Aftermath (Tags Avu)

[Rei]

Faranth help her. Raylin had awoken the next evening to a feeling of vertigo and the intense love of a mind mate who had been almost positive that hers would never again awaken.

Oh Rayminelove. You are awake! Please don’t go to the black. They said you would wake, but I thought you wouldn’t, and Corinth’s is also in the black and.. Please Ebolath, slow down. The green obediently silenced herself and instead sent wave after wave of intense love and adoration to her bonded.

Shifting her position, and wincing from the pain that movement caused, Raylin tried to frantically make sense of her surroundings. Bits and pieces of the previous night’s events quickly filtered back, but there was a lot she seemed to be missing. Ebolath? Yes mine? Please, what happened. I don’t, I can’t really remember a whole lot.

Relax Raymine. I will let you see what I remember. Raylin tensed as the first waves of images rushed into her head, sufficiently filling the gaps her own hazy mind couldn’t. Tears sprang to her eyes as people died and were wounded, people she loved, people she cared about.

By the end of the influx of images Raylin was in heaving sobs. So many had died and T’rid…. Ebolath had said he was in the black. Had he died? And Vega oh her sweet, sweet, little blue flitter. He had been in so much pain and she hadn’t comforted him and now he was gone. Never again would she hear his loving croon. He had died for her and for Kale and she had been unable to do anything to help. All because she was too sharding stupid to watch her own back.

Dimly Raylin was aware of Ebolath’s futile attempts at calming her rider. Of the stress she was unintentionally causing the small green who was healing her own wounds. Wounds she gotten protecting her stupid rider.

Before Raylin could begin to compose herself further, the weyrling was approached by two healers. One stroked her hair while another tried to get her to drink some concoction. A few sips where all she could manage and then she felt a dim blackness start to creep in. Bitter? Had the drink tasted bitter?

Raylin fought against the fellis induced sleep but it was pointless. The last thing she was aware of was her darling Ebolath, pressing her with loving reassurances.

----

When the green weyrling next awoke everything was silent and dark. Prodding her dragon’s mind Raylin got a sleepy response. Raymine? Yes. It’s me. Please do not cry anymore Raymine. They will make you sleep if you do. I won’t. I promise. Silence. Ebolath, darling? Yes Raymine? Do you still love me?

Surprise emanated from her dragon and then a scolding answer. Raymine do not be a silly wherrie. Of course I love you. Forever. Do not ask such a thing. Ebolath where is T’rid? Corinth’s? He is close by I think. Sitting up Raylin scanned the rows of cots until the bronze rider’s familiar form came into view. Never mind I found him. Raymine? Yes? I love you. I love you too darling.

Swinging her legs over the side of the cot Raylin shivered as her feet touched the stone floor. There seemed to be no healers present at the moment, which slightly unnerved the girl. Mindful of the other patients she quietly made her way to T’rid’s bedside. Had he even woken up yet? Was he going to die? She had not thought to ask Ebolath, and for the moment she wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.

Carefully Raylin placed her uninjured hand on his forehead, gently brushing his hair back from his face. Tears sprang to her eyes but she stubbornly tried to hold them back. She had told Ebolath she wouldn’t cry, but shard it all this was all her fault. “I’m so sorry.” She whispered her voice breaking slightly. She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that threatened to spill. Shard it all.

[Avu]

Corinth hadn't yet left. The bronze dragon had been there since he'd carried the unconscious bronzerider into the weyr, and then he'd slunk around just enough that he wouldn't be in the way, and downright refused to move. Normally, he was even-tempered, but there was an extraordinarily tenacious side of him (displayed generally only in the arguments with His), and he did not want to leave His. Just because he couldn't be right next to His did not mean that he planned on ditching him. The weyrledge was lonely without His inside, and without even Dinner squawking and fluttering around. Mir's absence was more keenly felt, and Corinth ought to have been anxious about Conspiracy, who was currently curled up against T'rid's right arm, asleep, his right wing splinted and stitched where it had been broken and the membrane sliced through, respectively. But his mind, his anxiety, was only for His. The bronzerider had slipped into unconsciousness near the end of the attack. He'd stayed unconscious through the night, though in the morning he'd woken, still disoriented enough not to protest being sent back to sleep via fellis.

He was probably due to wake soon -- possibly to his detriment. Three cracked ribs, one of which had managed to apply an uncomfortable pressure to one lung; a slice and nerve damage to his left hand; a cut across his shoulder; and his left forearm completely broken, the bone fragments having broken skin, which left a deep cut on one side and bone protruding from the other. There was a bruise on his right palm, too, from the impact of knife against knife, but it was a minor thing. Stupid, who was awake, and, like Corinth, physically unhurt, was crouched on the bronzerider's stomach, frill half-rising erratically as he kept up a constant stream of images per request to Corinth. It was the Salamandyr who first noticed Raylin getting out of her bed, and also the first to notice the change in his Stupidmine's breathing. It was a conscious struggle, now, as the darkness started to dissipate. 'rinth, 'rinthmine's, the brown crooned, addressing Corinth, Stupidmine 'n' 'lathpet, waking.

The bronze's reaction was instant, the dragon's mind caressing his Rider's with an affection all too rarely displayed. Mine, T'ridmine. His eyes stayed closed, though his lips opened slightly to inhale; T'rid knew better than to move, for every movement would send agony streaking through his arm. He didn't know what the Healers had done to fix the shattered bone, and he didn't want to know. Bone fragments had to be removed, the bone itself readjusted, splinted -- thank Faranth he hadn't been awake. T'ridmine. C-Corinth? He didn't want to open his eyes. Nothing was stable; he was faintly nauseous; he wanted to get back to sleep again; and he remembered every single bloody detail of what had happened while he was awake. Which only served to make him more nauseous, and his shoulder twitched slightly in response to the phantom pain from Conspiracy. You still hurt, Corinth stated, reprovingly. Should I call Meisk's for numbweed, or fellis? It's night.

