Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
|
Post by Avu on Apr 22, 2009 19:07:15 GMT -5
The scolding tone, far from making Oquith more hysterical, calmed the green, her rapid breathing slowing slightly as her head dropped against the brown's flank again. It was easier to concentrate -- Checkoth's emphatic statement soothed Oquith considerably. She really did consider it her fault -- because if she'd Risen a day earlier, or a day later, R'wign would not have been in Tr'esn's weyr right now. And if he hadn't been there, then he couldn't have been hurt. The near-panic -- she would have been waving her wings around to emphasize her point, had she not been curled, trembling, against Checkoth's side -- receded, dropping exponentially due to the disappearance of immediate danger to Hers. Her entire body loosened, the tense muscles drooping as she curled against Checkoth again, still trembling slightly. I'm not upset, she answered nervously, and then added, with a light nudge to Checkoth's shoulder in a show of obvious affection, I'm not scared anymore, either. Let's make room for Ours on the weyrledge? I want Mine close. And Yours, too. Because, yes: She did want R'wign nearby. He was safe, and Oquith wanted to make sure he was okay. Thus, he had to stay close. The four of them, curled up together on the 'ledge. The thought appealed to the green.
Tr'esn was still standing, watching R'wign numbly. He could make suggestions, but very rarely could the greenweyrling actually point-blank order for something to happen. It simply wasn't in his nature to do so. Not that the other weyrlingrider was in any shape to order anybody around, but he didn't seem to be delirious with the pain, which Tr'esn probably would be. The idea of loosing an eye made him queasy, and even watching it happen had nearly had Tr'esn in hysterics. It just wasn't...right. He couldn't do that, with a knife. The metallic thing gleamed, dangerous, sharp, and probably never to be used. Tr'esn didn't want to use it. The greenrider's lashes fluttered uncertainly as Oquith accidentally cut R'wign off, and the green crooned softly, apologetically, wriggling forward to poke her nose through the passageway leading to the weyr anxiously, nostrils flaring in anxiety. It smells like blood, she whispered nervously, mostly to herself, though she included brown dragon and weyrlingrider in the comment as well, as she rapidly pulled back again and burrowed against Checkoth's flank.
As R'wign began to speak again, Tr'esn nodded hesitantly, licking the blood off of his lip absently. Bandage off R'wign's eye...Tr'esn twitched slightly. Did...he have to do that? He couldn't handle it. What if he fainted? Ribs...he couldn't really do anything about, except...maybe wrap it around? What good that wound do, Tr'esn wasn't sure, but wasn't that what was typically done...? "I'm in a small single," he answered softly, "K'iel won't mind -- the bathingroom's through the door on the right." He gestured vaguely towards the right, and then added, "Um, yes...clothes...I'n find yours, if you want...?" He wasn't sure what R'wign had been wearing, before...but he didn't think the clothes could have gotten far. If worst came to worst, he'd have to lend R'wign his clothes. It wouldn't work out so well, since the brownweyrling was so much taller, but his clothes were usually too big on him, so they'd probably be just a bit too small on R'wign. And it really wasn't the most important thing, right now.
Drifting after R'wign, Tr'esn padded towards the bathingroom door and pushed it open, peeking in warily, half-expecting to see dead bodies, or Benden Riders (though why exactly they would be in an empty bathingroom, Tr'esn didn't know), but it was empty, almost peaceful. "Um...I'll probably be out on the weyrledge?" he offered uncertainly. "Just...just call, or something, if you need me..." Too much blood. His stomach was churning as the greenweyrling stepped sideways to leave the door open for R'wign, still holding the knife, mostly because he didn't know what else to do with it. Putting it down might just provide a Benden Rider with an unexpected new weapon, and leave him unarmed, and he didn't want that. As soon as he could curl up between Oquith's forelegs, everything would be better. By the time he'd found R'wign's pants (if he'd worn anything else, Tr'esn hadn't found it) and dropped them on the bed, the green had poked her nose through the passage again, crooning as Tr'esn pulled on his own clothes and then headed towards the weyrledge, still gingerly clasping the knife. As soon as he saw the green's muzzle, though, he dropped the knife and tore towards Oquith, throwing himself against the green's muzzle in a fierce hug.
Mine...Tr'esnloveMine...I'd never ever let you fall.
Now he was crying again, the panic that had welled up broke over, and Tr'esn buried his face into the green's soft hide, promising himself that by the time R'wign came out again, he'd have stopped crying. Which was a promise he'd almost certainly be unable to keep, unless the brownweyrling was ridiculously slow.
|
|
|
Post by glamourie on Apr 23, 2009 19:28:14 GMT -5
Checkoth crooned quietly to Oquith, then bobbed his head in the draconic version of a nod. All right. He was perfectly happy to make room for Theirs; it would give him time to nose at R’wignHis and check him over appropriately. Even though his rider swore up and down that he’d be fine, Checkoth wasn’t entirely convinced. He wouldn’t be until he had R’wign close to him, for him to protect for all time, and for once, he was quite willing to do exactly that. Most of his innocence was brushed away in the face of fear and anger - anger that anyone had dared to bring harm to R’wignHis. He wanted to make them pay, but he was sensible. The best thing he could do was stay and protect Oquith, Hers, and R’wignHis, and he’d do that sensationally. We should stay inside, not on the ledge itself. Inside they can’t see us as well, but we can see them. Nervously, Checkoth leaned over to nudge Oquith’s head. I’m sorry for snapping at you. He really was. He liked Oquith very much. He was just… frightened.
Quietly, R’wign followed Tr’esn to the entrance of the bathroom. Once there, he turned back to the greenrider and frowned. He seemed so skittish, in such a hurry to run - part of R’wign was hurt; was it because of how horrible he probably looked? He didn’t want to think of Tr’esn as frightened of him… and unfortunately, he did need some help. Not a lot, but some. “I can handle it,” he said softly, then bowed his head. Blood dripped down off of his jaw and splattered on the floor, reminding him of his own physical state. He’d have to make do. Forcing Tr’esn to watch him tend to his wounds seemed almost cruel. “You go on and stay with Oquith and Checkoth. I’ll be right out…” Or, well, it would take him a few moments… but he didn’t want to tell the greenrider what he intended to do. Somehow he suspected Tr’esn would not take kindly to the visual.
