Licking Wounds (Kalierre)

[kysseh]

Dusk had long since come over the weyr, and peace had once again fallen over the majority of the inhabitants after the fascinating event of the afternoon. Most of the human and dragon residents were likely sleeping now that had night had fallen, but a few were still awake, namely a rather distressed brownpair that could not seem to rid themselves of an unlikely pest.

K'von was currently staring at the little creature, wishing he could make the thing just leave off. The little salamandyr did not seem to be able to return to his person on his own, though, and the rather sad state of K'von's left hand gave evidence to the fact that the creature was most unhappy. He knew what needed to be done, but he was loathe to go out and face her. The disappointment, upset, and streak of anger would likely take a bit to fade, and he just was not in the mood to play right now.

On the other hand, he wanted to get rid of the little creature, and his hand would need some treating. Good thing I know a healer. he thought a bit sullenly before he reluctantly got to his feet, which sent fresh pain lancing through his hand. Growling softly, he made for the bowl on his desk and pulled out a meat scrap which he dangled before the creature's nose.

"Here's the deal: you chew on /this/ instead, and I'll let you have the whole sharding thing and I'll bring you back to your person. Will that satisfy you?!" he asked, an unusual sharp edge to his tone brought on by physical and mental pain. It was not only his disappointment that pained him. The brown dragon on the ledge was in similar situation, if far worse. Dohulth had been fairly starving after the flight, and K'von had had to watch the brown rip apart two rather large wherries with unusual viciousness, perhaps to quell Dohulth's upset with himself and with the lovely green he had adored.

With it decided that he could no longer sit around and wait for her to... finish... the normal activities of a Flight, K'von made sure the little creature was still clinging on and made for the door, leaving the meat scrap on his hand and temptingly close to the little 'mandyr in the hopes that he would give up his grip. He walked out onto his ledge and passed his sulking dragon.

Going to return it? the brown asked abruptly, to which K'von answered in the affirmative. The dragon said nothing else, and K'von opted to take the stairs and not bother the poor male anymore. Faranth only knew how much the brown wanted to be nowhere near the healer and her dragon at the moment. Dohulth got upset and sulked very rarely, but on the rare occasion that he did, even K'von would stop the teasing and let the dragon be. Time and a lot of mauling of herdbeasts would fix that.

The stairs and boats took a long time, but the brownrider was infinitely glad that he came. His hand bled and throbbed, but the sight of the infirmary so near brought him the prospect of relief... and a great deal more pain to take directly to the face. His last view of the healer had been with her face firmly attached to that weyrling's, and it rankled at him somewhere deep in what passed for his metaphorical heart. Still, he kept his game face on and opened the front door of the infirmary, padding in and glancing around for any hint of where he could find the object of his search.

"Journeyman Healer, I believe I have something of yours..." If his tone was just a few shades off frosty, it was understandable. After risking his neck to save hers and promptly finding himself ousted in favor of a child barely out of adolescence, it was safe to say his pride was pricked and his ego rather damaged. Females.... sharding pains in the- "OW! Can't you let /go/?! I offered food, you little..."

[reqqy]

The aftermath of the Flight - or its natural conclusion, however you wished to dub it - was unusually short, though Kalierre thought little of it. He was just a kid, anyway. Couldn't be expected to be that - good. Not that she would have remembered one way or another. Nor was it one of those storybook 'ah, look at who tumbled into my furs!' moments, where there was an instant attraction and all was right in the world. At best, they were civil. At best. She was actually quite pleased to be away from Sk'ler and back in the place that she knew best, even if her muscles did protest to every minute movement. Shardit, but she would kill Phremath if the green showed Triniath any undue affection after this. Kalierre had no intention of coming to so banged up after every Flight.

At least the green was happy; she was still sleeping soundly with that brown. It was almost enough to make Kali want to drown herself in the nearest pool. Okay, so 'civil' was probably stretching the truth a little.

The dragonhealer was practically hipdeep in a nice big tub of numbweed - apparently the dragon had managed to slash his hide up nicely in a green flight, which made her want to beat that green soundly over the head - when one of her apprentices mentioned that a certain brownrider had entered with her terror attached to his hand. Kalierre's eyes widened. She'd completely forgotten about Lust! What was he doing devouring random people, anyway? Not pausing to clean up - she hurried toward the entrance to the infirmary, ignoring the strange glances she'd been getting all evening. One would think that they'd be mature enough not to get weird simply because her dragon rose. Of course, it could be the bruises on her bare upper arms. She'd rolled up her sleeves before diving into vats of salve and numbweed.

