantage of someone who was so clearly upset.

She smiled faintly, leaning forward and tilting her head to get a better look at the girl. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but her first impression was that this little phantom didn't really look as upset as people who cuddled up to rocks usually looked. Probably still shaken up then, and who could really blame her for that? Judging by her healer's knots, she'd seen more carnage in the last few days than Dani had seen in her entire life. Young kid too...what a crying shame that all these kids had to have gone through so much when they were still so young.

Dani wrapped an arm around Miera's shoulders, offering her cloak and body heat as a defense against the chill morning air. She then lifted her free arm and pointed, jerking her head in the direction of a shadowy clearing across the river that the morning sun hadn't touched yet. "Felines usually show up here around now t'drink from the river, and they got cubs with em this time a year. The last thing you wanna do is look like a sweetroll." Of course, Danica was nothing short of an inexcusable hypocrite in this regard. She often came out in the mornings to watch the jungle cats lounging on the far bank, but it was always easier to give advice than to take it.

[Avu]

It was Zesa who first noticed the limping figure, the gold firelizard's head coming around, worried gaze fastening upon Dani. The brownhandler was not exceptionally familiar to the gold, though she did recognize her as Selenitas, and her warning was merely a quiet one: A low, soft flute and a mental nudge to make sure Hers wouldn't be startled by the approaching figure, for Meira didn't seem to be in a good position to be alert to everybody approaching. Sunset was typically a quiet time, and her guard was down at that time of day -- one of the only times it was allowed to be down, really. Before her Infirmary shift, there was the sparring, target practice -- the like. And her guard had to be up, but it was a good time of day, too: She liked M'ta and the efficiency that came with learning to fight, the feeling that they actually were dong something. And then the Infirmary, where peoples' lives and health depended on her and the other Healers -- yes. This was one of the only times she could truly relax, curl up with Meisk and just hug the wher, or something. The wher wasn't there, with her, though, and she didn't want to hug him. She just wanted to cry her heart, but she couldn't. Her throat was stuck and she couldn't...

But Meira was grateful for that as the older wherhandler squatted next to her -- one thing she couldn't stand was being considered weak. The brownhandler's comment drew a weak attempt at a smile from the girl, though she didn't respond, drawing her legs up even closer to her chest -- and that position alone conveyed how completely shaken she was. Fetal position -- was not one she typically assumed, especially not leaning against a rock, but the sturdy damp coolness of it was soothing. Did she have a fever? -- was that why she felt so hot? She couldn't tell, didn't want to unwind enough to tell. If she had a fever, one of the Healers would figure it out soon enough when she went back to her shift -- probably. Maybe not: The way they'd all been pushed to their limits and beyond -- only a while ago had she made one of the other apprentices, Saeo, leave because she looked as if she'd soon drop to sleep on her feet -- made it very possible for her exhaustion to be missed -- or dismissed, really, because they were all exhausted.

The arm around her shoulders drew a low sigh from the bluehandler, and she closed her eyes, leaning automatically into Dani. Meisk often curled around her in much the same way, and Zesa, above, fluted approvingly. Cold was bad; warmth was good. And she was watching, just in case: Since her Bonded was so clearly vulnerable at the moment, she'd always be watching, until she trusted Meira was able to take care of herself again. The girl's head came to rest on Danica's shoulder, and she swallowed, unsure if she was trying to bite back tears or let them flow. She just -- didn't know. About anything, anymore. M'ta was safe: She'd seen him herself. Hurt, unconscious, but alive. But he was the only one she was completely sure about -- well, no. R'wign, Kalerary, Kalierre, Jermayan, and most of the other Healers were okay, too. She knew F'neth to be gone, and C'lryn probably was, too, since Zesa couldn't find Darling, nor yet Minoath.

