The Downside of being Independent (Meira)

[Shiny]

Did I not tell you? I don’t want to hear it. Being constantly equipped with a myriad of sharp weapons is illogical and extremely impractical, mine. You should have heeded my warnings before the consequences of your paranoia injured you – and still, you deny my logic. I knew what I was doing, Wridelth. Lay off. And that is why you are in such a state? You are hurt badly, mine. I beseech you to seek medical attention at the infirmary – you are losing blood, and the repositioning of your limb’s skeletal structure is most unnatural.[/i]

The Blueweyrling hobbled along the path, pace extraordinarily fast for someone who was walking on a visibly twisted ankle. An increasingly red-stained hand was clasped to the left back side of her ribs - something was jutting out between her fingers underneath her cloak. Syrene was intent on heading back to the Weyrlings Barracks, and was growing more and more annoyed with the cold Blue Hatchling running circles around her. Normally, Wridelth would not do something so silly-looking (even though it wasn’t that silly-looking because it was Wridelth doing the circling, and he always had a certain fluidity to him), but this was an exception. He was trying to physically stop His from continuing on her intended path, but no matter how hard he tried, she would always find a way to dodge around him. Her evasive maneuvers were beginning to become sluggish, and although the Blue didn’t much show it, his concern was growing.

With a blade stuck in her side (she didn’t pull it out, because that would just increase the rate at which she lost blood) and a crooked ankle, she hobbled onward, growing faintly dizzy. I can handle it. It’s just a flesh wound, she said icily, not sparing the Blue a glance. That is a complete fallacy. It is blatantly more than a flesh wound, and if you do not go to the infirmary immediately, I will physically force you to comply.[/i]

Whirling around with a slightly drunken sway, she pointed a free finger at the Blue accusingly. “I can take care of myself! Get off my case, you… dumb dragon.” As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she froze, lowering her pointing hand. I am actually quite logical; therefore, your statement is invalid, Wridelth replied, observing His with blank eyes lightly glazed with citrus-coloured concern. She shuffled uneasily for a moment, biting her lip with the guilt of having said such a thing to her mindmate. Fine. We’ll go. She was starting to feel pretty light-headed, and it was obvious that she would not be able to make it all the way to the Weyrlings Barracks. They were relatively close to the Infirmary now anyway; grumpily, Syrene complied. The Blue tagged along close to her side as she plotted a new course.

Minutes later, the pale Fortian and her bonded approached the Infirmary. She slowed to a stop and leaned against one side of the doorway opening, hand still pressed around the blade sticking slightly from her side, her weight resting on her good leg.

I’m here now. Can we go? No, we may not go. A medical checkup is obligatory. I said I would come – never said I would rely on anyone. I don’t rely on others. Before Wridelth could reply, Syrene half-stumbled into the room, eyes darting around, searching. Now, if she could just find a place to sit and a medical kit, she could fix herself up… No one would have to know how she’d failed at hunting, and her pride would remain intact. The story would remain between Wridelth and her.

[Avu]

Yours appears to be most inconvenienced.

Master of the understatements, that was Jingth. The gold’s head tilted marginally from where she was sprawled on one of the Infirmary ‘ledges, tail swishing across stone. From her angle, she couldn’t see what it was that had Syrene stumbling as she was, but it was surely not natural for such an odd gait. Perhaps she was drunk? Jingth was not, however, one for such simple assumptions; she uncurled herself, peering in curiously, her attention more for Wridelth than for his Bonded. Her hatchling, he was. Besides, it wasn’t like she was going to bespeak Syrene. If she could please cease moving, Mine is coming.

Of course, ‘coming’ was slightly untrue, given that just as the gold’s smooth tones slipped from Wridelth’s mind again, the touch one of definite maternal affection, Meira actually showed up. So no, not really coming so much as there. The goldrider had been in one of the patient’s rooms; not Healing, but checking up – and from her direction, she could see most of what was wrong. Not the knife itself, but the twisted ankle was obvious enough if you were looking for it, and the blood was definitely very visible, too. And why had she not called?

That was unimportant, though.