Stepping into the bathroom, R’wign crouched down. That one movement made him hiss in pain, but he looked around anyway. Most private weyrs had some basic first aid kits, and it didn’t take him long to locate the supply case that was K’iel and Tr’esn’s. Flipping it open, he removed the gauze and some clear mixtures. He held the mixture up to his nose to smell it and nodded to himself, then carefully held the end of the bottle to the gauze - to make sure he didn’t miss. He took a few moments to sterilize the material, then curled it into a tight ball and… literally shoved it into the eye socket. That one movement made him want to throw up, but fortunately R’wign did not do so. Once that was into place, he took extra bandages and wound them over his eye and around his head over the forehead; it was hard to do, considering he couldn’t see behind him, but… he didn’t have any extra help. He fastened it at the front with an adhesive, and once he was sure the bandages wouldn’t fall off, he rinsed his face. Then he moved over to the mirror in the bathing room.
Vanity took over for a split second, and R’wign swatted at his hair to push the strands down over his bandaged eye. The rest fell loosely around his neck. Already black and blue bruises were forming on his jaw, and it was stiff; definitely not a comfortable feeling. He could see bruising around his chest, too, and when he leaned over to spit, there was blood. Odds were, one of his ribs had grazed his lung. There were only a couple people he’d trust to help him with that injury and Kalierre was chief among them, but he had no idea where she was, or if she was even still alive. The thought made his blood run cold. Religna wasn’t still alive. Where was Marra? He needed to get back to his weyr to find her, make sure she was all right at least. K’lir? Kalierre? Their patients, the healers? Kalerary. His stomach twisted uncomfortably in nervousness. He needed to do something about her.
Checkoth’s curiosity brushed his mind, and R’wign mentally reassured him again. The brown was worried about him for obvious reasons and though he wanted nothing more than to curl up with Checkoth… he couldn’t. He had to go find Kalerary.
Stepping out of the bathroom, R’wign hobbled over to the bed where Tr’esn left his pants and pulled them on quickly. Then he turned his head completely to look at the dragons. Swallowing thickly, he walked over and leaned against Checkoth, one hand stroking the dragon’s leg comfortingly. To the greenrider he spoke, and his voice was very resigned, “I have to go after Kalerary, Tr’esn; she put herself in danger trying to save us, and I can’t leave her.” He sounded better, after bandaging himself up. It felt better, too, surprisingly enough. No more blood dripping down his front. He wasn’t terribly worried; Tr’esn had the dragons if he wanted to stay. It was his choice… but R’wign lingered, waiting; the greenrider could decide whether he wanted to come or not. It would be dangerous, but then, so was Selenitas in general anymore.
|
|
Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
|
Post by Avu on Apr 24, 2009 16:39:08 GMT -5
Inside.
Yes. Inside sounded good. Oquith crooned, and then rose, nudging Tr'esn with her nose lightly. It's nicer inside, the green agreed, nudging Checkoth's shoulder before she padded towards the weyr's interior, glancing behind her to make sure Checkoth was okay, nervously, before she curled up on the edge of the stone dragon couch, crooning lightly. Check? she queried lightly, peering out onto the weyrledge. A flick sent her tail skimming across the smooth stone to curl around her haunches nervously, head dropping to the slight incline, wings folded over her back as Tr'esn followed her numbly, along the wall, to leave room for Checkoth to come in without having to wait for him and/or squash him. The greenrider was rubbing his eyes wearily, his shoulders drooping as he blinked against the tears that were more hysteria than actual fear. It was over. But he was definitely getting nightmares the next time he slept, and he didn't want to face anything, much less Benden. As he passed the place he'd dropped the knife, the greenweyrling automatically stooped to pick it up, and, turning the handle over and over in his hands, flopped down next to Oquith, crossing his legs and tucking himself more tightly into the green's hide.
He was mostly just sleepy, now. Between nearly hyperventilating, crying, and panicking, he was decidedly weary, and, pressed against Oquith, the green's tail snaking lovingly around him, one wing drooping lightly next to him, instead of wanting to defend his Weyr, Tr'esn just wanted to sleep. Maybe when he woke up, it would all be over. The Weyr would be restored to functioning order, and he didn't have to take part in the terror, the blood and the loss, didn't have to acknowledge the keening shrieks when dragons' riders died, and the dragons -- Benden or Selenitas? He couldn't tell, and Oquith only shuddered lightly when the sounds were heard, and didn't tell him. Possibly she didn't know -- went between -- and didn't have to face the potential of loosing Oquith. Or himself. Or Moth, who...was...where? Tr'esn sighed, closing his eyes. If he tried really hard, he could just imagine that the Weyr was safe. Another low keening cry, and the corresponding shudder made Tr'esn squirm backwards against Oquith again. One of...ours?
I can't tell. R'wignCheck's is here. Had she changed the subject on purpose? Tr'esn didn't bother pressing, turning his head to smile faintly at the brownweyrling, who was...much less bloody. He looked...not good, but considering that he'd just had one eye forcibly removed? -- okay. His words had the smile fading, though, and Tr'esn exhaled wearily, closing his eyes and leaning against Oquith's leg. Yes. The girl, Kalerary. They...couldn't just leave her. She had to be -- like, eight? Nine? It would be downright immoral, to leave her, and he couldn't let R'wign just take off alone. He'd already been hurt, and Tr'esn didn't want to leave him. He liked the brownweyrling. Grinding his teeth together, the greenrider shrugged one shoulder, rubbing the hilt of the knife along his thigh absently as he bit his lip, meeting R'wign's eye -- yes, singular -- and then glancing at Oquith, the green's eyes rapidly whirling. Distress flickered along those jewel-faceted eyes, and her tail flicked nervously.
Would you mind? he asked softly. You'll get hurt. R'wignCheck's will get hurt. Must you go? But the argument was weak, and the green exhaled softly, withdrawing her wing from her Rider. Please don't get hurt, she implored, to both R'wign and Tr'esn, licking the greenweyrling and then leaning over to nudge R'wign's arm lightly. No hurting, please don't...