Dani's pointing towards the other side of the bank finally drew a verbal reaction from Meira, the bluehandler tucking her chin against her knees weakly. "I'll be okay." Her voice was soft, barely audible above the river's song. "I've got Zesa...and Meisk -- he's probably in the weyrs -- but -- there's no home to go to. I'd rather stay out here." Because there wasn't, anymore. The wherhandler's apartments had been burned to the ground, and that was her home. Her voice trembled slightly as she turned her face away from Dani, swallowing and trying not to make it too obvious that tears had finally, finally come to her eyes as she added, "There's nowhere else to go..." One hand unclasped from her knees, rising to brush her cheeks impatiently, clearing them of the single tear that had trickled down, the others blinked backwards, Meira forcibly shoving away memories of F'neth, C'lryn. She bit her lip, sniffing once and permitting herself only that. "The Infirmary -- I should be helping -- " she mumbled hoarsely, dropping her eyes again. They needed the help -- Zesa would understand -- she had to; the queen was nothing if not intelligent.

[nightingale]

Danica allowed the young healer to get comfortable. It was a rather difficult task, considering that beneath the thin fabric of her blouse there was little more than hard muscle and bone, but she relaxed her muscles where she could and make sure not to breathe too deeply. She didn't bother to point out that felines killed and ate wild whers and even green dragons when given the chance, mostly because she sensed the girl's weak excuse was just that.

With the apartments burned there wasn't a wherhandler at Selenitas who wasn't feeling a little bit lost. It was true that losing posessions filled with both monetary and sentimental value wasn't something that any sane person wished upon themself, but the feeling that they had lost the one place in the entire Weyr where they could feel safe and at home was another pain entirely. Dani sighed, digging deep for the determination which currently lay crushed beneath apathetic dispair. They could rebuild the apartment complex without too much difficulty. They could make it better than it was before...maybe they could even find a way to keep it from smelling like unwashed men and wher farts.

The woman held Miera just a little bit tighter as she began half-heartedly toying with the idea of returning to the infirmary. Oh no. Not on her watch she wasn't. Even a blind wherry could see that the girl was in no condition to be doing anything more strenuous than climbing into bed.

"I get the feeling if I let you wander back into that mess of blood and numbweed you're going to end up nipping off some brownrider's nutsack thinking it's a dangerous growth." She smiled wryly, chosing not to go into detail about why that particular mistake would be perfectly understandable. "Baby girl, forcing yourself to do that kinda work when you're exhausted is just askin for trouble. They'll be able to get by just fine without you until your fed and rested." She cast a marbled eye toward Zesa, as if seeking the little queen's affirmation on the subject.

[Avu]

It was very obvious that Zesa did not approve of the idea of Hers returning so soon to the makeshift Infirmary -- even less than she approved of Hers doing anything but just resting. The gold made no move, staring at MeiraHers, a low hiss of annoyance slipping between teeth as her forked tongue flicked out and then in again. It wasn't for the sake of the patients: Meira wasn't stupid; she wouldn't make any silly mistakes, and Zesa would make sure of that, for the queen had proved herself nearly as good at memorizing Healing as any human could possibly be, and had somewhat of an apprentice role to Hers: Fetch the herbs, fetch mugs and boiling skins of water, alert Jermayan if something was too terribly wrong -- and generally overlook what Hers was doing. Rare it was that Zesa had to correct Hers: Meira was only technically a Junior Apprentice, but she was old enough and had the experience to actually be considered a Senior Apprentice. Indeed, some people were labeled as Journeyman Healer around Meira's age, but due to the lack of formal training, her knots were probably destined to stay as Junior Apprentice. And she knew what she was doing, most of the time, and she wasn't too proud to ask for help.

The other wherhandler's joke drew a chuckle that couldn't even truly qualify as half-hearted from the girl as she tucked herself automatically close to Danica. Rare it was that she allowed such contact: She just didn't like it. That Danica was a woman helped; and the need to be comforted helped, too. Extremely vulnerable, at that moment, was the bluehandler; she wanted nothing more than to curl up and just pretend it never happened. To cry. But after those two tears, she simply couldn't cry anymore: Her throat was blocked up and however much she wanted to sob, she just couldn't -- and she felt horrible for it. F'neth -- C'lryn -- they were her friends, and she couldn't even weep for them, for Minoath and for Kloth and for Sloth and Darling and (not so much) Bite: Why? She was sure the others had cried. But she just couldn't -- and the pain that was growing was much worse than the pain of sobbing. But after one swipe at her eyes, they remained dry.