She didn’t bother with politeness, not when the girl was obviously limping. Meira moved across the room rapidly, one hand touching Syrene’s wrist in a brief warning before she slid her other arm under the girl’s, careful not to touch her side. “This way, please,” but it wasn’t really a request. “Try to keep your weight off your ankle, keep pressure where you’re bleeding, what else hurts?” Rapid-fire speech, why, yes. Unfazed by the blood that was leaking through her fingers – Meira had settled her hand low on Syrene’s side to avoid agitating the wound (she trusted the girl could keep pressure on it herself without the possibility of jarring it).

Distract the hatchling, please. Keep him updated, make sure he doesn’t panic.

The mental request was thrown over her shoulder at Jingth. The pale blue hatchling hadn’t looked like one to panic – and did not seem to be panicking now – but it was best to be sure. Hatchlings did seem to fear their Rider’s safety more than fully-matured dragons. Pain was a slightly surreal concept, after all, until it started leaking through bonds. And judging by the amount of blood, it was probably quite a bit of pain.

If you would remain here, Jingth requested politely of Wridelth, stretching like a lazy feline on the weyrledge. There is not space within, and Mine is more than capable of fixing Yours. I am certain Yours will keep you updated throughout the process, or I can provide you updates if you wish it. Might I inquire as to the circumstances of injury?

[Shiny]

Wridelth took a few steps in the wake of his stumbling Bonded, his normally calm aura slightly perturbed with concern. Tail hanging high in the air with wings spread just a little, the baby Blue tilted his head slightly at the voice of his mother, standing as if frozen in place. I have tried to install sense into her, but she refuses to regard my warnings,[/i] he replied to Jingth. Just as soon as the Gold warned him that Hers was on her way, she was there.

Syrene didn't notice the Goldrider approaching her until she felt the woman graze her hand in warning - to which she jumped and tried to pull away. Which failed, because the woman had her by the arm with her own. Still, she tried - weakly - to get the Goldrider to let go. "Nothing hurts. M'fine," she slurred, glaring at her. Well, in her general direction. It was a little hard to concentrate with trying to escape and talking and simply standing upright all at the same time. "Let go. Leave me be." And in response to her orders, "I know what to do. I'm not stupid". Maybe she was just in a more foul mood than normal because of her increasing light-headedness?

At the very least, Syrene planned to be as uncooperative as was humanly possible. That was, if this nameless woman wouldn't let her tend to herself. Which she didn't think was going to happen. Resistance it was, then.

Padding along quickly but silently, Wridelth fluidly made his way to the Infirmary's weyrledge, instantly spotting his mother's gleaming gold hide. Please do keep me updated. I doubt Mine wishes to bespeak me at the moment. If Wridelth felt any pain because of their bond, he didn't show it. He trotted gracefully to Jingth's side and lowered his rump, tail sliding across the rock to wrap around his side. The sharing of pain between those bonded is rather intriguing. Such a tying sensation, that.[/i] Tilting his head to look at Jingth's, he refolded his wings to his sides, trying to get more comfortable. An unfortunate accident, it was- Don't, Wridelth. Just don't. It's none of their business! Mine, it should not matter whether or not they know. They have the right to know, as you are being healed by my mother's Bonded.[/i] He paused a moment, getting no response from His. I apologize for my silence. Mine was attempting to silence my retelling of the story. In summary, Mine and I went hunting, and just as Mine was about to attack a fair-sized rodent, another attacked her and knocked her down. I managed to knock it off of her, but she twisted her ankle upon impact, and landed on her blade when she hit the ground. Needless to say, she had let down her guard at the most important striking opportunity – an illogical mistake to make. She is ashamed and does not want others to know.[/i]

Syrene growled between her rapid breathing, directing it at Wridelth. Her free hand came up to grab the woman's wrist tightly (which was not very tight, considering how dizzy she was becoming). "Let go."

[Avu]

“Are you trying to die?”