Tr'esn leaned against Oquith for another second, and then scrambled upright, holding the knife in what he hoped was the proper grasp, fingers wrapped around it and thumb meeting his forefinger, and then an almost scolding note entered his voice. "You'll get yourself killed, alone. Especially if you don't have a -- a knife." The stutter was involuntary, and Tr'esn couldn't help the convulsive swallow. Exactly how did he plan on killing someone...? "I'm coming," he added, almost too quickly, eager to get the words out so he couldn't retract the promise and rethink it. "...please? I can't just...just sit and not know..." he added, almost despairing now. True, Checkoth would probably have to stay, but he still couldn't do it. He just couldn't.
|
|
|
Post by glamourie on Apr 25, 2009 3:17:53 GMT -5
R’wign’s proximity had a noticeable effect on Checkoth. The brown moved in closer to Oquith but his attention was on his rider, who he tugged closer by the waistband of his pants. Possessively, the brown curled his neck around R’wign and crooned low in his throat; the sound was half-reassuring and half-upset, very obviously gratified to have his rider close to him again. He nosed at R’wign carefully, prodding with the end of his snout to make sure his bonded was there, real, alive. The worried shades in his eyes were starting to diminish - starting. But he was still upset, that much obvious from the way that he fussed, and only once he was smashing R’wign’s entire body against part of his was he happy. He was close enough that he could protect him, yes he could; he could keep R’wignHis and Oquith and Hers safe from harm and it would be good. The brown crooned, his spirits boosted, and leaned over to nudge Oquith’s with the same level of affection. In the dragon’s mind, they were all his, at least for the moment. Once everything calmed down, he’d relax. Until then? He was very, very protective.
And R’wign was talking about leaving! Visibly tensing, Checkoth snatched the waist of R’wign’s pants more firmly and held on, his eyes whirling again. Oquith, Oquith, tell them not to go, they can’t go. If they go they’ll get hurt again. If they stay we can protect them. Broadcasting for all three of the others to hear, Checkoth thrashed his two tails in alarm. Then to R’wign alone, he said nervously, R’wignmine, R’wignmine, I’m afraid. You hurt. You’re upset, and you’re hurt, and I don’t want you going anywhere without me. Tr’esnQui’s can’t keep you safe like I can, no one can. I want to keep you two safe. Please R’wignmine. Was he begging? Definitely. The idea of R’wignHis leaving terrified Checkoth, and it took all of his effort not to shake in fear. Already he was hurt. He didn’t want him to be hurting any more.
The healer glanced with his good eye at Checkoth and lifted one hand to stroke his nose reassuringly. However, Tr’esn’s response had him cocking his head to the side in surprise. He’d expected the greenrider to want to stay put - stay where he’d be safe - and R’wign honestly wouldn’t have blamed him were that the case. Selenitas was very far from safe. However, he couldn’t very well demand that he stay. He wanted to, but in Tr’esn’s position, he wouldn’t have wanted to be left alone… and he thought that the greenrider would be more useful with him than him wandering alone anyway. Safety in numbers and all that. Oh, who was he fooling? He just didn’t want to be left alone. He was scared, and understandably so. After what had just happened, any other reaction would’ve been foolish. He was also very scared for Tr’esn’s safety, though.
“We need to change our clothes and get more supplies,” R’wign said softly, then looked at Checkoth and Oquith. Kalerary was heading to the barracks. That was what his fire lizards were showing him. He knew the direction even in the dark, even with poor flit vision. He was that familiar with the layout of Selenitas. Sneaking out at night wasn’t exactly a new hobby of his. “I want to check my weyr for --” For his weyrmate. Or girlfriend. Whatever word fit what Marra was. He was frightened as much for her safety as he was for Tr’esn’s. “I want to check on Marra, and I have a lot of healing supplies there. My fire lizards are showing me Kalerary near the Weyrling Barracks. If you want to come, you can -- but we’re going to be running right to the outskirts of the fighting, and I won’t blame you if you’d rather stay here where it’s safe… Checkoth wants us to stay here, he’s scared.” R’wign rubbed his hand over the dragon’s flank and bowed his head. “I can’t just stay, though. I want to, but… I’m a healer, and one of the highest ranking ones in Selenitas. Kalierre’s probably at the Infirmary and they’re under attack. Someone needs to go to the barracks to help. I - If you want to come, I won’t tell you not to, and I’ll see to it that we both stay as safe as I can… but Tr’esn, it’s going to be dangerous.”
The unspoken worry that they could die hung in the air. But then, were they really safe in the rider weyrs? If Benden took Selenitas over, no one was safe. At least near the fighting he could do something about it… hopefully… maybe… and Kalerary was there; he had to find her. He owed her that much…
|
|
Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
|
Post by Avu on Apr 25, 2009 11:00:27 GMT -5
Tr'esn had noticed Checkoth's fussing over R'wign, and it was only because of Oquith's desire to do the same that he managed not to do the same to the brownweyrling. He didn't know how else to express his anxiety: He was worried. The brown's nudge to his arm drew a small smile from the greenrider as Oquith crooned quietly, her head rubbing against the entire length of his body possessively. What the green dragon really wanted to do was hold him firmly in place between her forepaws and just lick him, like a canine with a bone, nuzzle him and keep him there. But that was the selfish, panicking part of her. If R'wignCheck's was determined to go, then Tr'esnHers would want to go. It made sense. If anything happened to the brownweyrling because Tr'esn had been too terrified to leave Oquith, he would take it as his fault. At least if he was there, he might be able to justify that guilt, or cancel it out entirely. Self-deprecating, was Tr'esn, and Oquith didn't want him to blame himself for R'wignCheck's being hurt. And -- as if he needed another reason -- he was worried about Kalerary, too. He didn't know the girl, but she was a child, and the Bendenite would hurt her, and that might be his fault, too. Even though it really wasn't.
The green crooned nervously, pressing against Checkoth and drawing Tr'esn along for the ride at his words. I don't want them to go, she added, though she already knew it was no good; she accepted that. It didn't stop her from fretting, though. But Mine doesn't want to leave Yours, and the hatchling, she might be hurt and Mine doesn't want that, and Check, she's just a hatchling, she'll get hurt. Her tail flicked against the stone couch again, the tip lashing spasmodically against the wall as she squirmed slightly, her gaze flickering out to the 'ledge again as another dragon's shriek rang out -- another -- and yet another -- as their Riders died. And it was raining, and the rain was good, carrying away the scent of death and replacing it with a freshness. The rain was lying, because it wasn't fresh. It was still death and pain. Oquith whined softly, covering her head with one wing and pressing it against Checkoth's shoulder again, chin resting on the stone couch. They will -- they can -- take care of each other. And the green's was nice. Maybe there will be more nice ones... At least they weren't up against utterly impossible odds. There were other people. Other Selenitas Riders. They would help.
Hugging Oquith again, loathe to leave the green, and aware of a sinking, terrified feeling in his stomach again, Tr'esn dropped his gaze uneasily. Too late to back out. He'd -- he'd as good as promised, and he was terrified, but he'd hold out. He would. Some part of him, a selfish, childish part that wanted to curl up and make it all go away, half-wished that R'wign would tell him to stay. But Tr'esn was almost instantly appalled by the thought, and bit his lip, nodding nervously as R'wign began to speak. Supplies. He was okay with that, but...what supplies? Healing supplies? Or more knives, or what? The last thought drew another nervous twist of his stomach, and he was extremely aware of the knife in his hand. R'wign's weyr. Which level was that on? Which room? He'd never been before, and it might take awhile, navigating the hallways, without Oquith and Checkoth to just take them directly down there. And it would be dangerous, with people like that Bendenite running around. They probably didn't all have sympathetic sidekicks.