"But they -- they -- I mean, they need me," she managed to stammer, head falling against Danica's shoulder weakly, eyes half-closing in her exhaustion. "I -- there's only R'wign -- Jermayan -- and Savitri and Saeo and -- S'lain and E'rro, but they're dragonhealers...there's not...not enough...too many patients..." She was making very little sense, but that was what staying awake for a good twenty-nine hours did to you, especially when, during those hours, she'd had little time to eat or drink. Zesa trilled indignantly, rustling her pinions in a show of blatant annoyance, and then appealed directly to Danica. Keep Hers safe, would the brownhandler? The gold would trust her, for now: She had to get food, and she'd be right back, and please just don't let Hers go back to work, or she'd hurt herself trying too hard -- which had to be one of her main faults, in the queen's eyes -- though she was so biased that her opinion, to Meira, didn't really count. But she did: Meira would much rather work than break down in tears. As long as she had something to do, to concentrate on, she could hold back her emotions.

Wings unfurled; the queen flicked between, and Meira blinked curiously after Zesa, and then hissed audibly as she realized the firelizard's goal. "I'm not hungry," she protested aloud, her voice a mumble, but clearly indignant. Exasperatedly realizing it was too late, the wherhandler sighed, rubbing her eyes wearily as she leaned against Danica again: For once she was oblivious that the other wherhandler might very well be uncomfortable with the proximity. If it was her, she personally wouldn't have minded: Perhaps she was simply projecting herself, for when it came to comforting people, Meira wasn't too nervous -- she had been a Healer for too long. If the other woman did mind, the bluehandler didn't notice -- something she usually would have. She was too tired to pick up on subtle details: Thank Faranth the patients were mostly awake and could specifically tell her what they thought was wrong, where they hurt.

The queen's return was heralded by a soft plop as a sack landed directly on Danica's lap, and Zesa swept to land neatly on her recently deserted rock, preening one wing and peeping quietly at Meira and Danica both. So quick, had the queen been, that it was obvious that the Drudges that remained were already packing the food into sacks, to make it easier for Healers to transport to their patients: She wasn't usually so fast when she had to personally pack the food. Her chirp was clearly a command to both wherhandlers: Eat!

[nightingale]

Tracing her thumb along the girl’s shoulder in an affectionate and comforting gesture, Danica allowed her to take whatever comfort she could in her presence. Faranth knew that she had never been any good at knowing what to say at times like these, but with Miera quite obviously exhausted beyond the point of rational thought she was granted a relatively wide margin for error. “Hush there sweetness.” She murmured gently, allowing her cheek to rest lightly atop the girl’s dark hair. “There’ll be plenty of time for saving the world after you’ve gotten your own kittens in their basket.” Zesa’s request was both accepted and obliged wordlessly. The kid was safe with her.

When the young healer muttered that she wasn't hungry, Dani was caught off guard by how observant the girl was even in her exhausted state. She wasn’t quite fast enough to catch a small chuckle as it slipped between lips. “You can’t live on just air and stubbornness.” She offered simply, a half-smile slipping across her face in a neat curve. “Just think of it like forcin’ down medicine for your own good. Ye can’t help anyone if yer fallin’over for want of a bite to eat.” Dani didn’t phrase it as a request because she did not intend to enforce it that way. She was being gentle enough for now, but if the bluehandler decided to put up a fight she’d be quick in toughening up.

The woman had to audibly swallow a solid curse as Zesa’s bag of goodies landed directly atop the scorched portion of her leg. The bandages were neatly concealed beneath the loose fabric of her pant leg, but the tightly bound fabric was a poor substitute for the skin she had lost to apartment fire. She took two long, deep breaths as the pain flared and then slowly receded to the bearable level she had grown accustomed to dealing with. She then gathered up the bag from where it had fallen in the damp grass and set about tugging it open without jostling Miera too violently.

“Let’s see here…redfruit and meatrolls sound appealing? Guess there’s only so many things you can pack into a tiny bag.” She pulled one of the meatrolls free of it's carrying case and split it in half, hoping that the smell of fresh meat and butter would be enough to trigger the girl’s appetite. She lay the cloth bag on the grass and set half of the roll on top of it for later consumption. She other she hovered a few inches from Miera’s nose, enticing her to accept it with small sounds and gestures of encouragement.

