Drifting away...[Tags Plot; Open]

[Rowana]

G'tor leaned back against the soft hide of Ruskeath's belly. The dragon was curled like a large brown kitten around his rider, purring softly in comfort. Little Star was dozing peacefully in the crook of G'tor's neck. It was a hard time for both dragon and rider. So many of their friends had fallen ill and some had even died. First Shmee and Aslath, whom the two admittedly barely knew, and now T'kal and Leweleth. G'tor could remember the adventure in the jungle only a few months ago with his fellow brown riders, hunting down wayward younglings. And now they were gone.

At least here, far from the oppressive sadness of the Weyr, he could find some peace. The sea was an old friend. It was heedless of the cares or complaints of men. Its waves moving endlessly and tirelessly to and from shore. G'tor sighed in contentment. Besides a growing pain in his stomach, which he attributed to Star, he felt much better than he had of late. His mind was clearer and yet, he felt fuzzy at the same time.

"When will it end, Rusk?" he mussed aloud. "Shmee, Raylin, T'kal...When will in end?" Ruskeath raised his head to gaze out at over the water. The sun's light was starting to rise, turning the crests to golden sparkles. It will end the brown assured him, with a confidence G'tor wished he could share. Today, tomorrow, or the next. Sooner or later. It will end.

"But how many friends will we loose? How many will die or be hurt before we find the answer?" G'tor sighed again. His stomach was practically hurting now, leading him to wonder why Star wasn't begging him for food. He pocked the little white 'mandyr experimentally, but she only looked at him curiously in reply. G'tor shrugged, leaning back again. At least he had a nice pillow. Maybe a nap would make him feel better.

Some instinct, born from years at his riders side, alert Ruskeath that something was wrong. He nudged G'tor urgently with his nose. Tor! Wake! Do not sleep! "Why not..." G'tor mumbled drowsily. "Ish comfy..." G'TOR!! Ruskeath surged to his feet, causing the man to flop bonelessly to the ground, but he only drifted further into oblivion. Further away from his friend.

Star flutter about in panic, eyes a brilliant yellow that was a reflection of Ruskeath's large ones. The large dragon bellowed a mournfully and terrified call, begging his not to leave, but it fell on death ears. It was Star, strangely enough, who realized what to do. With a pop she jumped between arriving in the familiarity of the Weyr Bowl. Though she had no voice, the tiny white 'mandyr lept and fluttered about as fast as she could. Everywhere she went she projected an image to anyone close enough to receive it. Her last vision of G'tor, collapsed on the beach with Ruskeath guarding over him.

With luck, someone would understand her message and bring help.

[nightingale]

A restless mind to which sleep would not pay a visit should not be forced to idle about in circles until such a time as would be considered reasonable for waking -that was the explanation Saeo planned to give anyone who questioned the motivation behind her pre-dawn hike. If they didn’t accept that, she was not about to go out of her way to convince them. A tenday’s worth of sleepless nights had set her into a vile mood that mirrored the salamandyr sleeping in her pocket to a startling degree.

Be careful my Saeo. Cherilith warned gently, catching the back of his rider’s vest.
You do not want to step on the trundlebugs. The girl allowed herself to be held in place, but glared impatiently as the tiny insects made their way across the jungle path. The vicious steak playing in her stormy eyes made it obvious that if the little blue had not moved to stopped her, she was feeling just spiteful enough to have trampled them.

The air smells very nice, doesn’t it my Saeo? Her dragon offered with a small croon, sending her a wash of cool, pleasant emotion that was obviously meant to soothe her distemper. It smells like any old jungle smells. She sighed humorlessly, giving his velvety nose and absent-minded stroke as she felt it nudging against her lower back.

And then a dragon screamed.

While the girl was not trained to recognize individual voices among the dragonkind, Cherilith knew immediately who it was. Ruskeath. He informed her tensely, responding to the cry of distress with a high keen of his own. It was at that moment that Saeo started running. She hesitated for only half dozen steps, waiting for the sound of Cherilith’s footsteps crunching in the leaf-litter behind her before taking off with all the speed her small form could generate. She fell twice in quick succession, but the adrenaline humming through her body blocked out the sensation of any injury she might have done herself. Finally, she spotted the ocean twinkling between the trees.

“G’tor!”