But the brownweyrling...was giving him the option of staying, and Oquith was almost pleading with him to take it, and she could sit on R'wignCheck's, and then he would have to stay and they could all be safe. But he swallowed around the lump in his throat, still leaning against the green's shoulder, and shrugged one shoulder weakly. "I can't -- can't just sit here," he stammered after a moment. "It's -- I mean, I know it's dangerous, but I can't..." One shoulder half-rose helplessly; he couldn't explain. He just couldn't. But he did know that he'd be less likely to panic following instructions, doing something than just lolling around, doing nothing, waiting for someone else to fight a battle that might have been his to fight. "I -- don't know the way to your weyr," he finished, reluctantly pushing Oquith's wing away from him and rising to his feet, hesitating as he raised the blade towards R'wign uncertainly. "Do you want the -- it? I can't use it..."
As soon as he'd gotten up, Moth had finally skittered into the room. Her nose was twitching in curiosity, eyes round as they flickered uncomprehendingly from Tr'esn to R'wign to the two dragons, and then the feline, utterly unhurt and completely oblivious, ambled shamelessly over to crawl onto Oquith's back, flopping down there and curling up as the green crooned anxiously, head lowered to nudge R'wign lightly. R'wignCheck's, please please don't let Mine get hurt. Please don't.
|
|
|
Post by glamourie on Apr 27, 2009 3:44:03 GMT -5
Checkoth creeled quietly. It was a very unhappy sound, but also resigned; he knew R’wignHis. Even if he didn’t want him to go, even if he begged and pleaded, he would. R’wignHis took responsibility very seriously, and if he thought he was needed somewhere, he’d go there -- no matter how much he fussed. He’d learned that early, due to how often he’d opposed R’wignHis going to the SmellyPlace. No matter how often he begged, reasoned and pleaded, R’wignHis always went, always. “People need me there, Check,” he’d say and Checkoth would argue that he needed him, too, and wasn’t he important enough? But R’wignHis would simply insist that he became a healer to save lives, and that he (Checkoth) could play outside, he’d come out on breaks and play with him when his shift was over. Eventually, the brown had given up pleading with him, but he didn’t like it. R’wignHis was very stubborn. If he thought the hatchling needed him, he’d go for her, and no amount of pleading and begging would stop him… because R’wignHis always did what he believed was the right thing to do. It was one of his favorite traits, but sometimes Checkoth found that same virtue in His very frustrating. Like right then. The idea of His going out in the fighting made him want to sit on R’wign to prevent him from doing so. It just wasn’t safe!
The green’s words calmed him… significantly. Surprisingly enough, it made him feel much better to believe Hers was going with. Surely Oquith’s wouldn’t let R’wignHis get hurt too badly…? (Since R’wignHis didn’t blame Oquith’s for his injuries, neither did Checkoth. He was very much in tune with his bonded in that regard. So long as R’wign was okay with something, so was he. Checkoth trusted his bonded’s judgment in everything… or he tried to. Nothing to quell the mild fear he felt, but… maybe most of the others weren’t inside? Selfishly, the brown hoped that all the attackers were focused elsewhere and not where His and Oquith’s could get hurt.
Maybe, Checkoth agreed, leaning over to nuzzle Oquith. R’wignMine is determined to go anyway. He thinks they can save lives if they go. He wants to save lives. He says it’s why he became a healer -- to make sure others don’t hurt anymore… Maybe, maybe they’ll be okay, and they’ll be able to help others. And we can stay here, and keep each other safe in the meantime. R’wignMine says I should make sure nothing happens to you, because Yours would be devastated if something did. Just like he wants to protect Yours too. Thoughtfully, the brown twitched one of his tails. Oquith… after all of this is over, we need to be friends, not just classmates. That was a very sincere statement -- Checkoth wanted to talk to Oquith more. She seemed so smart… and he was sad that he didn’t get to know her before His got hurt.
R’wign blinked at the offered blade, his right eyebrow raising inquisitively. If not for the bandages, Tr’esn would probably have noticed the left one went up too. His expression was baffled, and he backed away from the blade as if burned. Daggers were not one of his favorite things. He didn’t like them - plain and simple. He was a healer to save lives, not take them, and he meant that. The idea of fighting to - to kill someone…? The very prospect made him want to vomit. He thought he’d rather die instead. He wasn’t a killer, he just wasn’t. No part of R’wign liked seeing anyone hurting, and in his mind, fixing them meant everything. He looked at the blade as if it was some doused in some kind of plague. It wasn’t just his life anymore, though. He couldn’t just stubbornly refuse it, could he…? Not with Checkoth, his fire lizards, and even Tr’esn counting on him. Nervous, R’wign gently reached over to remove the dagger from Tr’esn’s hand and frowned.
“Hopefully neither one of us will have to.” He meant that. He wasn’t entirely sure he could. All of his friends were fighters. M’ta. Ka’rys. Even Kalierre. But R’wign WASN’T. He just wasn’t. In a pinch he tended to improvise and hope for the best. Hence the reason he had so many scars lining his abdomen. It certainly wasn’t because he liked wrestling with felines. “But I’ll take it in case we do. You don’t have to use it.” If it came down to it -- he’d be the one to use the blade. He’d keep Tr’esn safe if he had to, even if that meant from the guilt that came with - with taking a life. R’wign’s stomach twisted uncomfortably again. He didn’t even like considering that idea.
Oquith’s voice surprised him and he turned his head completely to look at her before leaning over to actually kiss the end of the green’s snout, in what was obviously a show of affection. “I promise you, Oquith, I won’t let anything happen to Tr’esn. Try not to worry yourself sick, please?” His head tilted upward and he nodded to Moth. “Keep the place safe, would you?” A joke? Amidst a stressful discussion? Would it be R’wign if he didn’t?