[Avu]

Was it her fault, really, that her thoughts were so centered around the Infirmary? -- no, not really. Not to Meira. It was the way her mind was programmed, in a way -- the same way every Healer's mind worked. Others came first -- their safety. She still felt horrible about the people who had been lost to the explosion of the Infirmary -- as well as the Infirmary's explosion itself. The Infirmary was -- had been -- her second home, and she'd felt safer there than anywhere else except for her quarters. As long as she was doing something, she could cope with the poisonings, with Shmee's death, with anything -- and it was gone, too, and she didn't even have a retreat anymore. The weyr that she was currently using while the weyr rebuilt the Infirmary and Wherhandlers' Apartments just couldn't compare. And so many people, too, had been lost in the explosion -- if only she could have been there, to help them get out -- she didn't recall, exactly, who had been there, who had been caught in the flames, but that didn't matter. If they'd been in the Infirmary, they were hers to take care of: Hers and the other Healers'.

The bluehandler sighed, squeezing her eyes shut to make the tired prickling disappear before she blinked. With a rare, surprising flash of humor for such a sleep-deprived state, Meira turned her head slightly, eyes half-closing to prevent the sun from shining into them. "Zesa was bad enough..." She was, too. At first, the gold firelizard had been invaluable, even going as far as to apply numbweed to people who needed nothing but that -- she'd saved Meira time, something they simply did not have enough of, and been extraordinarily good about not getting fed (though Zesa had disappeared at some point to go fishing) -- but then she'd started fretting; then she'd gotten Meisk, who was notably less sleepy than Meira, having curled up on the stone couch -- which was, to him, comfortable, and having gotten about five hours of sleep before Zesa had accidentally woken him up -- fretting, too, about His' health, and she could hardly ignore both of her mindmates badgering her.

She would typically have noticed the other wherhandler's pain as the sack of food fell, but this time, she didn't, and as the meatroll and its generally enticing scent curled up next to her, Meira shook her head, mumbling again, emphatically, "I'm not hungry...I'm really not." Nevertheless, she accepted the meatroll and bit into it listlessly, chewing mechanically. The taste of the warm meat, butter-smeared, was usually enticing; now it just made her want to throw up. She swallowed as soon as she could, trying to keep it down. The sooner she got something solid into her stomach, the better: Meira wasn't stupid. She had to eat something, eventually; the headache and the pain in her stomach that she'd only now registered were probably because of just that, but it still didn't taste good. It tasted of guilt, of loosing people and of the incessant pain -- a pain that was made sharper because of the fact that she could not cry: The tears still refused to come.

Zesa's soft croon made Meira take another bite, barely chewing before she swallowed -- not because she was ravenous, but because she really did think she might vomit. Trying to find an excuse to keep from taking another bite, she spoke, her voice almost inaudible in its lack of strength. "How do you -- how is it possible to -- to stop hurting, after something that...that painful?" She couldn't; right now, she couldn't imagine feeling worse. And most of the pain was from guilt.

[nightingale]

A rather pleased expression spread across the woman’s face as Miera accepted the half meatroll and started eating. Her protests and listless attitude were overshadowed by the greater victory of keeping her from fainting in exhaustion, and Dani took no note of them. That victory secured and celebrated, she set about forcing the other half of the pastry down her own throat. The last thing she needed was an irate queen flitter chattering in her ear, and being not of the healing profession she was not condition to ignore her own needs.

The trick was not to think about, she decided as the warm filling smeared itself across her tongue. Eating wasn’t exactly an art form, and something as simple as a meatroll didn’t even require any thought whatsoever. So long as you didn’t think about eating and all it’s connotations, you could trick yourself into feeling hungry when all you wanted to do was curl up in a dark corner and wail at the ceiling while clutching a bottle of wine.

After a few bites, it even started to taste good.

When Miera first spoke, the brownhandler wasn’t entirely sure that she had said anything at all. All she managed to catch was a sort of soft murmuring sound that might have been a sigh, a quiet prayer or anything in between. It took her a few moments to work the murmur over in her mind a few times and pick out the words she had missed. When she did finally understand what had been asked however, answering was a simple enough task. “You don’t.” She said plainly, and took another bite of her meatroll.