At that moment, Raylin's hand touched his forehead, brushing his hair back, T'rid repressed a twitch only because of Stupid's low warble. 'lathpet, 'lathpet, the brown crooned, though he made no move from his perch on T'rid's stomach, his tail twitching nervously against his haunch, and he spoke no more after that. T'rid exhaled, right hand coming up to catch Raylin's wrist, one eye opening cautiously. The walls had settled, and were no longer pulsing on him. The other eye followed suit, and the bronzerider squinted at the greenweyrling, loosening his hold on her wrist and dropping his hand again. What had she said? Sorry? "Exactly why are you sorry?" he mumbled, his voice barely audible. He hurt, and he didn't want to use too much air, and he wanted water, too, but T'rid didn't want to move. His arm hurt without him moving, so he wasn't going to even try to move. He'd get Corinth to call one of the Healers on duty, perhaps. And then, he added, "You shouldn't be out of your cot-bed-whatever-it-is-thing..."

Actually, she looked a lot less hurt than he felt. Probably even better than Conspiracy. The brown firelizard could very well end up permanently crippled, for the splint applied to his wing had been a design for dragons -- and when it was made so much smaller -- well, it probably wasn't quite as effective. The brown was nuzzled against his side, lovingly, and Mir was gone, and Dinner probably was, too, though he wasn't sure of the latter. Another blink, the bronzerider resisting the urge to squirm. His bed was very comfortable. The cot was less so. "The Healers'll probably throw a fit at you..."

[Rei]

"Exactly why are you sorry?" Words? Raylin opened her eyes to stare down at the bronze rider, relief flooding through her. He was alive. Not looking so well, but alive. “I….” She dropped her gaze and took a deep breath. Pain lanced through her chest, but why she wasn’t quite certain. They had stitched her up. Shouldn’t the pain have gone away by now?

“I’m sorry you got hurt. You shouldn’t have protected me. It’s my fault your hurt.” My fault that my class mates are dead. The last bit she added silently to herself. But it was true wasn’t it?

If they had just let F’rel have her things would have gone differently. No one would have been helpless. They could have stayed in the barracks and perhaps more would have lived. They must all hate her now. She had caused so much suffering that could otherwise have been prevented.

Saeo, C’oar, Farryl, and the rest. Could she ever bare to face them again? Tears sprang to her eyes but Ebolath’s sudden prescience in her mind stubbornly caused her to push them back.

“I don’t care if they yell at me. I had to make sure you weren’t dead. I had to apologize. For Mir and for causing you and your mind mates so much grief. None of you should have been put in that position it’s my fault and I’m sorry.” Silence. Now what? The weyrling wasn’t sure what else she could say. Finally tiredness won out and she sank to her knees next to his cot. Rest a minute, think, and then back to bed.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me. I should stay away from you. For your own safety.” A small attempt at a smile and she forced herself to her feet wavering slightly as the room spun. “I won’t let Ebolath make any more problems for you. Thank you for all you’ve done for her and by default me.”

Swallowing against the lump that suddenly formed in her throat, she leaned down to stroke Conspiracy’s back before kissing T'rid's forehead. As Raylin stepped back to turn and leave the tears she had been holding back suddenly fell silently. Why was this tearing her apart? Because you like him Raymine. You do not want to stop being his friend.

Ebolath. Please just stop. The green fell silent but the confusion remained. Hers was different somehow and Ebolath didn’t know what to think. A soft croon was all that the green offered as she snuggled closer to Behruth. Was his different to? Was Corinth’s? Cherilith’s seemed to be.

[Avu]

The first thought that passed through the bronzerider's mind was that Raylin had utterly taken leave of her senses, and was he really going to have to dig F'rel up again just to rage at him? Because if he'd managed to convince Raylin that it was her fault, T'rid would have to. It wasn't. If anything, it was his fault she'd gotten her finger bitten off, and he should probably have set up better defenses, since S'rei's obviously...had not gone to plan, what with the Infirmary exploding. It had been reported that his Second -- P'nor and Cyanth -- had died, and he was in no fit shape to lead Wing Drills now, shardit, and why did Raylin think it was her fault that he'd gotten hurt protecting her? Didn't she get it? -- it had been his choice to defend her. He could have just holed up in his weyr for the entire time, shardit -- okay, that wasn't entirely true, since he hadn't been in his weyr to start with -- and why did she think he'd come to the Weyrling Barracks? Because it was closest, because they were Corinth's get, and because of her. T'rid only rarely made friends, simply because he didn't feel the need to gather a hoard of admirers, but when he actually was fond of someone, even if he didn't outwardly show it most of the time, he didn't just go halfway. It was all or nothing.

The bronzerider was still staring as she went on. Apologize for something that wasn't her fault? What? Make sure he wasn't dead -- ? If he was dead, Conspiracy wouldn't be there. Stupid wouldn't. And he doubted that the Healers would waste valuable bed-space on someone who was dead. T'rid didn't move -- he blinked curiously at Raylin as the greenweyrling fell silent, the glassy look in her eyes clearly tears. She thinks it is -- her fault? Corinth asked softly, and T'rid could tell the bronze was as startled and dismayed as he was by the weyrlingrider's interpretation. I -- yes -- it's /not/, Corinth -- what'm I supposed to /say/?[/b] He'd never understand how easily women could break down; he didn't feel guilty, and it was much more his fault than Raylin's. Let her finish, first. Interrupting will only lead to confusion, the bronze answered sagely, the surprise fading from his mind-voice, and sliding into his usual calm tones. Clearly His was no longer delirious, and no longer in immediate danger of dying, so for the time being, Corinth touched his mind affectionately once, and then settled back into being just background, watching the coming and goings of the make-shift Infirmary.

Wait -- what? He nearly interrupted her, then, watching as Raylin crouched down on the ground next to his cot, and bit his tongue to restain himself from doing so, squinting at her wordlessly. Didn't expect him to forgive her for something that wasn't her fault? Her statements would have earned raging had he the breath for it. Only vaguely did T'rid register the kiss on his forehead -- and the part of his mind that did was surprised -- and he nearly hissed at her as she turned to leave -- to go back to her cot, anyway, which, being as close as it was to his, wasn't exactly as far away from him as she could get. Don't hurt yourself, Corinth interjected anxiously, but it was too late, T'rid half-rolling in the covers onto his right arm -- thank you Faranth that Raylin was on that side of him -- and catching her around the wrist again, tugging at her and blinking back the tears of pain that had risen unconsciously to his eyes. You'll break your stitches, Corinth sighed, sounding more resigned than angry. And then I'll have to call Meisk's or Jermaysk's, and they'll lecture you and you'll sulk.