Turning back to Tr’esn, R’wign swapped the blade to his left hand and then took the other boy’s in his right. It wasn’t an affectionate gesture so much as practical; best to stay close. “My room’s right next to M’ta’s, it’s not far. It’s on the third floor, large singles.” All brown riders had large singles, as far as he knew. Checkoth was a decent-sized dragon too, which had to be factored into the equation. “We’ll move quickly. Just stay behind me, okay?” Rather than wait for a reply, he turned on his toes and moved out the door and into the hallway… but quickly. Quick and efficient. The faster they got out of the open, the better they’d be. That was what that woman said, right?
|
|
Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
|
Post by Avu on Apr 27, 2009 17:04:59 GMT -5
It felt much, much safer inside. The stone couch wasn't wet like the weyrledge was, and the familiar scent of Hers and the Mothfeline were strong, and there were walls on all sides and Checkoth on the other. Oquith's muzzle came to rest over one side of her foreleg, her eye ridges pressed against Checkoth, and she didn't move as her eyes -- all three sets of lids -- closed, squeezed tightly shut. She didn't know if she dreamt and Tr'esn tuned in on her, or vice versa, or if the other just knew what they were dreaming -- but either way, the green was sure there would be ghosts in her dreams, that night. Who had died? If the Weyrling Barracks had been hit, then the Junior Weyrling had probably suffered, and the Infirmary...did she know any of the dragons that had died? Wymeth -- Qualuth -- and Behruth -- ? They were okay? At least she knew Checkoth was okay; that knowledge made Oquith feel immeasurably better. If Checkoth was okay, then why not the others?
Inhaling deeply against the brown's hide in an attempt to calm herself, Oquith crooned weakly. Nobody will hurt us, the green commented softly, echoing Tr'esn's attempts at soothing the green: They've already sent someone. They won't send someone else to cover this same area again, and I feel safe, now. And Ours...Ours can -- they'll be fine. She couldn't be as sure about Tr'esn and R'wign being safe as she could about Checkoth and herself, and her voice was definitely weak, nervous. But it was all she could say. And Checkoth -- he was nice; he would understand. His statement, seemingly random, drew a stronger croon from the green, and her nose pressed lightly against the brown's hide affectionately. I will always be your friend, Check, the green promised. Right now, and after this, too. And truly, it was a promise -- one Oquith would have absolutely no problem keeping. She liked Checkoth. He was safety and stability, right now when her whole world had been shaken and uprooted, and when Oquith formed affections, they typically lasted. For example, she still remembered Ebolath, and her meeting with the younger green had been extremely brief, and curious, to be sure, chasing after a runaway hen as they had.
The way R'wign was looking at the knife only intensified the desire rising in Tr'esn to just drop the thing. It was sharp -- and he would vomit on the spot if he actually killed someone. He couldn't stand it, and he doubted Oquith would like it, either. The green killed herdbeasts on a weekly basis for food -- herdbeasts, runners, and wherries -- but killing a person, a person who was intelligent, a person who might have been forced into coming and had had no choice -- it was a sickening thought. He nearly retracted the blade, started to say that they could just leave it behind, but R'wign had already taken it from him. Gingerly, to be sure, but at least it was no longer in his grasp, and the greenrider rubbed his fingers roughly against his pant leg, biting his lip. It was -- it went against his nature, to even consider killing someone. He was used to obeying, and to kill someone would be to blatantly disregard what they wished for him to do, even if they never actually vocalized that desire. Not that R'wign looked any happier at the thought of using the knife. Maybe they should just leave it behind, but -- just in case -- it was probably better to have it on hand.
The brownweyrling's statements drew a nervous nod from Tr'esn, and he nearly bit his lip. He felt bad for foisting off the duty of potential killer on R'wign, and he almost offered to take it back, since it was he who had been given the knife to begin with. But -- more sensibly -- he knew that he couldn't do it. He was simply, physically, incapable of forcing himself to kill someone. He'd freeze, and they'd die. So Tr'esn merely nodded, silently watching as R'wign turned and kissed Oquith on her nose, the green crooning softly in response, clearly trusting the brownweyrling. She trusted Checkoth, and, by extension, she trusted R'wign: If he said he wouldn't let Hers get hurt, then Oquith trusted that he would make sure that Hers wouldn't. He wouldn't say it if he didn't mean it. The feline on her back stretched out a little more, yawning at the brownweyrling's comment, and Tr'esn chuckled at the joke. Humor -- was good. It made things feel easier, better. But it didn't help the nervous twist of his stomach, still.
As R'wign took his hand, Tr'esn moved automatically closer to his side, canine-like, and nodded as he tried to pinpoint mentally R'wign's weyr. Next to M'ta's -- he didn't know where that was; perhaps Oquith knew, but the green wasn't trying to remember and he didn't want to make her worry again. Obediently, he nodded, and as R'wign moved, Tr'esn was on his heels, into the hallway. He wished he could have locked the door -- it would ensure Oquith being safe -- completely safe, unless someone tried to barge through a locked door -- but she had Checkoth and she was a dragon, and they might have to run back into his weyr again if fate chose not to favor them, and it would be quicker if it wasn't locked.
|
|
|
Post by glamourie on Apr 29, 2009 10:02:10 GMT -5
Oquith’s words were comforting, and despite the nervousness he felt, the brown crooned. Her touch made him wiggle slightly, and he turned his head to get a better look at her before resting it against the green’s back. Checkoth was scared, yes, but Oquith sounded sure, and if she was sure, he would be, too. R’wignHis was confident they would be all right, and he did his best to believe that, too. He owed it to R’wignHis to try, at least. There was some merit in the green’s words as well. If someone had been sent already to look through the rider weyrs, maybe, just maybe, everyone was gone -- everyone was gone and R’wignHis and Tr’esnOquith’s would be safe. The brown did his best to focus on that - and the fact that Oquith said she wanted to be his friend; no, she said she was his friend. It made him feel slightly better to believe that she didn’t dislike him. Some part of Checkoth was genuinely worried that Oquith was mad at him -- mad because he’d failed to protect R’wignHis from getting hurt, and surely Hers was upset, too. He didn’t want Oquith to be mad at him.
The dragon watched as his rider left the weyr, and he did his best not to worry too much. Unfortunately, with Selenitas under attack, trying to block out the worry was like trying to live without breathing: it didn’t work all that well. His tails twitched animatedly, despite himself, but he did stop talking… at least, for the moment. He was trying to focus his attention on anything but what was happening all around. The sound of keening and dragon screaming was enough to make Checkoth want to curl into a ball and hide. It took all of his effort not to wonder how many of the dragons vanishing between he knew… how many of them were from Selenitas. He was too afraid to speak to check on those closest to him. Part of Check didn’t really want to know.