The goldrider’s glare was softened by the fact that Syrene was, after all, injured, and therefore, even if she didn’t want to admit it, a patient. And injuries in general were prone to making people illogical, she knew that. But just. Still. Glare was well-deserved. Meira tightened her grasp around Syrene, stubbornly shifting her weight backwards to keep the other girl from pulling away. The weakness of the struggles was alarming; she nearly twitched for the nearest vial of fellis and a needlethorn. Sedation wasn’t something she liked to resort too – took too long, for one, and the whole idea was vaguely nauseating – but if it was necessary…

It wasn’t, apparently. “With pleasure,” she murmured, crinkling her nose slightly, and then pulled Syrene into one of the closed-off rooms, directing the weyrlingrider onto the bed there. Fortunately, it was low enough that sitting on it wouldn’t require much effort – Meira didn’t think she’d be able to stand much longer. “Let me see.” She pulled gently at Syrene’s hands, pushing back the cloth of the weyrlingrider’s shirt as much as she dared, trying not to agitate the wound further. Too bad numbweed wouldn’t stick until the wound was cleaned…“Just this, and then your ankle? There wasn’t anything else…?”

And, um, wow…a knife. Meira blinked, swallowing. It was bleeding badly already, and the knife was going to have to be removed for the wound to be properly cleaned and dressed…

I have heard many tales that involve much more illogic, Jingth commented mildly at the end of Wridelth’s tale; the gold stretched, shifting sideways to give Wridelth more room. Yours is not the first to come due to such injuries, and I doubt she will be the last. Her eyes were calm – she trusted Hers implicitly. Wridelth’s, as far as she was concerned, was in no danger whatsoever of dying. Hurting, yes, but that was what happened when you landed on a knife. I am fairly impressed that she managed to make it back to the Weyr on her own…but then, she does not appear to be the kind to willingly accept aid. Prepare yourself, the gold added, Meira wishes to remove the knife and it will hurt.

That was exactly what Meira ‘wished’ to do. She’d gotten a twist of cloth and offered it silently to Syrene, indicating she bite on it to keep from biting her own tongue. Another cloth had been doused in redwort to ease infection and stop bleeding. “So ah – this knife is going to have to come out,” she told Syrene quietly. “It is going to hurt a lot, so…why don’t you bite on that, and nod when you’re ready…” Too bad they couldn’t use a tourniquet, too; this was going to hurt badly and there was sure to be a lot of blood loss. Judging by the angle and placement of the wound, though, it should have missed the organs, assuming the blade wasn’t longer than the hilt made it appear.

[Shiny]

Meira's rhetorical question went unnoticed and unanswered as Syrene moved to escape her. She grunted with frustration as the Goldrider shifted her weight to counter her attempt, weakly swaying (against her will) into her captor's intended path. Dragging her feet on the floor with exhaustion, she put what little trust she was able to muster in the Healer. She didn't know her way around the Infirmary in the least (this being her first visit and all), and she was too drained to do anything but be shepherded around blindly. Vaguely registering the subtle change in surroundings, she blinked when the back of her legs touched something.

Plopping down on the cot with the gracefulness of a Hatchling, Syrene hissed and straightened immediately. Doing such jarring actions with a blade stuck in your side was not really the smartest thing to do, and she knew it – she was just too tired to have taken better precaution. Although it had never stopped hurting, the searing pain was brought back twofold. She grit her teeth and blearily glared at the woman, then down at the woman’s hand as her clothes were gingerly shifted. “Don’t touch,” she hissed for the umpteenth time. Her nostrils flared at the Goldrider’s words. “Yes, that’s all that’s… wrong with me,” her pained sarcasm was venomous between her struggling breaths, words as sharp as the knife between her ribs. “If it’s not such a… big deal, then let me… deal with it.”

She knew she shouldn’t have listened to Wridelth and come to the Infirmary. This was a place for the sick and dying – she was neither of those, by her standards. You will die without blood. Please, delay Jingth’s no further.[/i] The warning was a pained blur in her mind. She stared up at the Goldrider’s face with unfocused dark brown eyes. Some of her eyeliner had smudged and run down her face with the uncontrolled tears that had leaked upon impact with the weapon. Normally this would upset her, but not dying was higher on the priority list than fixing her makeup.