Once the mouthful had been properly chewed and swallowed, the woman drew a deep breath that signaled further explanation. “Numbweed doesn’t work on this kinda pain. You just gotta…hold on tight to something and wait for it to run it’s course –kinda like a heavy rainstorm or a rockslide. Eventually it goes away on it’s own.” She shrugged, her expression an obviously contrived picture of apathetic tranquility.

“It hurts now. It’ll probably never stop hurting if you want me to be real honest about it…but as time passes the wounds’ll scab over and you’ll feel ‘em less and less. One day you’re going to wake up and things are going to be alright again.” She gave Miera an encouraging squeeze, wishing that the truth wasn’t so hard to swallow or even better, that she was better at presenting it in a tasteful manner.

[Avu]

Zesa’s quiet warning trill sounded from the rock as the golden firelizard rustled her wings softly, her head coming around to rest lightly on her haunches. Eyes whirled rapidly, the queen watched intently as Hers half-scowled and obediently took another bite of the meatroll, barely managing to choke it down. It seemed to lodge in her throat, the creamy meat filling seeming lumpy and unwilling to cooperate. Water, perhaps, would be nice, but she didn’t want water, either, and settled for just toying with the meatroll, nibbling at it as convincingly as she could. Zesa was far from pleased, trilling again emphatically, eyes whirling so quickly that it was dizzying just to look at the queen – not pleased shades, either; but worried ones: An off-gray with a hint of red and yellow both, creating a very depressing appearance indeed. One hand raised with a sigh, the wherhandler reaching for the firelizard, who hopped from her rock to Meira’s lap, eyeing her beadily as Meira took another, almost defiant, bite, as much as to say, See? I /am/ eating!

She’d nearly thought that her question had gone unheard by Danica when the brownhandler spoke again. Two words – words that made her want to collapse inside and just curl up and wish the world away – “You don’t”. Some part of her had always known that – even accepted it – because she knew she’d never forgot those who had died in the Siege. She still remembered Minoath, and that day by the beach with C’lryn; remembered Raila – wanting to, sure she would, Impress gold…her throat tightened painfully, and she nearly choked on the next bite of meatroll. A few more bites, and it’d be gone, and she could honestly say she’d eaten something…the inhalation next to her made Meira cringe, gray-blue eyes rising curiously towards Danica as the wherhandler began to further explain – which Meira was grateful for; an explanation was better than the blunt statement of before.

As she finished, Meira squeezed her own eyes shut, trying her best not to curl up again. The other handler’s warmth, once welcome, now made her want to melt down, bury her face in the other’s shirt, and just stay there. Comfortable. Danica was kind. Meira’s mother had gone out of her way to keep her daughter safe at Harper Hall, but she still didn’t love her mother; it had been…restrictive, and lonely, but this was…comfortable; this was safe, and at the moment, she thought of Danica more of a mother figure than of the stranger she didn’t know. Her own arms slid around the older wherhandler, and she bit her lips to keep back the cry that wanted so badly to come out – a cry that expressed pain, but not – oddly – longing. She wanted to see F’neth, C’lryn, Raila – all of them – again, but she still didn’t accept that they were dead. She’d go to the weyrs, knock…and they’d come out and everything would be fine again…

And it was thinking that, trying to deceive herself and keep the shock and pain away, that finally broke the dam. Tears came. Not the agonized, stormy rush of them that perhaps would have been better suited to this kind of disaster, but a slow trickle, spilling out of her eyes. Zesa crooned anxiously, her tongue darting out to touch the bluehandler’s palm anxiously, Meira biting her lip as hard as she could to hold back a sob, inhaling as hard as she could and working to keep her voice from shaking. “It’s just…so many people have died, and some of them – I knew them, they were my friends, and M’ta’s so badly hurt, and…and so’s Kalierre…R’wign…” She took another breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before Zesa’s soft croon made her raise the meatroll to her mouth to take another mechanical bite, wiping her eyes off on her sleeve. “And…Neirin’s gone, and our home is, too…”

[nightingale]

Feeling Miera shift against her, Dani lifted her arm and allowed her to snuggle in as close as she wanted to. The discomfort presented by an occasional jab in the ribs was minor, and almost completely disregarded in favor of keeping the girl comfortable. Danica would never have described herself as the maternal type, possibly because of how overtly feminine the word was. Caring for people on the other hand, was something that came as naturally as breathing. The instinct was particularly strong where her wherhandlers were concerned, and when one factored in that Miera also happened to be a very young, very pretty girl then it was almost impossible for Dani to do anything but take care of her.