But he wasn't listening to Corinth.

"Right. Don't make me hurt myself, or Corinth'll have to rage at you, and stop and think about how stupid this is." It wasn't good for his ribs, the breathlessness, to be talking, but it was barely above a whisper for the sake of the other patients; he'd deal. "Why you think it's your fault that I got hurt is -- beyond me, and completely ridiculous. It's your fault I never got formal training, is it?" He sniffed pointedly, letting go of Raylin at that point so he could settle more comfortably against the bed again (ow, ow, ow; he never wanted to move again), and went on, still in a low voice. "Why -- tell me exactly why -- do you think it's your fault? Because of the hostage situation? If F'rel hadn't grabbed you, he'd've used your blueriding friend, what's-her-name, or someone else, and losses weren't all that bad for Selenitas, from what Corinth tells me, as far as Weyrling Barracks go, and scorch it, don't make me rage at Benden. And -- ow -- remind me not to talk so much," he added, lightheaded from lack of oxygen.

Because you'll definitely listen...
Shut up, you...

[Rei]

She hadn’t registered his movement until he had grabbed her wrist. Raylin spun around and her eyes widened as T’rid started yelling at her. Wait, he wasn’t really yelling, it was more like a frustrated whisper. Any other day she might have found this situation humorous but he was in pain shard it. What was wrong with the man?

T’rid’s words caused more tears to well but Raylin fought against them. Trembling slightly she stepped back towards T'rid's cot as he released her. Sinking down onto the end of it, she kept silent until he was finished her mind processing his words slowly. Not her fault? The hostage situation. Saeo? Wasn’t she supposed to be protecting her when they where grabbed?

Taking a shuddering breath, (which caused her lungs to burn like they where on fire) Raylin gathered her muddled thoughts to form some type of response. “Tell Corinth I am sorry.” Faranth she was saying that a lot.

“I…You want to know why I think this is my fault?" Silence. "I was the one too stupid to watch my own back. I was the one who was supposed to be watching Saeo. We where captured because of my stupidity. I was the one the others let themselves be bound for. If I had fought back and just let F’rel kill me they wouldn’t have been tied and…Shard it all. They are dead. All of Ebolath’s sisters, N’lai, Kindrith, Mir... How do you expect me not to feel responsible. How can you sit there and say it wasn’t my fault that they died, that you where hurt? You where injured protecting me, something you wouldn’t have had to do if I wasn’t so stu….such a weakling. I care about you T‘rid, and Ebolath cares about you. I caused her so much pain. I caused you pain…and my flitter. My poor little Vega. He suffered and I couldn‘t even comfort him as he passed. Saeo and the others they..”

Really the weyrling would have gone on, if not for a sudden fit of coughing that gripped her chest. Gripping T’rid’s blankets with her injured hand she brought her other fist up to her mouth to muffle the sound. Faranth her lungs hurt. Where they supposed to?

Mine are you ok? Do you need a healer? Ebolath’s voice was stressed, pained. Raylin could hear it even through the veil of comfort the green had tried to hide it behind. No I think I’m ok. Just tired.

The green curled her tail around her haunches and stayed silent. Ebolath could feel the phantom pain in her own lungs and it didn’t make sense. Maybe she should contact someone. A small whine escaped her, but for now she kept quiet.

The spell had passed and the heaviness in Raylin’s lungs remained although it had lessened a bit. Blinking back tears the weyrling looked back at T’rid trying to gauge his reaction to her outburst. Before the bronze rider could speak however, she pressed a finger to his lips. “You asked why I thought this was my fault and I have told you. Now remember don’t talk to much. You look as pale as a ghost and if you pass out Corinth will kill me.”

[Avu]

Talking too much was dizzying, and that, above anything that Raylin could possibly have said or done, was frustrating. T'rid hated weakness, hated being an invalid. The results of the feline battle he'd barely cooperated with; the Healers probably hated him for limping around so much, and now, when he could barely speak without becoming lightheaded, he was frustrated. Stupid peeped anxiously as he inhaled as deeply as he could, right hand automatically going to his wrapped chest in a vague, semi-conscious attempt to ease the struggle of breathing. Shardit. Obviously it was a good thing his ribs hadn't been broken and pierced a lung, or something, but this trouble, this weight, was almost more irritating than the pain of his arm -- at least that was blatantly painful, instead of being just an ache, so low and heavy he didn't recognize it until he went past his limits. You /wouldn't/ go past your limits if you listened to me, Corinth pointed out, the bronze's tail flicking anxiously even at the dry tone of his statement. At least he wouldn't have to grab Raylin again; that one movement had had his arm throbbing so painfully that he'd nearly choked back his pride and asked Corinth to call for numbweed. Yes. Her perch on the end of his bed was much preferred to her making him hurt himself.

First -- another apology, what? To Corinth, this time. T'rid shrugged his right shoulder awkwardly at her. Tell Ebolath's not to take everything you say so seriously, came Corinth's amused voice. I am /not/ repeating that, Corinth! The latter was shot at the entrance to the ground-level weyr as a large, metallic bronze dragon's head rested near the edge, his head settling against the cold stone, eyes watchful, and was accompanied by a weak glare. But either way, the threat of Corinth raging at Raylin was entirely an empty one, if only because the bronze was loathe to bespeak anyone unless he felt there was no way around doing so: A middle-man -- a dragon, or T'ridHis as far as humans went -- was always preferable, and whatever Raylin did, it wouldn't be the greenrider, but T'ridHis, taking the brunt of the raging, and since he was in no fit state to pass the lecture onto Raylin, in all likelihood she wouldn't even be touched by the bronze's fretting.