Leaving the weyr wasn’t easy. Going back out into the hallway made R’wign’s stomach turn. The blood splatters on the floor were still wet, unmistakable even in the night’s darkness. It took all of his effort not to turn and be sick in response to the sight. Instead of focusing on that, R’wign moved to the wall and started in the direction of his weyr. He chose to stay near the wall because it kept him balanced; he was able to brace himself with one hand, while the other held onto Tr’esn. His depth perception was way, way off, and in the darkness, he honestly had no idea where he was going. It was a miracle in some ways that he managed to make it without falling on his face, but he did. Slow though the walk was (and silent; R’wign didn’t want to draw any attention to himself), they managed to make it down the floors to the weyrs where all the brown weyrlings and most of the bronze riders were housed. Outside his weyr, R’wign turned to look at Tr’esn, having to completely turn around in order to see the other boy.
“Just so you know -- I’m not really sure how Marra’ll react to being woken up. If anything goes flying, duck?”
The worry he felt for her was almost nauseating, but R’wign managed (barely) to keep his cool. The silence was painful and he had a very bad feeling about going inside, but… they couldn’t very well wait in the hallway. He forced a reassuring smile onto his face, trying to hide how anxious he was, and R’wign slipped into the doorway of his weyr. One hand smacked around for the glow basket, and when he found it, he pushed it open to light up the darkness. And then he jolted backwards in revulsion.
It was very obvious his weyr was tampered with. Aside from the furs strung everywhere (and though he was disorganized, R’wign usually had the decency to keep the bedding on the bed), there was also a large amount of blood on the floor, trailing toward the bathing caverns. Various objects were strewn across the floor haphazardly, and even someone not versed in destructive scenes could make out that the place was the source of a struggle. R’wign turned his head toward Tr’esn, tossed the dagger onto his furs, and then released the greenrider’s wrist to move over toward the bathing cavern. Each movement was very tense; there was no denying the anxiety in his posture. R’wign gestured vaguely at the trunk at the end of the bed (which was suspiciously absent of blood) to draw the other boy’s attention away from him - and the blood trail.
“Healing supplies will be in there.” He didn’t ask Tr’esn to come with him. The trail of blood was ominous enough; he didn’t want Tr’esn to come in if Marra was in there… if she was still alive, she’d be enraged he let someone else see her hurting, and if she wasn’t… if she wasn’t, R’wign doubted that Tr’esn really wanted to know. “In a large black bag. Can you get it out please? And some extra clothes…?”
|
|
Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
|
Post by Avu on Apr 29, 2009 19:34:31 GMT -5
The brown's croon was taken to mean by Oquith that he believed her -- which was, to be truthful, more than Oquith did. Her words rang hollow to her. Anything could happen, anything at all, and she wanted to hide -- but Hers had to be hiding with her for Oquith to be entirely happy, and he couldn't be. So the next best thing was staying so closely pressed against his mind that absolutely nothing could happen to him that she didn't immediately know about: She couldn't stand the idea of not knowing. The green's head nuzzled closer to Checkoth's dark hide, her eyes closing, not out of exhaustion but because it was easier to see from Tr'esn's eyes when she closed her own than if hers were open -- in the latter case, it always felt like there were two images, one faintly transparent, overlaid on top of the other, and right now, that would distract her to no end. Checkoth's not speaking to her helped her concentration, too, and for a moment, Oquith was completely still: A statue, not even her tail twitching. And then another dragon's agonized shriek split the air: A bellow, a deathcry, and a shudder ran the entire length of the green's body, eyes squeezing shut even tighter as a soft whine left her throat.
Moth, on the other hand, was completely unworried about Tr'esn, R'wign, or Selenitas in general, and it was almost comical, how relaxed the feline was as she lolled over Oquith's back, nuzzling the green's hide cheerfully and mrowling in the silence -- mostly to herself. Her tailtip twitched lightly, flicking like a feather duster across Oquith's softly gleaming hide, and green eyes narrowed thoughtfully. The big brown was unfamiliar to her, he was, and Oquith didn't want to make him mad by stepping on him like she did Oquith: She knew Oquith didn't mind. But the loud noises outside -- and the twitch beneath her -- scared the feline, and Moth hissed, fur standing on end as a shriek sounded deafeningly close: One of the Riders whose dragons was still on the ledge had been killed. A white bolt of fur disappeared beneath Checkoth's wing, squirming in between Oquith and Checkoth, the feline crouching there without a thought that she might be neatly squashed if one of the dragons rolled over.
It was safe -- away from those nasty, loud noises!
Blood. All over the hallways: Deep and dark and red, some of it sticky and some of it still pooling in its freshness. The sight earned a shuddering breath from Tr'esn, the greenweyrling's grasp on R'wign's hand tightening involuntarily as he edged forward nervously, closer to the brownrider. Whose blood? There were no bodies -- no bodies: Were they just badly hurt, then? He wanted to call out, to see if people were hiding, hurting, alone, but he didn't dare lest he attract unwanted attention as well as the attention of the potentially hurt. But if they'd been so badly hurt -- it stood to reason that they'd just been killed: What did Benden want with just hurting people? In cold logic, it made more sense to kill than to just hurt. Another shudder slid down the greenweyrling's spine: the walk was so slow that Tr'esn felt the need to run, to panic, rise up inside of him. He took another deep gulp of air to settle himself, edging closer still to R'wign and flicking a nervous glance behind him to make sure nobody had crawled up behind him -- though Tr'esn wasn't entirely sure if he'd panic more at the sight of a blood-covered Selenitas Rider or a murderous Bendenite. Both would be certain to inspire beautiful nightmares.
When R'wign stopped, Tr'esn nearly ran into him -- and at his statement, the greenrider merely stared, eyes rounding. Throw something -- upset -- what? He merely nodded, though, and then shuffled warily after R'wign, deliberately placing the other boy between himself and whatever lurked in the weyr beyond, though it was less out of fear for Bendenites and more out of fear of being knocked unconscious by R'wign's girlfriend. That...would not be fun. He couldn't help peeking around R'wign's shoulder as the brownweyrling managed to use the glows to light up the weyr, though -- and he promptly recoiled, nearly stepping out of the weyr entirely in his panic. Worse than a dead body was the blood: All over. Everything was messed up -- was R'wign usually this messy, or was it -- something else? And the bathingroom...Tr'esn already knew he didn't want to go in there. He didn't. He'd rather stay alone in the hallway than go into the bathingroom: That was where the blood led.