The remaining third of her meat roll was set back down atop the bag it had arrived in, and the brownhandler refocused her attention on stroking Miera’s hair gently. The cool sensation caused by the morning air brushing against her tear damped shirt told the woman that she was crying. She wasn’t pleased by the fact, but she was somewhat relived. Someone as young and fragile as Miera had no place being ‘the strong one’ in her opinion. She was just a baby for pity’s sake! Just a tiny, sweet, innocent little baby thrown into a world that just wasn’t kind enough to realize how much she needed for everything to be alright.

Danica listened quietly, willing her emotions back and setting her jaw firmly against any attempt they might make at escaping. She’d given up the right to be fragile and innocent a long time ago. “I know sweetheart.” She murmured gently, watching Zesa out of the corner of her eye. “We’ve all lost friends.” Whinny –she couldn’t quite force the name from her mind. “That’s just the state of the world these days. Good people get hurt. They suffer and die for no good reason and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. It ain’t fair and it ain’t right …but the best thing we can do right now is just remember to live and be good to one another. Life isn’t all bad. It just seems that way sometimes."

[Avu]

The meatroll had been more or less forgotten. She still held it, trembling fingers wrapped loosely around the buttered roll, but she made no move to bite from it or even put it down. Her hand came to rest loosely on her leg, which was curved under her, Zesa crooning in soft anxiety as the gold firelizard nudged her Minepet’s hand lightly, eyes whirling rapidly as she nosed the meatroll, trying to make Hers eat more. Food food food! Food made things better; people were generally happier once they’d eaten food, and Hers ought to eat. She hadn’t been eating for ever so long, and it wasn’t healthy, the gold was sure. Another rather tired croon, and then the queen, eyeing Danica thoughtfully for a moment, lapsed into silence, curling up into a tight ball in her Minepet’s lap. For once, Zesa wasn’t sure how to cope. Hers was never like this – ever. Normally she was quite willing to eat, and she’d never faced this kind of disaster before. There had been times before when she had become…antisocial, to put it nicely, but she’d always eaten, and she just didn’t know what she was supposed to do anymore…!

Almost numbly, the wherhandler noticed the teardrop that had appeared on the other’s shirt, and bit her lip, wordlessly wishing it back as she breathed, trying to keep it steady, trying to keep her breath from catching too audibly in her throat, biting back the sobs and blinking to prevent tears from spilling over her cheeks. While she’d wanted to cry, she’d much have preferred to do it in private, to curl up and wrap her arms around Meisk’s neck and just sob into the blue’s hide. He always understood – understood her instantly and perfectly, and was willing to curl up and let himself be used as a handkerchief, let her cling to him and cry into his neck until the fatigue simply overcame her – he would, and Meira didn’t know how she’d respond if Danica rejected the idea of being cried on. She’d probably cry more, the wherhandler thought bitterly, raising her free hand to swipe the teardrops away from her eyelashes where they’d clung as Danica spoke.

Her words only drew more tears, and then, just when Meira thought she’d have to sob or she’d burst, a calm despair settled over her. It was as instantaneous and as abrupt as the tears, and she sucked in her breath again, blinking hard to rid herself of the last few tears and then drawing her sleeve loosely over her eyes, breathing through her nose to calm herself. Her chest had loosened, but her shoulders sagged. “I…I feel so bad, though,” she answered softly, voice trembling slightly despite her efforts to keep it from doing exactly that. “I know – I know I couldn’t – probably couldn’t – do anything, but it seems everyone but me and Zesa have been hurt…Meisk was, too,” she added, “but his wounds are so – so superficial. And even Jabari’s probably crippled now, and – and everything’s horrible…” Almost childishly, she glanced up at Danica, grey-blue eyes meeting the older woman’s. “When’s it going to stop being bad?”