L'rineeater! Whatever had possessed the salamandyr to cling to the man's hand was promptly forgotten, but it wasn't Lust's wild dash and subsequent nipping that made her freeze midstride. "K'von?" Her face registered confusion. "What did you do to Lust? He's a pain in the arse, but I've never seen him do anything like that." Pushing back loose strands of hair, she suddenly grew self-conscious of the marks on her arms. Of all people, she didn't want K'von to see what Sk'ler had left her with. Kalierre pushed her sleeves down and took a step forward.

That was when Lust decided to add his own commentary. Dirtbag touch Memine, the bronze hissed. Lust bite! Her brows knit together, before it dawned on her. Dohulth must have given chase. That was...great. So, of all the people in the Flightroom, she'd ended up with Sk'ler - and K'von was probably just a couple of paces away. Well, what could she say? It was the dragon's choice. She'd certainly had no say in the matter.

Nevertheless, her face registered a small measure of sympathy. Surely the brownrider understood she would have preferred him over a weyrling? She felt it uncouth to speak of such things now. "Come," she said, lightly grasping K'von's forearm and leading him toward one of the rooms. The least she could do was see to that wound. Kalierre had to send a very curt command to Lust, who subsided with sullen dignity. He looked about ready to attack K'von again. Faranth, but Lust had really done a number on that hand.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, shaking her head as she indicated that he should take a seat. Kalierre knelt before him, and inspected his hand closer. "I wish I could control Lust better, but he's just so willful."

[kysseh]

K'von was suddenly glad to hear footsteps nearby, and he turned his eyes upward to see Kalierre on the approach. He was torn between being delighted to see the lovely healer and growling at her for... no, but he couldn't. It had not been her fault what had happened. His eyes lit on the bruises on her arms, and he felt instantly ashamed. He had hurt her, marked her. Granted, he had been trying to save her at the time, but it made him feel only slightly less guilty. He had to fight to keep the guilt showing in his dark eyes, the lines on his face.

The grin he gave her as she spoke was a rather subdued version of his normal cheer-filled one, and her confusion only made it fade. She looked... confused. Didn't she know what happened?! Didn't she remember the way she'd jerked away from him as if repulsed to snatch a gawky little weyrling up for her bed?! He would have been angry at her supposed feigned ignorance except for the genuine sort of honesty in her voice. He frowned slightly. "Errr... nothing. I just... he got upset, and when I got close, he latched on," he said, judiciously editing the events that had occurred. When she rolled the sleeves down, he felt a stab of guilt in his gut. Shardit, but he was going to beat himself over that for awhile. Though, he supposed she didn't much remember that either.

Her expression kept changing on him, and he just stood in agonizing silence, wishing his hand would stop throbbing so abominably. It wasn't until she took him by the arm and began to lead him along that he paid her more attention. He tensed initially and then followed, supposing that she could at least repair the damage her pet had done. He should have felt the urge to make conversation, but his pride was still too rankled to do much in the way of joking or playing, not with the thought of her in the furs with that weyrling still fresh on his mind, not with Dohulth's distress still strong in the back of his head.

"Yeah, well, sort of like dragons. Can't really influence them a whole lot," he said dryly, taking a seat where she directed him. The curiosity in the back of his mind told him that Dohulth was listening. He looked up at her as she inspected his bitten and bloodied hand, searching her face for any sort of apology... regret... for her abrupt harshness. He saw none, and the brownrider could not help but sigh quietly. Either she did not remember or he had been seriously off the mark in judging her. He suspected the latter. "Couldn't even bribe him with food."

[reqqy]

K'von definitely wasn't telling her everything. She might be able to get some idea out of Lust, but though the salamandyr was clever, he definitely didn't understand things the way humans did. That was bound to be frustrating and bear very little fruit. Trying not to be hurt by his evasions - he surely had reason to be upset with Lust's owner by the look of that hand, if nothing else - Kalierre made a show of inspecting the brownrider's hand. His comment about dragons was nothing short of bitter. She frowned, suddenly angry. He wasn't really holding Phremath against her, was he? That was...well, beneath him, or who she'd thought he was.