The torrent of self-deprecation frankly shocked the bronzerider, and he didn't speak, simply regarding the greenweyrling. The desire to interrupt her was high in his throat, but he didn't know what he'd say. Her train of thought was an elusive one for him: He'd never gone out of his way to bring the blame around to himself. Never in his memory: it was always the other way around for him. Even when he'd been a Holdbrat, and during his weyrling days -- it was always conniving, manipulating, and lying to make it someone else's fault, even when it really was his fault. And Raylin being so intent on making it out to be her fault was -- foreign, a concept he didn't understand or want to understand. One finger ran thoughtfully down the length of Conspiracy's back, even as a hundred counter-arguments flickered to life, one thought repeating in his mind. Not her fault. It wasn't, and why did she want it to be her fault? Didn't she get it? It wasn't -- if it hadn't been her, it would have been Saeo; if she'd yelled an alarm, she would have been killed and Saeo taken anyway; and if that had happened, the Weyrlings still would have been tied. His inability to interrupt her and rage at her was frustrating T'rid immensely, and he nearly hissed.

At her coughing fit, T'rid blinked at her, taking the opportunity to flick a glance at Corinth, who was silent outwardly. Mine, T'ridMine...explain to me, please, why humans like to linger so much. The Siege of Selenitas is over. She can't change what happened; why is she worrying? The bronze paused, pressing into T'rid's thoughts for a moment, before he added, /You/ aren't worrying. Because he wasn't. C'leon was dead, and Baith seemed capable of handling Benden now. Maybe. In any case, there would be no more immediate attacks. The bronzerider huffed at Raylin, one eyebrow arching at her statement. "He wouldn't kill you; he'd kill me," he mumbled against her finger, and then reached up to tug her wrist away. "I can talk slowly," he added. "The only reason I told you to tell me what was -- " Pause for breath, ugh " -- bothering you was so I could explain, exactly, why you're being stupid." Another pause, which Stupid filled by absently nibbling on T'rid's blankets, muttering reprovingly, Stupid mine, slow.

"Do you know what would have happened, even if you'd warned Say-what's-her-face about the Benden Riders...coming? You'd have been killed, and she'd have been taken, and..." He squirmed, wincing at the pain. "Everything would have happened just the same as they had, except you would have been dead." Hazel eyes flicked towards Corinth, and the bronze stayed silent, watching, as observant as any Healer. He wouldn't have been hurt, if she'd died, but T'rid didn't bother pointing that fact out: He had only Corinth's ties with the other Weyrlings, and he wouldn't have risked death by trying to grab Saeo away from F'rel as he had Raylin (hi, cracked ribs); but she was hurting herself enough as it was. No need to point that out, nope. "And anyway -- ask Corinth, he'll tell you; it's already over. There's been deaths before; people have forgiven -- and you can't change it anyway." He hissed, uncomfortable, right hand rising to his rub his temples wearily. "The majority of deaths was in the Infirmary, and you can't blame yourself for that. Ow..."

He hated not being able to so much as lecture someone...

[Rei]

Raylin sat silently until T’rid moved her finger from his lips. A half formed protest began to leave her own blue tinged lips, but he was already speaking, so she dropped it. No point in asking him not to speak when the bronzerider was so darned determined to sway her point of view. Instead the weyrling listened in silence an occasional tear making it’s way down her face to fall onto the bronze rider’s blanket.

T’rid was wrong. He was. The fact that he left out the part of himself being injured did not escape Raylin’s attention but she didn’t have the inclination to bring it up again. He’d just dance around it anyway. As T’rid finished Raylin shook her head in disagreement and squeezed her eyes shut. “What if they don’t forgive me? I know there is nothing I can do to change it but….”

But, that didn’t stop Raylin from beating herself up over it. No sense in speaking anymore. She knew the truth. Did it really matter if T’rid shared her beliefs? Ebolath pressed against Raylin’s mind, a silent supportive prescience, but the dragon did not try to argue. There was no point. The green had quickly learned that when hers believed something, it was fighting a loosing battle to try and reason with her. Instead she pressed against Corinth’s mind with a tired apology and closed her own whirling eyes. Ebolath was tired, hers was tired and upset. Couldn't they just all go back to sleep?

“I should go. Let you sleep. If you need anything Ebolath is awake and so is Corinth. I am sure they would be happy to let someone know for you.” Raylin’s quiet words where laced with a sadness that was completely evident. No sense trying to hide it. Letting her feet quietly hit the floor she paused for a moment, scanning the rows of cots the room contained. So many where dead and still others died.

What for? Had there been a point? Was there some sort of lesson in all this? If there was, for the moment, it escaped her.

Raylin’s lungs constricted painfully and she hunched over to cough violently. Bringing her hand away from her mouth she trembled slightly. Blood? Was there supposed to be blood? Not a lot of blood but nonetheless it was still present. Curling her hand into a fist she half turned to look back at the bronzerider. “Goodnight.”

[Avu]

She didn't look good. Perhaps it was the strain of -- what? Just -- walking over here? Stress, perhaps: Emotional as well as physical. T'rid was no Healer, but he wasn't stupid, either, and a basic overview of Healing and Dragonhealing was covered in Weyrling Lessons. It didn't escape him, the blue tinge to the greenweyrling's lips: He was quite sure he didn't have that. His breath wasn't coming easily, and to go too long without pausing to take an adequate breath was inviting a headache -- but T'rid was positive his lips weren't blue yet, if only because Corinth would have thrown a fit at him, if they were. But he was tired, and seeing Raylin having trouble breathing only made him realize -- again, as if he wasn't already suitably aware of it -- how hard it was to draw breath. Scorch it, but he wanted to get out of here. He could see most of the people from the Weyrling Barracks: Wasn't that C'oar, there? Asleep, but there nonetheless. Hopefully he'd never be awake at the same time as the brownweyrling, because he really didn't have the energy to yell at him, and what with his broken arm, he didn't think getting in a fight -- even a verbal one -- would assist healing very much. Which was precisely the reason he wasn't trying to shake sense into Raylin: It would hurt. And hurting was bad, especially when it came to a broken arm.