At the mention of Jabari – that was when the gold shuddered, very visibly, a creel emerging from her throat as her wings wrapped protectively around herself. Her brown, her brown – he’d been hurt and she was so upset. She’d positively mothered Jabari to death since she’d found him – and M’ta, too, by default, and because she liked the brownweyrling – and she still wanted to curl up next to him under his wing like they had before, but she couldn’t – because it would hurt him. One hand stroked the firelizard absently, Meira leaning her head against Danica’s shoulder weakly. “I – I’m done crying now,” she offered softly, the customary fatigue that accompanied crying settling onto her eyes. She blinked hard, exhaling in her chest, relieved by the looseness. “It felt…bad, before…crying makes it seem…easier,” she observed, almost idly, gaze fixed on the river again. It certainly made her feel less of a horrible person for not being able to cry when her friends had died…

[nightingale]

Danica took the girl’s lack of interest in her meatroll to mean that dinnertime was over. Three bites of a lukewarm pastry wouldn’t keep her going for very long, but at least it would give her stomach something to digest and help to ease the nausea that accompanied starvation and exhaustion. It wasn’t hard for the brownhandler to gather from her uneven breathing and shudders that Miera was trying hard not to cry. The woman didn’t think that it was anything to be ashamed of and she certainly wasn’t going to get offended, but instead of voicing that opinion she just continued to stroke the girl’s hair and make gentle shushing sounds. Sometimes things didn’t need to be explained. Other times, you just assumed that they didn’t need to be explained and hoped for the best.

It was hard for her to think up words of reassurance as Miera began to express concerns that she didn’t have a proverb to soothe. When her head tilted back and Dani found herself staring into what were certainly the brightest and most innocently painful eyes she had ever seen, she had to bite her lip hard to keep herself still and silent. She spent a moment grasping at words her mind just couldn’t string together properly, then gave her head a small shake, blinking her marbled eyes in a slow, tired motion that spoke pages of her own despair. “I dunno baby girl.” She murmured weakly. “Someday.” Just not soon enough.

Her attention went to the riverbank as she pulled the girl against her chest, shifting her burned leg ever so slightly and feeling it catch fire in fresh protest of the abuse. She was admiring pointed rock when another soft murmur reached her ears, and paused a moment to decipher it. “Ain’t nothing wrong with cryin.” She offered dimly, giving the girl’s arm a gentle rub to further express her approval. “Ain’t nothing wrong with not cryin either. You gotta do what you gotta do.” The sun was beginning to peak over the jungle canopy, and the landscape was rapidly becoming more light than shadow. Earthy browns, greens and golds blossomed in every denomination. A wry smile crept across Danica’s face the beauty of the sunrise brushed against her tired mind, then flew right over it. “And now’s the time when all good wherhandlers should be in their beds. Hold on glitterdust.”

Holding her cradled against her chest with one arm, she eased the other under Miera’s knees. She was ridiculously light, and the only real trouble Dani had with standing was keeping the scorched portion of her leg from rubbing up against anything. One upright, she took a deep breath and started toward the rider weyrs at an easy pace, keeping her jaw set firmly against the pain walking erect caused her. She could claim rationality on the grounds that having someone to carry wasn’t making waking any more painful that it had been before, and that she had taken a lot more discomfort for reasons that were far stupider than comforting someone who needed it. She would ask for proper directions once they were a little closer to civilization. For the moment, she knew where she was going.

[Avu]

She was done crying, though. Meira inhaled, slowly, through her nose, closing her eyes tiredly. Fatigue – the fatigue of crying – combined with the exhaustion that she’d refused to admit, and she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her own familiar bed at the wherhandler’s apartments – all burned now, all gone, nothing but ashes and memories – and just sleep. Or with Meisk. It was the latter she’d probably have to settle for, since the blue wher was curled up, drowsing in the weyr that they’d been temporarily assigned while the Apartments were rebuilt. She wasn’t sure if they had a choice in where it was built or not, but Meira fully intended to appeal to the Weyrleader and see if it could be built somewhere a little different from the original site. She didn’t want to live in the same place so many people had died; it felt like a curse. So many of them friends, too…the wherhandler pressed her face distractedly against Danica’s shoulder, not really registering the motion as her eyelashes fluttered, the wherhandler clearly straining to stay awake.