Her hands tightened almost imperceptibly on his, the frown deepening into something else. "You must have been trying to shake him off, too, given the extent of this damage. K'von...I don't know if I can repair this." Her tone flirted on the edge of chastisement and regret. She didn't touch the open rents, though she pulled gently on the skin to get a better look. "You're just fortunate no tendons were severed." Cursing softly, she pulled several things from her belt, including cloth, which she immediately doused in redwort. No matter what happened with the tendons, if his hand got infected, that was the end. It would be unusable.

"It's going to hurt," she warned him, before bathing his hand in the antiseptic as gently as she possibly could. With all of the inner workings bare to the open air? Gentle would never be gentle enough. Numbweed was quick to follow. Not once looking up from her work, she let out a sigh. "He must have reacted poorly to the Flightlust." Kalierre wanted to ask K'von about Flights, about what was normal and what - well, wasn't. She was pretty sure that you were supposed to have at least some limited consciousness of what was occurring. Right? And yet...something held her back. Something forbidding and cold in his manner toward her.

Could it really all just be because of Lust?

Lauranna should have a good idea about what to expect out of a Flight. The woman had participated in dozens of them, and actually looked forward to them - the crazy loon! It would be easier to speak to her, anyway. Especially now. For the first time, Kalierre wanted to curse Phremath. She'd liked K'von, but that stupid Flight had apparently driven a wedge between them. Kalierre hadn't been genuinely interested in anyone for awhile.

"I'm going to move the bones a bit. They're going to need to be held stiff, and once the splints come off, you'll have to strengthen it. But I think I can get it so you'll regain full use of the hand." She'd already started. Lust's teeth had shredded skin and muscle, and also thrown things out of place. Drawing out a thread with her teeth, she began stitching the muscle back together with exquisite care, her hands steady. It was a slow, grueling process, and something that would feel uncomfortable - though not painful - to K'von with the effects of the numbweed. Of course, she knew several people who couldn't handle a sight like this.

[kysseh]

That frown was for him, he knew, and K'von had keeping from spilling out the whole story, start to finish. Shardit, this was awful! He wished she knew what had happened, wished he could tell her without feeling like he was guilting her into sympathizing with him. He just kept quiet while she inspected the painful mess that was his hand, alerted by something when her grip on it tightened very slightly.

Her words shocked him, and he was torn between anger and fear at the thought. Irreparable damage?! The tone implied that she blamed him for the injury, and he sighed softly, clenching his jaw to keep his anger in check. It was not her fault. Flights did strange, strange things to people, including inciting them to try to jump off cliffs. "Yeah.... I wasn't trying to, but running across the majority of the weyr without the knowledge of something on your hand... you kind of don't realize what you're doing," he said quietly, sighing softly. "That bad, hmm?"

The rustling around with things should have warned him that it was coming, but he still let out a hiss as she fairly slathered his hand in something that stung like nothing he had ever experience. He pressed his back against the back of the chair, growling low in his throat to keep from reacting. The numbweed helped to dull it, but it was still uncomfortable enough that he had to keep his jaw clenched tightly until pure force of will overrode the pain. He looked at her, unsurprised that she would not look at him, though the sigh caught his attention.

"No, actually he reacted poorly to me getting close to you. He was upset, and when I tried to reach out to you, he made an attack," K'von said, his voice unusually tight due to the pain and the stress. He leaned his head back, blowing out a low, slow breath to get himself under control. "I was trying to do the right thing," he mumbled softly, almost inaudibly. Dohulth, still royally upset, offered a brief thought of comfort to His. He knew. You were. You are. You always do. Even when you're angry. the brown told his rider, his tones unusually clipped.

He nodded once at her statement, clenching his jaws tight as she began to work on his hand. Perhaps it was the foul mood that he was in that made him watch, but he simply did, watching her push, pull, and drag things around through all the discomfort it caused. "I'd be grateful... to use it again... preferably for something other than towing Bitey around," he said with a hint of his usual humor, despite the tightness evidence in his frame. "Well, guess one good thing came out of this mess... got to see you after Phremath did her whole Rising thing," he said with a forced grin on his face. He was glad to see her lovely face. Unclothed was even lovelier, but he would not complain about this, even with the pang in his heart that she had shoved him away during that critical moment during the Flight.