But that wasn't to say the bronzerider wasn't tempted, because he was. Incredibly tempted. Was she bound and determined to blame herself forever? Honestly: At some point, she'd have to figure it out -- that there simply was no way anyone could blame her for what had happened. She hadn't been at the Infirmary; she hadn't had a chance to make it her fault, really. Blaming Raylin for it was ridiculous -- as if someone had decided to blame one of the people who had died because they'd failed their Weyr. P'nor -- his failure of a Second -- had died, and he hadn't even managed to take down a single Bendenite along the way, nor yet injure a single one. But nobody blamed him. Raylin got out of it alive: That was good enough for T'rid. He'd whap her over the head if he wasn't worried about somehow...unbalancing her. She looked weak enough at present moment for it to actually happen. But honestly, how else was he supposed to stuff sense into her mind? He actually growled in frustration at her, but his head hurt and Stupid nipped his hand sharply, obviously following an unspoken command from Corinth.

Sleep, the bronze's croon came shortly thereafter. You are stressed; you hurt, and I don't like it. Ebolath's probably hurts too. You need numbweed, or fellis? Meisk's is nearby; I can see her little golden sister. The dragon hesitated, aware of his Rider's frustration -- at himself, at Raylin, at Benden -- and then added quietly, You accomplish nothing by anger, Mine. She is not...not listening to you. Let it -- sleep on it, yes? You may talk later. Ebolath's is better than you are: If you requested it, I'm sure she wouldn't mind coming to see you once she is more...able. Should I call Meisk's? the bronze finished, insistently asking the question again. He liked Meisk's -- Meira -- for a reason that was beyond T'rid. Possibly it was more because of her firelizard than because of her, but either way, the dragon had no problem asking Meisk to send His to see T'rid. Or Jermaysk, really, but by his reckoning, there were more severe problems than numbweeding and fellis-dosing, and Jermaysk's, being a Journeyman, should be left to take care of those before seeing to something this simple.

I'm fine, honestly, but -- "Is that blood?" he interrupted himself, both eyebrows shooting up as he pointed at her empty cot. "Yes. Go. I'm having Corinth call for Meis -- Meira." As often happened, he'd slipped into nearly calling people by their dragon's name -- Meisk's, instead of Meira. It had happened before, and T'rid was learning to catch himself when he was especially agitated, for that, generally, was when it happened the most. "Blood in your spit? You're clearly worse off than they thought. Internal bleeding -- or something. Lay down, and seriously -- if you hurt yourself, I'll have to punish you." Such a threat. Meisk, Meisk -- I am Corinth; Mine is in the first weyr, ground level, that's being used for an infirmary: he requires numbweed and fellis, and Ebolath's is nearby and Mine thinks she may have internal bleeding of some sort. Can Yours come? At the wher's affirmative, Corinth crooned audibly, settling down again and watching Raylin and T'ridHis. Meisk's comes, he stated quietly to His.

" -- she's coming," T'rid echoed the dragon. "Good night. Don't do anything stupid, and look, if you're having trouble getting to sleep, Corinth's going to call for someone to fellis you. You can talk Ebolath out of it, but you can't Corinth." Glare. He refused to compromise, there.

[Rei]

“Is that blood?” T’rid’s words caused Raylin’s eyebrow to lift slightly and she merely nodded not wanting to speak for fear of having another cough attack. Blood? Yes it was blood. From her lungs no doubt. That was why they where burning. Why she had so much trouble drawing breath, why she felt so weak.

“I don’t… I’ll be…” However he didn’t give her a chance to argue. After T’rid had finished his miniature rant Raylin half smiled at him. “Punish me huh? I highly doubt you will be doing anything of the sort for awhile my dear.” His comment about the fellis caused her to glare back at him. Fellis meant more time sleeping, more time away from Ebolath. More time out of the waking world. “I’ll sleep. You don’t have to drug me." She added quietly.

Lifting herself off the bronze rider’s cot and onto the floor Raylin slowly made her way over to her own bed. Practically collapsing on it, she took a few pained breaths and closed her eyes. Raymine? You are bleeding. Should I speak to Meisk’s so you do not have to. No Ebolath I can talk. I’m ok really. The green merely snorted in return.

Rolling over so she could see the bronzerider easily Raylin mouthed a goodnight and closed her eyes. Somehow laying flat made it harder to breath and a few minutes later she sat up blinking into the darkness. What was wrong with her? F’rel hadn’t cut her that badly. If some kind of damage had been done to her lung they would have known right? Shivering the weyrling looked about the room trying to spot Meira before she approached.

Ebolath moved away from Behruth and moved closer to the entrance to the weyr. Positioning herself a few feet away, she gave a soft croon to Corinth and fixed her whirling eyes on the entrance. Excuse me? Meisk’s? This is Ebolath. I am sorry for bothering you but mine is having trouble with her lungs. They feel very heavy and I am worried. The green’s tail twitched back and forth along the ground her yellow eyes plainly visible to anyone who happened to wander by. Her thoughts are also hazy and she has been coughing a lot.

Raylin's response was immediate. Ebolath you don't have to tattle on me. I obviously do Raymine. You are not thinking clearly so I must think for us. Now hush. Sleep as Corinth's said. Everything will be ok. You will see minelove. Ebolath's words where given in a soothing tone that was meant to reassure as well as relax.

Her rider was sick but as long as Raylin didn’t leave all would be well wouldn’t it? Reaching out Ebolath caressed T’rid’s mind. Thank you T’rid. You are a good friend. Sleep well. Without further words she released his mind with a loving caress and turned her attention to Corinth.

Crooning softly to the bronze Ebolath flopped down a few feet away. I am sorry that mine woke yours. She wanted to apologize and make sure yours wasn’t going to leave. If she upset him she didn’t mean to. Mine does not think good thoughts right now. Perhaps in time this will pass.

[Avu]

She really was trying to hurry. A call from not one, but two patients, and spoken by a dragon to her lovely Meisk meant something had to be done, and so the bluehandler had made good her escape from the part of the triage dedicated the more minor of injuries -- a few cuts, minor burns from the Infirmary, etc. -- which just happened to be at the other end entirely from the weyr in which the call had come from. Which weyr was obvious -- the bronze dragon had said so clearly, and besides, she could see Corinth, hovering near the door like a fretting clutchmother. The idea drew a soft indignant chirrup from Zesa, the firelizard rustling her pinions and informing Hers with mock haughtiness that she in no way looked like the bronze did. She was a much better mother than Corinth could ever be, thank you. The hysterical urge to laugh or cry rose in her throat, and, biting it down, the wherhandler drew her light tunic around her tighter, one hand reaching up to tighten her runnertail. She rarely put up her hair on a regular basis, but working in the Infirmary meant she was extremely careful not to let her hair get in the way, and it had been tied back loosely, dropping over her back lightly. As she hurried down towards the last of the ground-level weyrs, Meisk appeared from the darkness, loping beside her a few steps.