The brownweyrling's request drew a faint nod from Tr'esn, and he moved obediently towards the trunk, flipping it open and concentrating intently on only the trunk as bile rose in his throat: He wanted to throw up. As he fumbld for the black bag in question, drawing it out and curling it into his lap before he absently pulled out clothes at random -- he got a shirt -- pants -- shoes, he thought -- and then laid them out in his lap, too, he gritted his teeth. "Is she -- is she okay?" His voice broke halfway and Tr'esn couldn't help the tremble in his tone. Half of him didn't want to know...
|
|
|
Post by glamourie on May 2, 2009 3:55:27 GMT -5
The almost painful stillness with which Oquith sat was alarming to him - mainly because Checkoth was constantly in motion, from gentle twitching of his tail to rattling of his claws, or slight twitches to his wings. He couldn’t hold still to save his life, and rarely bothered to try. He did try to hold still, though, save for nuzzling at the green’s neck (and all but ignoring the feline any longer); he was hoping to comfort, though whether or not that would succeed was unclear. The noises frightened him, but he was doing his best to tune them out - tune out everything but the sounds of mewling coming from on Oquith. Then all at once those mewling noises moved and a bolt of movement had Checkoth lifting his head and swiveling it around and down until he could get a good look at the furball lying next to him. Rumbling low in his throat, the dragon leaned down to nudge the feline with the end of his nose, ever-so-gently. Frightened Mothfeline, poor thing; he would protect her, he would. R’wignHis liked her, and he didn’t like felines very often because some of the big felines had hurt him before. This one was special. Even the Elliegold liked her. That made her worth protecting.
In his weyr, R’wign stood frozen just inside the entrance of the bathing cavern. His back was to Tr’esn and the entrance, and it was a very good thing, because he was pale as a ghost. His skin went perfect white, quite the contrast to his normally dark tan, and his dark green eye that remained was approximately the size of a small saucer. One hand actually moved up to the door frame and then he stumbled, just out of sight. His other hand covered his mouth as he braced himself on the back wall, and it took all of his effort not to throw up on the spot. Being out of sight helped to hide how nauseous he felt - and looked. His discomfort spread over to Checkoth, and even the brown’s attempts at comforting him were ill-received; R’wign didn’t want comfort, not in that moment. All he wanted was to slide down the wall and fall apart into a thousand pieces, mentally, emotionally, and physically.
Because everything wasn’t all right. The form on the floor was bloodied beyond recognition, but it didn’t take a genius to identify the mass of dark hair. No fire lizards; no doubt Mona was gone between. Face-down, only sleeping clothes and blood showed, along with the hair. R’wign collapsed down onto his knees, unable to help himself, and crawled across the floor. His entire body shook, half from fear, half from sorrow, and he reached one hand nervously toward her shoulder only to be interrupted -- by speaking. Tr’esn’s voice made him jump back and he choked, blood splattering down his chin. His hand also jerked back, but for a brief second he was grateful. He didn’t reply out loud, though. Words failed him in that moment, perhaps for an understandable reason: it didn’t take a healer to identify an obviously dead body.
Despite himself and the terror he felt at the very thought, R’wign reached out and shook her shoulder. He blinked twice to get the tears out of his eye, and moved his fingers to check for a pulse. Nothing. Just blood and slashes across her throat, abdomen, chest. She was clothed, which was probably the only thing that kept him from screaming; that meant they hadn’t had time to - to do anything horrible to her beyond just killing her. Fighter ‘til the end? Her eyes were open though, and he shakily lifted one hand to close them. Then he leaned forward and whispered against her ear, sure she couldn’t hear him but it didn’t matter since the words were more for himself than anything else, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” There wasn’t - wasn’t time to give her a proper goodbye. He knew that, but it was hard… hard to summon the strength to even stand.
After a heartbeat, he managed it, though. Slowly, surely, R’wign pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to the bathing pool to rinse his hands off. Once they were clean, he moved toward the doorway. “No,” he answered as he put one bloody hand on the door frame, his gaze on Tr’esn. “She’s not.” It surprised him that his voice held as little panic as it did, but… much of that stemmed from Tr’esn needing him to be strong; he was sure that dissolving into panic would do no one any good. “They - I guess - It looks - It looks like it was fast.” He didn’t want to talk about it, though, so he moved over to the bed and immediately snatched up the shirt Tr’esn laid out for him. As he pulled it over his head (hurting his chest in the process, which caused him to gasp in pain), the healer asked softly, “Are you okay…?”
|
|
Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
|
Post by Avu on May 2, 2009 12:00:44 GMT -5
Oquith had been literally scared past moving. She just couldn’t, not anymore. Maybe, maybe if she didn’t move, nobody would see her or hurt Hers, and maybe they would all be all right…the green wanted more than anything to close her eyes, imagine it away, but she was frozen, frozen into the present, a present in which she desperately wanted to leave. Checkoth’s nuzzling helped soothe her, loosening the tightened muscles in that area of her neck, but that was it. It sounded cruel, horribly selfish, but she wanted Hers back. And so much the better if Qualuth, Wymeth, and Behruth, and all of Theirs, as well as R’wignCheck’s, could come back, too. The green’s eyes closed, more tightly, and she exhaled, the noise audible as fur pressed against her side. The Mothfeline… Oquith didn’t move as Checkoth nudged the white feline, but a low hum sounded in her throat nonetheless, soothingly. Poor Moth…but not even for Moth could Oquith force herself to unfreeze.
Moth, meanwhile, was far from frozen; squirming as Checkoth’s nose was lowered to her level, the feline rubbed her head cautiously against the brown’s muzzle, her head butting against Checkoth’s jaw almost absently; Moth so often sought attention that the movements had become almost second nature. Her tail flicked high as she squirmed closer to Checkoth, nuzzling the brown’s hide, whiskers twitching. That musty scent of dragons – she’d gotten used to it by now, even liked it. She probably smelled of it herself. Nevertheless, she still sneezed – loudly – and then twitched her whiskers in annoyance again, still oblivious to the seriousness of the situation. Her first owner had died – Moth had already forgotten about T’kal – and her second owner might very well follow suit.
“…R’wign?”
Tr’esn’s voice had dropped to an inaudible whisper by then, and he instinctively froze again: Like Oquith, he didn’t move quickly when he was frightened; he curled up and stayed still. He didn’t know what had happened, and silence was worse than any verbal answer R’wign could possibly have given him. Even a grotesque description of what exactly had happened couldn’t have been worse, because at least then he’d know. Right now, R’wign could have been – could have been killed, and he wouldn’t know…his stomach churned nervously, and his fingers tightened on the cloth of what he’d just picked out of the trunk. Instinct said to turn around and look, to check on the brown weyrlingrider, but he couldn’t, because if he did, he would throw up. Closing his eyes wouldn’t work, either, because he remembered the horrible splashes of blood covering the weyr, and in his mind’s eye, he’d see it again. So he stayed there, sitting, staring numbly at the shirt.