She screamed, not in the hope of an answer, but in a desperate attempt to dislodge the dread nestling in her chest. The salt-crusted beach sand burned into her scratched knees as she dropped down next to him. What has happened? Cherilith crooned anxiously, craning his neck up at Ruskeath as he came to stand next to the brown. What is wrong? Are you hurt? Do not worry, mine and I are here to help you.

Saeo wasn’t a healer, and so for the life of one close to her couldn’t guess what was wrong. The man looked as if he were only sleeping...but no, he wasn’t sleeping the way healthy people slept. He was too pale, and his breathing was too shallow...oh shells, the poison!

“Oh Sharding Faranth!”

She hissed, her vision clouding with panicked tears and she tore the carry pack from her shoulders. The girl dove for the charcoal she had stuffed into it that morning, remembering with bitter resentment that she had put little thought toward storing it somewhere she could actually reach in an emergency.

“Now you listen to me brownrider!!”

She growled, hating the sound of her own choked words almost as much as she hated the silence that has preceded them.

“I swear on shards of my dragon’s egg that if you die, I will never never forgive you for it! So just...stop!!”

[Tashe]

/Ermine. Are you pulling triple shifts at the Infirmary again today?/ No. I don't think so... Even I know I need some mental rest. /You are growing weary of the looks people are giving you?/ It seems as though I am only safe from those looks, when I am working with R'wign. /Oh Ermine. I had hoped it wouldn't have isolated you.../ I expected it. I was isolated before, I don't care if I'm isolated again.

Using Ismaroth's leg to vault up into his leathers, the Healer was about to swing his leg over the Brown's neck when a powerful flood of the same picture surged into his mind. Startled and almost loosing his gasp on the leathers, E'rro snarled and strapped himself into the harness before he could be attacked again. The Shards was that? /A little white cousin. Odd... its flashing a picture of the coast and a Rider and dragon over and over. I think something is wrong. We should go help./ Great. I have to miss my time of rest. Fine. Lets go Ismaroth...

Leaning forward as his large Brown leaped into the air, E'rro frowned a he fitted his flying goggles over his eyes. Jump there. Opening his mind so that they could share the same picture, the Brownrider inhaled before they entered the Between. He hated the cold of the Void, it always made him shiver violently as soon as they reappeared, and this time was no different. Gah. Scrubbing the small amount of frost that had collected on the bottom of his flight jacket away, the Healer finally took the time to see where exactly on the Coast line was their intended target. There. Do you see them? /Yes./ Land up the coast from them, give the Brown room before coming forward and trying to calm him. Shifting his grip on the support strap, E'rro kept his eyes on the small group of people as they descended.

Lifting himself out of the harness slightly as Ismaroth landed with a jolt because of the soft surface tension of the sand, the Healer quickly began unstrapping himself. He took a moments pause to unlatch his small healing bag, which he had been carrying around a lot more often of late. Using both Ismaroth's side and leg to let himself down, E'rro leaped onto the sand and caught himself before he could fall from the odd landing. "Remind me to practice dismounting in sand more... Lets go." Shaking his boot free of the deep impression it had made in the sand, the brownrider set off toward the Brown he had seen in the mental picture at a steady jog. It didn't take long for the Dragonpair to reach the others, and it took even less time for a thoughtful frown to appear on E'rro's face.

Slowing to a halt as he reached the body, the healer nimbly fell to a knee before looking at the rather frantic female. "I'm a Healer, were you here when the Brownrider collapsed?" Leaving Ismaroth to do what he does, E'rro quietly lifted the man's eyelid while taking the man's heartbeat. No eye movement and his pulse was erratic. He had seen this in the infirmary... Snatching up his bag, the Brownrider mimicked Saeo's motions of digging, but a little less frantically. He had water and charcoal with him... now if only he could locate it.

---

Watching as his rider moved forward, the Brown followed a few moments later, pacing slowly over to the older male cautiously his mind voice firm but gentle. /Ruskaeth. My rider is a healer and is attending Yours. Yours will be fine, but you must try and calm yourself. If Mine manages to raise yours from sleep, your panic will transfer to Yours./ Inching closer Ismaroth let his confidence in his Rider tap into the connection he had established with the other Brown, trying his best to help the situation.

[Rowana]

Ruskeath tensed as he heard approaching footsteps. With G'tor incapacitated, the dragon's first instinct was to keep all others away from him. He had no way of know who was responsible, but while G'tor still breathed, he would defend him with his life. Yet it was not enemies who emerged, but someone he recognized: Cherilith and his Saeo. Reluctantly, he allowed them to approach though he kept his tailed curled protectively around his rider.