The blue wher's wings had been sutured where the membrane had been torn, but thankfully, his wings weren't constantly in use as a dragon's were: They'd heal in no time and he felt next to no pain -- but that was probably more the numbweed than the wound itself. Meisk crooned softly as Meira patted his flank lightly. When she was busy, that was the best time: She had no time to think about what had happened, no time to go into shock or to panic and cry. No time to think about anything but the next patient. She was -- predictably -- exhausted, but did that matter? Meira thought not. Ebolath's voice in her head made her start, and she bit her lip, considering. Heavy? The first thought that came to mind was cracked ribs -- but that might not be it, and as far as internal went, she'd rather R'wign or Jermayan take care of it than she. As she approached Corinth, she skirted the bronze's foreclaws, letting Zesa streak in first and then land daintly on T'rid's bed, chirruping softly at the bronzerider and then pacing forward to nudge Conspiracy and examine the brown's splint critically before she crooned approval to Meira as the wherhandler approached the bronzerider's bed first, Meisk peeling away from the door to vanish into the undergrowth again, a pale ghost.

"Fellis?" she questioned quietly, keeping her voice down as her gaze flickered automatically around the rest of the room, checking for signs of consciousness among the other patients. Other than Raylin, they seemed mostly asleep -- or just plain unconscious. But the bronzerider jerked his head emphatically towards Raylin, wincing as tears came to his eyes from the motion.
"Get her first," he countered mulishly. "I'm not the one that's been coughing blood."

Which earned him a disapproving hiss from Zesa as the queen took flight again as Meira slid around the edge of the cots, and then sat down on the edge of Raylin's, smiling weakly at the girl. "Ebolath said you were having trouble with your lungs," she said quietly. "Coughing blood? -- that's what he said. Anyway, what I'm thinking is possibly cracked ribs, and a ruptured blood vessel in your lungs -- and I'm not really qualified to take care of internal without knowing exactly what it is. Can you tell me if there was any point in the attack where you might have been hit in your ribcage -- by a person, a knife hilt, or anything? I can't take care of it, but I can help ease it, and it'll help Jermayan if I can tell him what it is...?"

((YAY FAIL. ;o;))

[Rei]

(No Fail Avu <333 It's perfectly fine ^^)

As Meira approached and sat on the end of the cot Raylin nodded in a polite greeting. Noting the healer’s smile the weyrling returned the gesture, her own one just as faint. Before she could speak however Ebolath took it upon herself to answer.

I do not think mine was stuck by anything other than F’rel’s knife. The wound starts at her chest and ends at it’s deepest point at the bottom of her ribcage. Cherilith’s stitched it up before the attack ended. If it helps she is also very cold. After she coughs she can breathe better and it is harder for her to breath if she is laying down.

Raylin scowled at the entrance to the weyr. Ebolath returning the look with a loving croon. Clearing her throat the green weyrling looked back at the T’rid before returning her attention to Meira. “Ebolath basically summed it up. After F’rel released me I blacked out. So I don’t remember anything after that. The stuff I’m coughing up isn’t purely blood there is a lot of mucus in it as well. I’m also chilled.” As she finished speaking another coughing spell hit, although this one was not as severe as the first ones.

Waving her hand in T’rid’s direction Raylin went on. “If you need to wait for someone else you can put him to sleep first. Worrying about me isn’t going to get him better any faster.” Leaning back against her pillow she took a deep breath.

Internal? That wasn’t easy to fix was it? If they didn’t fix it would she die. A momentary feeling of panic flooded her and Ebolath crooned worriedly before pressing another reassurance against her rider.

Getting to her feet Ebolath began to pace, a slight ache beginning in her stitched side. Raylin winced and looked towards Ebolath before managing to whisper. “Could you also get someone to put more numbweed on Ebolath’s side? It’s beginning to bother her.” Only after mine has been seen to please. The weyrling rider sighed but didn’t argue with the green. No sense upsetting her further.

[Avu]

Between the green dragon talking so freely to her and Raylin's explanation, it sounded less like an attained injury and more like some sort of sickness. Meira cocked her head to one side, considering the girl. It didn't seem likely that the sword that burst the blood vessel in her lung, since, according to the green dragon, the girl hadn't been hit by anything save for that, and if the cut was deepest near the end of her ribcage, she'd be more likely to hurt down there than her lungs. Flu...was not something she wanted being spread around, though. The mere thought of having a patient with an infectious disease in such crowded conditions made the wherhandler want to twitch. Did she know -- ? If it was the flu, she'd have to ask R'wign or Jermayan to have Raylin isolated as much as possible from the other patients. Coughing and sneezing would have them all sick -- and likely the Healers would carry the disease from one weyr to another, and she was going to panic. Meira inhaled deeply, one hand rubbing her temples wearily. She really didn't want to deal with the flu right now. Or even a cold. With so many injuries -- the Riders would hardly have the strength to fight off an infection, and there might even be deaths.

As if there weren't enough already.

"She wasn't hit by anything else," the bronzerider interjected from his cot a few beds over, watching Zesa as the gold fluttered back to Conspiracy and began to examine the brown firelizard's splint again, nudging at it lightly in a way that was distinctly reminiscient of a Healer examining another person's cast -- quickly, confidently, and surely. "I made sure of that." He sniffed, a bit pointedly, at Raylin's comment. Put him to sleep indeed. He refused to see her rot away, moping and coughing to herself, before he fell asleep: At the very best, she'd have to at least have stopped coughing. "I can wait," he retorted. "Just -- I mean, I can take fellis on my own; I'll take it when I'm ready -- I just can't get it, is all." Scorch it, but how he hated to depend on someone else, even for something as simple as this...