On his ledge, Dohulth stirred. You still are fond of her... even after all of that. K'von sensed the brown's unhappiness with him, and he let out a frustrated noise. Quite frankly, I have no clue. he told the irritated dragon. The brownrider just shook his head, trying to ignore the discomfort in his left hand. "What happened... during the Flight?" he asked her suddenly. He had to know what she remembered. It was sharding difficult to talk to her when she seemed so... clueless. Either this was a different woman from the one he had played with in the bathing pools, or something had happened that he was missing. Which was it, though?! "I know Phremath Rose. But what else?" he pushed through clenched teeth, unable to let it go despite his dragon's irritability.

[reqqy]

Her eyes flicked up to his face, clearly surprised. Why had he been running across the weyr? To get to the flightroom? But that made no sense, because he was saying that Lust had already bitten him by that point. Her brow twitched downward. Just one, a nervous tic that very, very rarely showed itself. If he was running - which, yes, was consistent with the injury - with Lust attached...No, that was impossible. She'd never seen a group of riders running through the weyr during flightlust. Impossible. Surely she would remember something that...outlandish.

There was another explanation she simply wasn't seeing. Must be the exhaustion. Nor did she want to ask. That would reveal her utter lack of remembrance which, strangely, embarrassed her. Kalierre had always been a controlled, practical individual, and the thought of whole spans of time lost to her memory, in which she'd engaged in...Yes, it embarrassed her. Nor did she feel comfortable talking about anything like that with the mess she was struggling with right now.

And yes, she was struggling. On K'von's part, he was handling it remarkably well. The hand truly was a mess. She'd seen limbs repaired, when muscles weren't reattached correctly or - worse - were reattached to the wrong thing. It was grotesque and rather sad, as a decent healer could have prevented it. Kalierre would pause occasionally, just to be sure, before working on the next piece, carefully perusing her memory for every spare anatomical detail that she might need. Funny how well her memory worked for things learned turns ago, but it couldn't remember the events of a mere few hours.

Thus it was that she was only half paying attention to his words. "I am sorry about my little monster." More than she could say. It was painful just to see the extent of the damage, to work to fix it knowing full well that, even were she to make no mistakes whatsoever, muscles didn't always graft properly. If he lost use of the hand, she'd never forgive herself, even if she hadn't had any control over it. Perhaps especially for that reason. Kalierre didn't lose control. She might do some things that weren't completely thought out on occasion, but she didn't lose control. Ever.

"Mmm," she sounded to his attempt at humor, registering the tone instead of the actual words. He'd forgive her for the lack of attentiveness, hopefully. At any rate, she'd be willing to weather the lack of forgiveness just to ensure that he had a better chance with this hand. Glancing up from her work, she blew a strand of hair out of her face, managing a tentative smile in the face of his bravado. "I would rather not have seen you here, K'von. But it can't be helped." No, so much couldn't be helped.

Her hands stilled at the question, though she didn't look up. Not right away. "Lust was more rambunctious than usual, but that was the only change I noticed," she stated quietly, wisely choosing not to continue her ministrations until she finished. A light tremor had taken her hands. "Then Phremath was diving. I know she can fly, but it still terrified me, because I was afraid she'd forget her limitations. Then...ummm...I do remember her over the weyr...and by the candidate barracks...and I remember...I don't know." Shaking her head, she finally met his eyes, her own gaze unsettled. "Screaming. I remember that, distinctly, though I can't place the words. It was like I was stuck beneath something, and racing towards some catastrophe, unable to stop it."

Naturally, she thought it a mental block, and had no idea how close it was to the truth. "Then just waking up. As if it were all a nightmare, only Sk'ler was in my furs and Triniath was on our weyrledge." She resisted the urge to run her hands over the hidden bruises. "It must have been rough." Her eyes fell, and she colored slightly. The comment from before, though, reasserted itself. "What were you running from, anyway?"

[kysseh]

She did not seem to be paying very much attention, and the intent focus she was showing to his hand made him almost wish he had taken Dohulth away before the Flight. Then there would have been none of this awkwardness, no damaged hands, no sulky browns.