Mine will not wake. Ruskeath moaned to the young blue. He lowered himself to the ground and nuzzled G'tor gently with his nose. The man still did not move. The appearance of another brown and his rider caused Ruskeath to jerk his head up again. His eyes flashed red in a rare moment of anger, but dimmed as the other addressed him. Ruskeath lowered his head again to rest at G'tor's side. Yours may try, he agreed to Ismaroth, but his voice was growing dull and lifeless.

Darkness was starting inch onto his vision and felt himself growing weary and relaxed. Mine is fading he explained softly. But I will follow him. He was strangely calm at the thought. It might not be so bad, to drift away peacefully with his G'tor.

G'tor mumbled something unintelligible that might have been a response to Saeo's cries or simply a reaction to something in his mind. He did not open his eyes though or show any signs of waking. His breath was slowing until it was almost impossible to see. Even in such a dire situation, his face was oddly peaceful and relaxed. As if he were doing nothing more than taking a long nap.

[nightingale]

The sound of footsteps in the sand behind her caused an already tense Saeo to start like a frightened wherry. However, there was no fear in her cloudy grey eyes as she turned them on E’rro. There was only a sharp desperation that might give one the impression that it would cut them if they looked away too quickly.

“N-no...no I only just found him like this...”

She whimpered, not really comprehending the words even as she spoke them.

“I-I think it’s the poison that’s been making everyone sick at the Weyr...I-I just don’t know how he could come into contact with it...”

She tried taking a few deep breaths, but only ended up making herself dizzy in the attempt. There was a healer here now, she tried assure herself. Everything was going to be alright.

No Ruskeath, you must stay! You must stay here with us! Cherilith keened desolately as the colour began to fade from the brown dragon’s eyes. Yours will wake, I promise! He will wake and you must be here when he does! The little blue latched onto Ruskeath’s foreleg in what could most definitely be considered a heartbreakingly futile attempt to keep him from jumping Between. On the sand, his rider mirrored the action, gathering one of G’tor’s arms against her chest and clinging to it as if that gesture alone might keep him from slipping farther into the darkness behind his eyes.

“Tor, please...please don’t go.” She pleaded, tears staining her face in dark, charcoal rivulets. “Stay with us...please...please stay...”

[Tashe]

Pulling out a small bowl, charcoal and a skin of water, E'rro nodded silently as the woman directed her attentions upon him as she answered his question. "You're right. It is the poison..." He added the charcoal first, and then a small amount of water, he would add more later if the solution proved to be to thick. "I need you to try your best to rouse him. If we can wake him totally, I can induce him to throw up and then treat him with a charcoal paste." E'rro spoke while he worked, so as not to loose any of the precious time the group had to treat the man. "If waking him takes longer than I need to make this, or he is only semiconscious, I will try to feed him this anyways without trying to purge his stomach."

It would take more work if the man could not be roused, and would be far more risky. But the young Brownrider was fully aware that once a poison victim fell unconscious, it was extremely doubtful they would be able to wake. He was prepared to force the man to swallow the paste, it was an easy thing to do. If a human blocked the airways into the body, the other person would involuntarily have to swallow whatever they held in their mouth, to clear the obstruction and allow the body to breath once more. As long as the man continued to breath, E'rro could treat the Brownrider.

Looking up from his quickened paste making, the Healer's frown deepened as he watched the man's breathing weaken considerably. If he didn't at least try and get the paste into the man within the next few minutes, it would probably be to late. Hissing quietly to himself, he put more force into crushing the charcoal, adding more water when needed.

"Never mind. He's worsening. I'm not going to take the time to try and wake him." Wincing as he used a hand to prop G'tor's head up onto his out stretched knee, how he hated touching people, E'rro transfered that hand to the man's nose before tipping the now soup like paste into the man's mouth. Dropping the bowl so he could cover the Brownrider's mouth with that hand. Either his body would work correctly and swallow it, or it would panic and he could begin to choke. If Faranath's ghost was on their side, it would be the former rather than the latter.

---

Fluttering his wings as he felt the other Dragon's mind began to weaken, Ismaroth narrowed his optics and looked over at his Rider. He must stay confident! He must provide support to the other male, it was the only thing E'rro asked of him in this occupation. Looking down at the small blue before returning his attention back onto Ruskeath, the younger Brown spoke again. /If it is destined then it will be, but you must keep up hope. If you believe he will recover then your love will aid his mind in returning. You are the one he loves, and that bond, along with the treatment will work together./ For the best, Ismaroth omitted I hope from the end of his sentence, deciding to think it instead of say it.