Meira shot something that was a mix of a scowl and an exasperated look at T'rid, who merely quirked an eyebrow in response. "Okay, this is what I'm going to do, and if anyone argues, I -- just don't, okay?" She barely kept the tremble of exhaustion out of her voice. "I'm pretty sure there's water boiling -- so I'll get Zesa to check on that, and if it's ready, I'll make you a cough remedy -- citrus juice and ambersap. It'll help with the coughing if you drink it -- I'll also get you another blanket, and check for fever, and, look -- if it's the flu or a cold, you'll -- have to be moved. We can't have all of the patients" -- one sweep of her hand took them all in at once -- "getting sick." Another deep breath, and the Healer passed her hand over her eyes wearily. "Again, assuming there's boiled water, I'll get you a cup of water and fellis, enough to make you sleep, and bring it to you...and yes," she added, nodding at Raylin, "Zesa'll bring Ebolath numbweed. She can apply it, too."

Heh. Who said firelizards weren't intelligent? Meira half-turned towards the bronzerider's cot, half-expecting a protest, but T'rid offered forth none, staring at her imperturbably for a moment before he merely shrugged and winced. Zesa trilled softly at Meira's mental command, and then vanished between, golden wings instantly disappearing as Meira leaned wearily on Raylin's bed again, rubbing her eyes as she flicked through the Healer's bag, searching for what she needed even as Zesa reappeared, a skin clutched between her forelegs, wings straining to keep them both aloft as she dropped first onto Raylin's bed, the warmth of the skin obvious even as she vanished again, and reappeared in short order with a cup, which landed on the cot as well. As the queen vanished between for the third time, Meira caught the mug, pouring half a cup of the hot water into it and then, unstoppering a vial as she balanced the mug carefully on her palm, she turned the mixture of ambersap and citrus juice into the mug and mixed it with a short length of wood she brought out of the pack, too, and then offered it to Raylin. "It doesn't taste bitter at all, so it shouldn't take you too long to drink," she added reassuringly, managing a half-smile at the girl even as one hand touched Raylin's forehead.

Slight fever. Normally she'd say it was nothing to worry about. But now? Meira'd be talking to Jermayan soon. She sighed as she straightened just as Zesa reappeared with a second mug, which the queen dropped onto the bronzerider's bed and then sat at the end of said cot, watching intently as Meira measured out five drops of fellis and poured it into the cup from a vial, which she stoppered and put up immediately before adding the water and stirring it. Setting it onto small tray on the bronzerider's cot, she managed a weak nod. "Drink whenever you're ready -- twelve hours" was her mumbled statement, before she unscrewed a cap off of a container of numbweed salve and handed it to Zesa, nodding at the door. "For Ebolath, please, beautiful." The gold twittered once, obediently, and then took off for the door; once outside, she dropped the container right beside Ebolath and landed on the green's back boldly, crooning musically. See? The green would let her put numbweed on now, yes?

"Now -- just hang on, let me get the blanket..."
As the Healer took off again, T'rid nursed the cup of fellis-laced water wearily. "This is exactly the reason I'd hate to be a Healer..."

[Rei]

Raylin stared at T’rid as he spoke. Stubborn mule. As long as the bronze rider eventually took the fellis she would be happy. He needed rest more than she did. He was the one with the broken bones. Her injuries were superficial compared to his.

The green weyrling turned her attention back to the healer as Meira started to speak. Raylin stayed silent, although a spike of anxiety went through her at the mention of other patients getting sick. T’rid. She had been close to him. She had touched him. Faranth. If he got sick with cracked ribs would he die? The weyrling’s brown eyes shot to the bronze rider and back as Meira finished speaking. Oh Faranth she would never forgive herself.

Raylin’s thoughts where put on hold as she watched the healer mix her drink. When it was handed to her she mumbled a thanks before taking it carefully. The touch to her forehead made her wince slightly. The sigh the healer gave was all the confirmation Raylin needed. She was sick. Shard it all.

Ebolath twitched but stayed silent, her own mind processing what Meira had said. Mine is not too badly hurt and we where supposed to move out of the barracks soon anyway. Perhaps we can move to a weyr where mine can be away from those who are badly injured? She would be in even worse spirits if she caused someone’s death.

Zesa’s appearance caused the green to croon softly. The little sister was very beautiful and she had been her little blue brother’s clutch mother. Go ahead little sister I will stay still. Thank you for your help. The green turned whirling eyes back to the weyr entrance. Mine you will get better quickly if you take care of yourself. Then you can come back and mope over Corinth’s all you want. Ebolath I am not moping over him! It’s my fault he got hurt. I just feel responsible. The green did not comment verbally, instead a smug feeling filtered through the bond and Raylin tactfully decided to ignore it.

The weyrling held the warm cup carefully, waiting a moment before she took a sip. It wasn’t the worst tasting thing in the world but it wasn’t pleasant either. As Meira left Raylin sighed and looked back over at T’rid. “They are going to move me. You won’t be able to harp at me anymore so if you have anything you want to say you better say it now. You’re probably going to be here for awhile longer.”

The concoction Meira had given her was already starting to soothe her throat. With any luck perhaps she would recover quickly enough to come back and dote on T’rid. It was the very least she could do. After all, he had risked himself so that she could live. Without a doubt she owed him.

[Avu]

The green dragon's reassuring croon drew a soft chirrup of approval from Zesa as the queen nudged the cap off of the salve, trying not to inhale: Numbweed was notorious for smelling absolutely horrible, even in the salve form. The herbal, medicinal scent tickled the firelizard's nose and she sneezed despite her efforts not to, eyes whirling in embarrassment. One wing fanned upwards in an attempt to clear the air as she settled neatly on her haunches to dip her forepaws into the salve and then, launching herself upwards, landed neatly on Ebolath's back, tail hooking boldly around the nearest neck ridge as the firelizard leaned forward to rub the numbweed against the green hide: Fortunately, the salve form of numbweed wasn't strong enough to make her loose feeling -- but any pain Ebolath was feeling would almost instantly disappear. Zesa worked in relative silence save for the shifting of her wings as she fanned them out to keep her balance, doing her best not to put too much pressure on Ebolath. It probably wouldn't hurt -- the firelizard was just too small -- but it wasn't polite, and it she was more flexible, this way.