Wridelth flared his wings to fold them comfortably against his back, thankful for the extra space Jingth was giving him. The tip of his tail flicked soundlessly against the flat rock of the ledge with the timing and exactness of a metronome. The determination of Mine, when she is affixed on something, cannot be bound by pain.[/i] His yellow-glazed eyes flashed a more opaque tint at the sudden increase in pain, tail flicking with just a little more energy in response. I apologize to Yours for the stubborn independence of Mine.[/i] Wridelth reached out to brush Syrene’s mind as the Gold gave a warning. If the forthcoming suffering will aid Mine in her wound-healing, I welcome it without resistance.[/i]

It took Syrene an extra moment longer to process the meaning of the twisted cloth handed to her. She took it from the Goldrider and put it in her mouth, teeth sinking into the cloth. She observed the Healer as she spoke, finding it a little hard to concentrate on what she was saying. She nudged the Goldrider’s hands away with her own and nodded, complying with what she had understood of Meira’s words. She was ready. With one swift movement, the Blueweyrling grabbed the hilt of the blade sticking through her ribs and yanked. Tears she didn’t know she possessed jumped to her eyes as she bit down hard on the cloth, trying her hardest to not scream. The pain throbbed through her side, sharp and agonizing enough to make her forget to breathe, enough to make her want to vomit up her insides.

Even with his above-average self-control, Wridelth seemed to crumple inwards, small body shaking. He curled his head down into his torso, wings and tail pressed tightly to his sides; the pain was great enough to make his limbs start to buckle. Still, somehow, he managed to stay sitting upright. Lifting his head just slightly from its tucked position, he gazed at the Gold blearily. What is occurring now, mothermine? Syrene is in much pain.[/i]

The blood on the blade in her hand dripped onto the floor slowly. Syrene’s weak grip slackened to let it fall numbly, the ringing clatter of metal against stone dulled by her intense physical anguish. Looking up at the Goldrider with eyes that refused to let the tears pooling in front of them fall and a face as pale as either of Pern’s moons, her lips twitched to form a small, delirious smile. See? She didn’t need help.

[Avu]

“No,” Meira replied simply, keeping her voice level. She had no desire to answer Syrene’s sarcasm with a similar response. The blueweyrling’s jerking the knife out so abruptly earned a flash of surprise and anger, though, Meira immediately pressing the cloth with the redwort on it against the wound as she bit her tongue against the instinctive reproof. Stupid of her to assume that the girl wouldn’t be delirious, but…still, yanking it out on her own had probably caused some excess ripping around the edges of the wound. “I need you to lie on your other side,” she said, instead, keeping the cloth tightly against Syrene’s side.

Easing one arm around Syrene’s shoulders, Meira pulled slightly, indicating that she should lay down. It would hurt, but hopefully less without the knife in the way of her movements, and it would slow the flow of blood, if only a little. “Just relax,” she went on, in a low undertone, applying more pressure to the wound. The cloth was starting to soak through. “Okay? You’ll be fine. I’ll put on some numbweed in a second…” Just as soon as the blood slowed enough to allow it. “And then we’ll get stitches and you’ll be good…might have to stay in the Infirmary a while, keep infection out, but that shouldn’t be long, you didn’t get any organs from what I can tell.”

The words were soft and soothing, completely at odds with her rapid-fire heartbeat. Calm – if the Healers weren’t calm the patients wouldn’t be, though Meira somewhat doubted that the current patient would follow standards anyway. Well, she seemed fairly out of it – it was entirely possible that she wouldn’t even be able to comprehend the words.

The knife has been removed, Jingth replied, and her voice was truly calm; the gold felt no pain and saw no reason to fear. Once the bleeding has stopped the numbweed will stick to the wound and Yours should not feel any more pain, and then the wound can be closed. She will, however, be required to remain at the Infirmary for a few days. Report given, Jingth turned and actually coiled herself around Wridelth, welcome or not. One wing draped across the small blue, her muzzle bumping against his side lightly.

Focus, Wridelth. Breathe. Concentrate. Pain is of the mind only, of nerve endings. You can sift through it and focus on Yours without feeling her spill if you believe you can. Her words were quiet, as soothing as Meira’s; simply because she could not really do anything about it – even the physical wrapping of her body around Wridelth’s would do little, only offer him something to feel that was not directly linked to Syrene – did not mean she bore Wridelth’s pain gladly. Quite the opposite, in fact – he was her baby, and even if he were not, that did not mean she wouldn’t offer the comfort.