[Rowana]

Ruskeath did not have the heart to answer his kin for several moments. He watched as E'rro forced medicine down G'tor's throat with apprehension. His pained yellow eyes and rapidly twitching tail were the only indication of his fear and worry. But he knew what they said was right. No matter how painful and difficult, he must stay strong until the end. I will stay. he declared firmly. As much to assure himself as them. We will both stay.

At first, G'tor struggled against the foreign liquid that invaded his mouth. Delirious memories of close calls while swimming or boating urged him to rid himself of the water. He tried to gag, but found that he simply did not have the energy. Instead, he let it trickled down his throat and into his body. For a while nothing really happened. Then, ever so slowly, G'tor began to become more aware of his surroundings. He could feel Ruskeath in the back of his mind, clinging to him. He didn't think he'd ever felt him so worried before.

Rusk? he thought wearily. Ruskeath what's wrong? His mind tried to imagined all the things that might have him so worried. Had someone else died? What about Saeo? He thought he remembered hearing her voice. Had something happened to her? G'tor! the brown dragon's mind rose with happiness. You stayed! Ruskeath nuzzled him gently. Stayed? Where would I go? G'tor's mind was still fuzzy and he couldn't quite remember what had happened. He tried to fight his way to complete consciousness, but it was a long struggle. It was as if his body refused to obey him and only his mind was awake.

[nightingale]

Saeo wasn’t entirely sure if she was breathing or not. Her entire body felt numb, as if she was not in control of it and was instead an isolated prisoner behind her own eyes. Cherilith’s mind held her in a wordless embrace, reassuring her that everything would be alright if they could only keep themselves calm and focused on the task at hand.

She was beyond caring though, completely oblivious as to weather or not her dragon was being honestly supportive or just trying to keep her from panicking. The girl could only stare through the dark tears clinging to her eyelashes and wait for something miraculous to happen.

Ruskeath? Cherilith crooned softly, craning his neck backward as he watched a blush of colour returned to the brown’s eyes. Is yours alright? Is the medicine working? Saeo consciously tightened her grip on the brownrider’s arm as his breathing began to strengthen into a more life-supporting rhythm, wondering if perhaps the sensation would help to bring him around.

“G’tor it’s Saeo. If you can hear me then please say something.”

She had abandoned all attempts to keep the charcoal off of her face in favour of keeping a hint of strength in her voice, and so had to force herself not to brush the itching wetness from her cheeks as she waited to see if the news would be good or bad.

[Tashe]

His leg was beginning to fall asleep. Frowning, E'rro watched silently as the older Brownrider's condition seemed to improve, not willing to trust what he saw until a few minutes passed. Sometimes the body would accept a medicine, and then for some odd reason reject it, regressing the patient's condition back to its original state or worse. Count for me starting... Pressing two fingers against the carotid artery in the man's neck he waited for a few moments before finishing his sentence. ...now. They had practiced this form of taking someone's pulse many times, Ismaroth would count until the one minute mark and then tell E'rro, allowing the Rider to concentrate fully on the beats. /Sixty one thousand!/

The Brownrider's heart beat was fast, but at the end of the minute was starting to slow, it was still far better than the erratic pulses he had been getting before. Grimacing, E'rro lowered his ear to the man's chest, closing his eyes as he concentrated on the sounds the lungs were making. They were clear of any obstruction, though he knew that the breathing would remain shallow until all of the toxins that had already been introduced to his system were burned off. It looked like his decision had been the right one. This man had had a severe reaction to the poison, while some of the others who had ingested it, had only gotten terribly sick.

Lifting his head from the man's chest, the young Brownrider carefully slid his leg out from under the man's head, letting it rest in the sand for a moment. "Ruskeath, would you move in a little closer?" He directed to the Brown as best he could. "I need to prop him up and I don't want to chance moving him farther than I need to until I'm certain he's stable enough to move." He /really/ didn't want to touch the man any more than he had to, but he needed to position him at an incline. Lifting G'tor gently, E'rro used one of his arms to prop up the Brownrider and used the other to support his head. The Dragon would have to do all of the moving. Glancing at the woman as she spoke to the Rider, the Healer shifted into a more comfortable kneeling position. So the man's name was G'tor? Well, he'd have to file that away for future use.