After a time, she fluttered upwards and settled more securely on the green's back, uttering a quiet flute. Was that enough, or did the green require more -- ? It wasn't the nastiest wound she'd seen -- far from it -- but it maybe still hurt. Sometimes the smaller wounds did hurt more than the bigger ones because you didn't expect them to hurt. Preening slightly as Meira touched her mind with a pleased adoration, the gold flicked her tail lightly, nudging Ebolath's neck lightly. The little green was a very nice one, and very sweet for talking to Hers; Zesa had decided that she liked Ebolath. Anything else, was there anything else she needed? She could get the wher to hunt for Ebolath, if the green wanted to: Meisk wanted to help, really -- he just didn't really know how to.

His ribs hurt now, more than he'd expected, and T'rid sank down farther in the covers, barely resisting the urge to vanish completely under them. He didn't want to talk anymore, but that didn't mean he'd take the fellis and let it knock him out, either. Not just yet. He curled his hand around the mug, only half aware of its warmth against his right palm (his left arm was still under the blankets; he didn't want to see the cast, or if the bone was still visible) as his gaze fell on Conspiracy, the bronzerider biting his lower lip curiously. The brown firelizard was still asleep, his wing awkwardly held away from his body, and Stupid had wandered over to curl up against the firelizard's body, settling snugly and closing his eyes. Stupidmine sleep, the Salamandyr crooned. Stupid not, sleep. Going to sleep was really preferable to sitting and festering, with arm and chest burning like fire. He wouldn't be surprised if he'd managed to gain a nice new set of scars on his left arm, either. Felines and Bendenites: At least he'd never gotten a scar from something stupid.

Raylin's comment drew an appropriately exasperated look from T'rid. "It might not be infectious," he corrected, mostly to be contrary, since it was pretty obvious that it was. "And you're not hurt badly anyway; they'd be taking you out soon." He slid down into the cot until he practically flat on his back, head propped against the headboard, but it hurt to breathe like that, and he pushed himself upright again, ignoring the pain as much as he could. "But if they do move you -- my message is as follows -- you're an idiot for blaming yourself. Love, T'rid." Squeezing his eyes shut to signal the end of the conversation, since Raylin wasn't coughing anymore, T'rid drained the mug of fellis-laced water, managing to repress a grimace at the bitter taste, and then pushed it away, running his tongue over the roof of his mouth and swallowing again in a vague attempt to peel off the last of the bitterness. He could swallow the liquid, but not the bitterness: It clung to his tongue, refused to be removed.

Isolation was preferable. Somewhere close, though, because none of the Healers, Meira included, would appreciate a long walk to make sure the greenweyrling stayed alive. Moving back to the Weyrling Barracks was out-of-the-question; the blood and memories cast on the place would be enough to depress anybody, and when someone was sick, depression simply would not do. The bluehandler didn't bother trying to explain to concept to Ebolath; redwort could wash away most infections, so as long as the Healers were properly cautious around Raylin and made sure none of the other patients came into contact with her while the infection was known to be active, they should be okay. A green's weyr would likely be at the top of the canyon, and the long walk between Aslath's old weyr and the top of the canyon would be exhausting. Utterly and completely exhausting. No, isolation was best, for practical purposes. She'd have to talk to Jermayan, though, to be sure.

By the time the Healer returned, a blanket folded neatly over her arms, the bronzerider had twisted sideways for breathing purposes, pulling his pillow over his head. Childish, but not altogether unpractical: When the other patients awoke, there was probably going to be a fuss at one point or another. It just wouldn't be an Infirmary if there wasn't a fuss, more's the pity. Probably asleep, since the drained cup of fellis had been propped at the edge of his bed. Spreading the blanket over the layer already over Raylin's cot, Meira flicked the girl a tired smile. "Let me know if you need anything else, okay?"

[Rei]

Ebolath gave a soft croon and turned her head towards Zesa. Yes that is actually quite perfect. I can’t feel the pain anymore. Thank you. The query about food made the green rumble thoughtfully, only now realizing how incredibly hungry she was. Oh I would not want to bother him but I am very hungry. If he wants to I would be ever so grateful to him. The green gave another adoring croon and touched Meira’s mind lightly. Thank you for taking care of mine.

Raylin shook her head at the bronze rider’s message but didn’t comment or argue further. He obviously didn’t get it. Which wasn’t really all that surprising to her. If she had to make a bet Saeo would probably also be quite horrified at her views.

Thoughts of Saeo caused the green weyrling to immerse herself back in her depressed mood. What in Faranth’s name would she say to the blue rider when she saw her? Sorry would probably get a glare and a huff. Do not worry until the day comes mine. Go to sleep, Corinth’s is already sleeping.

Raylin turned to look at T’rid and indeed he was asleep as the green had said. Good, with any luck perhaps he wouldn’t get sick. The weyrling busied herself with trying to identify as many sleeping forms as she could while she waited for Meira. C’oar was there, and Ke’rin, also T’ke. So many injured and for what? How had the attack even ended? Baith sent the dragon’s away. Benden’s gold? Why? I do not know.

Raylin’s musings where cut short as Meira appeared with her blanket. “Thank you. I’ll have Ebolath call if I need anything else. The medicine helped.” Snuggling herself in the extra blanket she leaned back and watched the weyr entrance. There where a surprising number of dragon’s awake. Besides Corinth and Ebolath there where quite a few others, at least four. They are worried about theirs like I am. Won’t you please go to sleep Rayminelove? The weyrling looked towards the yellow whirling eyes that marked her dragon. I’m not really sleepy anymore love.

A mental sigh was all that Ebolath offered. Well then stay awake but please don’t dwell on things you can’t change Raymine. It only makes you sad and I do not want you to be sad. You should be happy that you and those you care for most are still living. There is time to mourn the fallen but we have to move beyond them. Falling silent the green curled her tail around her haunches and turned her attention to some rustling in the underbrush.

Raylin bit her lip but didn’t comment. Instead she leaned back to look at the ceiling above. This had been Aslath’s weyr. Shmee had lived here, lead from here, and she was also gone. How many more would follow before it was all over? Would the sorrow, the pain, ever go away? Her thoughts drifted back and forth until exhaustion finally won out and she drifted off into quiet slumber.