[Shiny]

Syrene bit down as hard as she could against the fabric, compressing it as much as it would allow between her straining teeth. She could hear the Healer's voice but the words she spoke danced teasing circles around her, not coming close enough for her to understand their meaning. She no longer refrained from bottling up her reactions, for she didn't have the sense left to be anything but the pure definition of human. The twist she was biting mostly absorbed her soft cry at the sudden pressure of a cloth applied to her wound. She instantly complied with the arm that suggested she lie on her uninjured side, pain shooting through her as she maneuvered to do so. Her foot no longer bothered her due to the overwhelming pain from the more severe injury. She all but collapsed in the required position, completely exhausted and light-headed.

If she had been anything but completely out of it, she would have hated herself for letting someone else fix her up. But at the moment, Syrene was letting Meira do whatever she had to do without any sign of resistance. She was in too much pain to care anymore about her pride. Why couldn't the Goldrider put the numbweed on now? Syrene opened her jaw for a split second to let the twist of cloth fall from her mouth.

Anyone who knew the Blueweyrling would have agreed that yes, she was certainly delirious with what came out of her mouth next. It took her several tries to form the word, approaching the edge of passing out. "Th..... th..... thanks....." It was so weakly spoken that it was entirely possible Meira would miss it. Maybe the girl was capable of gratitude after all?

Wridelth's layers of eyelids opened to observe his mother painfully as she wrapped around him. Although the bond he shared with Syrene was causing him much discomfort, the close presence of the Gold certainly helped to distract him. He may not have opted for such a physical encounter in another situation, but he did not complain. After all, she was his mother, and if he loved anyone else in the universe besides his bonded, it would be her. Jingth's soothing voice washed over him gently, and he found the discomfort ebbing slightly. Pain is of the mind. he repeated without lilt. It is merely the transfer of various neurochemicals across synapses. He curled in tighter around himself and pressed against Jingth's side as he fell silent, concentrating on offering Syrene support.

[Avu]

The word, breathless and weak, almost did go unheard—Meira only heard the tail end of it, and she probably wouldn’t have responded if she hadn’t been of the opinion that hearing someone else speak was calming. “Anytime,” she murmured, turning the cloth over quickly to apply a clearer portion to the wound. “Just focus on breathing, okay?” It would almost be preferable that the girl did just pass out, for her own sake—though the blood flow was slowing dramatically with the application of real pressure now—whatever pain she was feeling couldn’t be pleasant, not to mention her hatchling dragon…Meira groped mentally for Jingth, felt the gold slide smooth and comforting against her mind.

Wridelth is coping admirably for one so young, soft, pride lacing the words. Meira didn’t spare a moment for anything but the surge of gratitude towards Jingth, wordless and a fraction of a second long. Then she leaned over to riffle through the cabinets until she felt the smooth jar of numbweed salve, pulling it out and unscrewing it with one hand—an awkward, slow process, but one worth the pressure it allowed her to keep on the wound with her other hand. The top clattered onto the counter, and she left it there, dabbing the edge of the cloth in the salve and then pressing it onto the wound.

“Should be better now,” she told Syrene, not even sure if the girl could understand her any longer. Meira wouldn’t be surprised if she were delirious with the pain already, “It should at least take the edge off…I’ll put more on as soon as it’ll stay on, okay?” One hand rose, squeezing Syrene’s shoulder lightly, comfortingly. “Just breathe…don’t worry about anything, Jingth and I can take care of Wridelth while you can’t, or you can make Candidates do it if you want…” She swallowed around the light tone in the last words, hoped Syrene was too out of it to hear the slight strain in her voice.

Exactly, Jingth agreed, not entirely sure what she’d just agreed to—she had no interest in the Healing arts and didn’t really know what pain was except bad, but if it helped Wridelth, she would lie, and lie with confidence. Her wing draped loosely across the small blue’s back, breath blowing warmly across his back, the gold tucking the hatchling closer to her side. The pain should fade. Meira has applied numbweed, which is very fast-acting, and as soon as the bleeding slows more she can put more on, too.