After two deep breaths, common sense returned. R’wign had to be okay, or Checkoth would be reacting – wouldn’t he? – and Oquith would panic, and he’d feel that, at the very least. His stomach settled marginally, but then – why was there no answer? Be optimistic, he told himself, inhaling a lungful of air and wetting his lips nervously as he absentmindedly folded the shirt in his hands, staring blankly down at the open trunk, the bag of healing supplies and R’wign’s clothes tucked in his lap and on the bed respectively. Maybe – maybe he was just – trying to make the bleeding stop, and then they’d both come out and – and everything would be all right, for time being – and – he didn’t believe a single word of what he was telling himself.
He jumped visibly as R’wign spoke from behind him, turning around without thinking about it – blood – and then promptly swallowed as hard as he could as vomit rose in his throat, a combination of the sight of blood stained all over and R’wign’s words. She wasn’t – wasn’t okay – dead? Was she dead? What was he, Tr’esn, supposed to say? Tr’esn couldn’t help staring, at a loss; what could he say? He didn’t know Marra, and he didn’t know R’wign well enough to be comforting him, either; his attempts would be awkward and foreign, and likely as not, not in the least would he actually make the brownrider feel better. Finally, awkwardly, he stammered, “I…I’m sorry…” And then guilt. Was it his fault? Probably not, but if R’wign hadn’t been with him, then he could have been with Marra, and could have –
“I’m…fine.” He felt bad for being physically unhurt – shouldn’t he be hurt? Everyone else had been… Trying to keep his mind – force his mind – off of the guilt twisting around his throat, and the nausea rising, Tr’esn stood, awkwardly clutching the Healer’s bag. “Are we – going, now, or do you want to – ?” He was biting at his lip, eyebrows drawn together in concern, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. It seemed too final. ‘To say goodbye’ was as good as a death sentence.
|
|
|
Post by glamourie on May 3, 2009 1:51:48 GMT -5
“Don’t apologize. Please.” Smoothing his shirt out, R’wign kicked off his blood-covered pants and pulled on a black pair that hung loose around his waist. The entire motion was a matter of seconds that made it almost painfully clear what little modesty he possessed when it came to his own body. Wasn’t like Tr’esn hadn’t seen the whole show already and even if such was the case, he really didn’t care. Not at the current time (and he wouldn’t have cared much if Selenitas wasn’t under attack; R’wign was very proud of his body, thanks), when everything around him seemed to be dying. The sensation in his stomach was painful. Nausea? Anxiety? He hadn’t eaten, and so he couldn’t throw up (unless it was just clear bile, in which case he’d really rather not) but he felt certain that his vomit reflex was in overdrive. Still, he forced himself to remain calm, or as calm as he could. It was pretty obvious that Tr’esn needed someone stable to lean on, and even though it felt as though his world was crashing down around him (and he could easily have curled up in the floor and cried until he could cry no more), he wouldn’t just leave the greenrider on his own. He could fall apart later, when less lives were at stake… when he was alone, and would be able to spare his dignity some. Not right then. “None of this is in any way your fault, Tr’esn, and you shouldn’t apologize for things you’re not to blame for.”
After he was sure that his pants were secure, R’wign sat on the bed and pulled on his boots. It took a few moments to tie them, because of how badly his chest hurt (and he was doing his best to disguise it, though a pained look did flash over his face). The movement made a long lock of his hair fall over the bandages, and R’wign briefly was glad he hadn’t cut it again. He’d probably let it grow long. Marra liked it long. Or maybe he’d cut it painfully short, because Marra liked it long. So hard to say. He didn’t want to think about her, but it was hard not to. Just sitting on the bed made him think of her; the smell of her hair clung to the piles of blankets like a memory printed there just for him. Needed to leave. Definitely needed to leave… and he wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever be able to go into that weyr again. Ghosts lingered there. Even after only a few minutes, he was sure he could hear music. Maybe it was blood loss - or his head. He’d hit his head so hard, and it throbbed so badly…
R’wign lifted one hand and took the offered bag. Gratefully smiling (as much as he could anyway), he stood back up. Tr’esn’s question made him tense and he bowed his head. “We need to go now. There are people counting on both of us,” he said, then turned his head slightly. “I’m sorry you had to see this.” He really was, too. Tr’esn was very obviously shaken up. Did he look as bad as he felt? He hoped not; R’wign had a lot of practice disguising the terror and disgust that came with massive amounts of bloodshed. Being a healer helped with that. Nevertheless, there was no hiding that he was upset. Just how much he was phased was what he hoped to contain. No tears, and the shaking had mostly stopped. He wasn’t throwing up and he didn’t dissolve into hysteria yet. That was good, at least. R’wign silently stilled his stomach, threw his bag over his shoulder, and then took Tr’esn’s hand. That one touch was gentle - meant to reassure.
“When this is all over, if- when they’re gone, when we’ve chased them off-” He was determined to be optimistic, even though it wasn’t in his nature, “- I’ll give her a proper goodbye. But not until then. I didn’t become a healer just to watch people die because I’m upset.” That was probably the most honest answer he’d ever give anyone in regards to his feelings about Marra. Tr’esn wasn’t someone he was close to… but in that moment, he felt he owed it to him to be truthful. “I need you to run with me, okay? We’ve got a long way to run… and no time to do it. We’ll talk later, after this is all over, but for now we need to get to Kalerary, and others who need our help. So, let’s go, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, R’wign turned and half-tugged Tr’esn to the hallway. It was a long run up to the surface, and they didn’t have a lot of time.
Checkoth distracted himself from R’wign’s pain with Moth. His wing flopped over Oquith’s back, trying to comfort her, and he gently nudged the little feline, trying to bait her into playing. His tails swiveled around and twitched separately, right in front of her, giving her something to chase if she wanted. It was easier - more comforting - to focus on the feline than the overwhelming feeling of loss that His was experiencing. How he hated for R’wignHis to hurt when he couldn’t fix it! And even though he wanted more than anything else in the world to nag until R’wign told him something he could do -- he knew better. Losing the Harper girl and Ith’s was enough to make R’wignHis feel terrible, and there was nothing he could do right then. Not for awhile. But as soon as he was sure they were safe…? R’wignHis was going to be snuggled until he couldn’t move anymore. Yes, yes he was…
[ Thread over, unless you want to reply once more :3 ]
|
|