"Theres a chance he might throw up. So be careful." A pause. "The charcoal seems to be working. But he's still unstable."

[Rowana]

Ruskeath eased forward obediently so G'tor could sit against his neck. Mine is still here, he assured Cherilith with a surge of happy confidence. I believe it is working. He nudged his rider fondly. G'tor? Saeo is calling for you. She is very worried. You should try to say something. G'tor would have frowned, if he'd been completely conscious. What? Saeo? When did she get here? He tried to dragged himself to reality, but it was like swimming through mud. She and Ismaroth's brought you back he explained.

Ismaloth? That was one of the healer's dragons. G'tor tried to remember the name, but failed. It was too much work. He was starting to grow more awake now. He could feel Ruskeath's rumbling hide behind him and the sand beneath his fingers. Also something clinging uncomfortably to his arm. Star? No, the little 'mandyr wasn't strong enough. Saeo maybe? After some effort, he managed to crack open an eye. The light was painful and the world was a blur of color that made him nauseous. He shot his eyes quickly again, though the nauseous feeling continued. He hoped he wouldn't throw up.

"Saeo?" he managed to get out. He didn't really feel like talking much, which was unusually for him. All he really wanted to do now was sleep. Questions plagued him though. What had happened? Was he sick? He supposed he must be, but he had felt perfectly fine this morning. In fact, besides the odd pang in his stomach, he had felt fine until waking up again. Was it the poison? The thought was not a happy one. G'tor didn't drink much wine and certainly not in the morning. If he was poisoned, then some of the food was contaminated as well as the wine.

[nightingale]

He is alright my Saeo. The calm in Cherilith’s mindvoice was nearly washed away by the cool relief he allowed his rider to share with him. Ruskeath say that he is still here. The medicine must be working. Saeo was hesitant to share in her dragon's optimism. The simple facts that he hadn't died yet and was breathing easier were small comforts, but until G'tor gave them some sign that he was actually there she didn't want to set her hopes on too high a shelf. However, the moment she recognized the sound her name being spoken, her inhibitions drowned in the ensuing flood.

“Y-yeah...it’s me...” She choked as bravely as she could, making a conscious effort not to squeeze his arm too tightly as she fought back a fresh wave of tears.
“There’s a healer and his dragon with us. You’re a little bit sick right now, but it’s okay. You’re going to be fine.”

Here she looked toward E’rro, as if seeking reassurance that she wasn’t dealing out false hope in saying that he was going to be alright. She hadn’t the faintest clue what ‘unstable’ signified, but surely if the charcoal was working then he had to be in the clear? She contented herself with knowing that Ruskeath would tell them if anything went wrong.

[Tashe]

Using momentum, E'rro rocked to his feet, picking up the bowl he had used in the process. "I'll be right back." He was going to wash it, rather, he was going to wash it and his hands. It was an odd mixture to have a person that hated the feeling of touching another human's skin, in a profession that required having to do so. Then again, the Brownrider was used to pushing himself to his limits, plus he was technically a Dragonhealer. Healing the animal in the bond didn't require having to touch the human, therefore entirely satisfying his strange oddity, except when the rider gets injured at the same time and the situation calls for him to treat both of them.

Trotting down the small slope of sand that separated him from the ocean, E'rro paced the expanse in silence. He wasn't the type to hum or speak when he didn't need to. /Will the man be okay?/ I think so. I've seen cases that got better then returned to being worse. It sometimes takes a lot of work to keep them conscious. Are you feeling concerned? /No. If death takes him then it will. I just want to know his chances./ Well... right now I say... theres a sixty-forty chance he won't slip back into an unconscious state. /They are good odds?/ Better than fifty-fifty.

Leaping deftly from one rock to another, E'rro crouched down at a calm area of tide and beginning to scrub at the charcoal soup residue. Of course, the bowl wouldn't be entirely clean until he sanitized it with redwort back at the infirmary, but this would have to do until his next shift. Taking his time in cleaning his instrument, the Brownrider finally stood back up once he was done. If somebody who didn't know exactly what E'rro was like looked at the situation, they might have assumed that he was giving the two time alone. But the young Rider was methodical to say the least, and he really had just gone to wash his bowl. Crossing the rocks once more, the Healer began the short trek back to where the small group had gathered to save G'tor.

He hated sand...