The woman’s voice was not forming coherent words, for Meira, anymore; it was just a pleasant sound above her. Had her mother ever done this…? It felt safe. Vulnerable, but safe, comfortable…especially with Zesa curled silently on her lap, the gold firelizard stirring not a muscle. And then the sunrise sent light blooming across her face, and Meira flinched back from the light – almost as instinctively as Meisk might, squeezing her eyes shut. But then – what? Hold on? Too tired to fully comprehend exactly why she’d have to hold on, Meira obediently slid her arms more tightly around Danica’s shoulders and neck, only vaguely noticing Zesa as the gold firelizard took to wing, peeping quietly at Danica to be careful with her Minepet before the gold twirled above their heads, hovering patiently.

Meira’s gasp was audible, surprised, as she was abruptly being carried, and she couldn’t help flushing in a hazy kind of embarrassment. She was – she was too old for this, and everyone had been hurt, and hadn’t Danica? She shouldn’t be carrying Meira, she’d hurt herself…not that Meira weighed much. She’d always been slender, and she felt as if she were floating. But still, it couldn’t be good for her wounds…exactly how severely Danica’s injuries were evaded the Healer; all of the patients had been blurring in her mind – good thing they’d set up the Infirmary as a triage, or she’d be entirely lost and helpless, and immeasurably more frustrated. “W – wait,” she stammered, forcing her mouth to move in order to protest. “I can walk, aren’t you hurt, I can’t – I can’t – you can’t hurt yourself more because of me…” The meatroll had fallen from her fingers, and it was Zesa who dropped down on the remnants of the meal. The food – the meatroll and redfruits – could stay, because there were other firelizards and animals who’d love to eat them. The bag, however…the queen flipped the empty bag neatly onto her back. It really weighed nothing at all, she noted, pleased, as she took flight.

Gliding ahead of Danica and Hers, the queen trilled softly at Danica, offering her images. Follow her, follow her and she’d take them to her Minepet’s weyr, where they were supposed to be, where Meisk was…one wing curved, taking the queen on a long loop around Danica as she twittered softly again, to make sure she’d gotten the point. The bag’s loop had been nudged around her neck, to keep it on, and had settled between her wings, along her back. She’d taken messages before, carried vials and herbs: An empty bag wasn’t any trouble. Cocking her head as Meira’s mumbled protests were audible to her, Zesa flicked her tail in a clear sign of distress, but as Hers showed no sign of physically trying to free herself, the gold didn’t interfere. The woman was smart, she was; she wouldn’t let Hers get hurt, would she?

[nightingale]

Another murmur, brushing against her thoughts as viciously as the morning dew. “Calm down precious. You ain’t doin’ me any harm.” She sighed, smiling indulgently for the sake of easing Meira’s already troubled conscience. When scattered images began appearing in her mind’s eye, Dani sent Zesa her wordless affirmation that she would be following closely. She wasn’t in the mood to be wandering around the weyrs in half light with a leg that she’d sooner hack off at the hip than deal with, and she was quite certain that queens became offended when you refused their help. If gold flitters were anything like gold whers in that regard, then Danica was willing to stick her neck out pretty far to ensure her dignity remained intact.

Danisk nudged against his handler’s thoughts. Where was she? The sun was rising and she ought to be in bed. The woman offered him a gently scolding assurance that she would be up as soon as she was finished. The brown had a mind for curfews, and he did not consider it proper for His to be outside when the sun was shining. The fact that they were currently sheltering in the rider weyrs did nothing to ease his rigid attitude, and she was certain that the brown was being particularly inflexible in and attempt to add structure to their otherwise chaotic situation. Not a bad coping mechanism when one considered the alternatives, she decided dimly. Dani shoved off his indignation, advising him to settle down and wait for her. She was on her way to the weyrs now, and shortly after she arrived she would make her way to him.

When she did reach the stairs, they proved easier to climb than she had expected. Made to accommodate larger creatures moving on them, the steps were short and deep, almost giving her the illusion that she was climbing a ramp. She took her time in order to keep her breathing slow and even. She didn’t need Meira working herself into a foul mood because she thought she was being a burden. Right now she was company, but if the girl started fretting there was a good chance that she would indeed be lowered to burden status. She cleared the staircase and found that a quiet hallway spanned before them, still sleeping as the dawn silently broke across the world. Somewhere outside, a darter began singing.