There would also be no Kali... no Phremath. No, he was glad he had been there, even if he had left those bruises on her arms. It almost thrilled him, which was frightening. He, not allowed to touch her or have her, had left a mark for her to remember him by. Not that she remembered anything, though. In fact, she did not seem to know anything beyond the fact that Lust had fairly mangled his left hand. Her lack of attention was disappointing, though as he gritted his teeth at a such of discomfort, he was glad that she was focusing on his hand. He wanted to be able to use that blasted appendage again.

"Not your fault he's got a vicious streak a dragonlength wide," he muttered softly, noting that she did not even seem to register his attempt at lightness. Rather not have seen him here, hmm? He saw her blow the errant strand of hair away, and he reached out with his good hand to gently tuck the wayward bit behind her ear, face still tight with discomfort and dislike. Well, apparently, he had misinterpreted her behavior before. The tentative smile made him think and hope that she would have rather not see him here in this condition, but his wounded pride was not accepting that halfhearted attempt at an explanation.

He felt and saw her hands stop moving at his query, and he was glad for it. If nothing else, the brownrider wanted to know what it was that she remembered of the Flight, for she was either being completely insensitive to his feelings--which would have only angered him further--or she remembered absolutely nothing. Her hands seemed to be shaking, and when she looked up at him, she looked... disquieted. Upset, perhaps. Not right. Her explanation was hazy at best, and he was not sure if it was a pack of lies or really all that her mind come up with as far as memories went. The downturning of her eyes, the flush of her cheeks, made him wonder. Oh, yes... waking up with the weyrling in her bed. He was not sure if that or the fact that he had saved her just before she turned to that weyrling irked at him more. He knew that for Dohulth, it was more of the latter than the former, coupled with the fact that the brown actually knew Phremath before she took to the skies, something he doubted the weyrling pair could attest to.

Running from? He was fairly certain now that she had blocked out much of the Flight. He took a moment to compose his thoughts, what he remembered of the Flight, and he gave the more salient points. "I was running after you. When Phremath took to the air... ground... Dohulth gave Chase immediately. He wanted her, and I was in no position to argue so I went to find you. All five of us did, actually." That ought to please her, that so many males were seeking her. Most women liked to be admired and appreciated as such. His tone had lost its hard edge, and he kept his gaze on her face as he related the judiciously summarized version of the Flight.

"You... started running too. I'm not sure why, but you did. We all chased after you, just like the dragons chased Phremath. You led us into the river... the trees.... then Phremath headed for the cliff edge." He swallowed painfully, remembering the absolute panic he had experienced in realizing that she was pelting headlong for the cliff. "I don't know what you were thinking, but you headed straight for the cliff too. We all ran after you. You slowed down just before you hit it, and-"

He dropped his eyes to his lap. "-... Phremath chose, and the weyrling had you up on the clifftop, away from the edge." All right, perhaps that had been more judicious editing than was necessary, but he was not about to tell her that he had been the only one of the five to reach for her to yank her back. Let her assume it was the weyrling. She didn't need him guilting her further, and that slice of knowledge would change nothing.

He managed a shaky smile for her, a hint of his normal humor in his tone. "I came to full consciousness to realize I was standing on a cliff with four other men, plus you... with that beast on my hand." You are not telling her the whole truth. I know that, but she doesn't need to- No, I think it is good that you do not. You are right. It would not change anything. K'von did not have to be sensitive to emotions to recognize the sullen resignation in his dragon's tone. Dohulth always wanted what was best for His, and that had been a driving factor in his eagerness to take to the air after Phremath. Phremath's had seemed good for His, so it made sense. Now, however, it seemed rather foolish.

[reqqy]

While it was true enough that Kalierre couldn't alter Lust's basic personality, she still felt she could be doing a much better job of redirecting his domineering behavior. But she didn't argue with K'von. There was little point in belaboring that subject; neither were likely to abandon their position. Besides, it probably wasn't to her advantage to have the brownrider's mind changed, anyway. She was blaming herself enough for the both of them.

Lust wriggled between her breasts, trying to find a comfortable position. She could feel his weariness adding to her own and had to struggle to keep her mind alert. Draped over her in his favored position, the bronze actually fell asleep, apparently worn out after demolishing K'von's hand in an hours-long mauling.

It was nothing short of surprising to find the brownrider touching her, though, fortunately for him, she didn't end up stabbing a nerve-ending because of it. Just getting her hair out of the way. She attempted to push it aside as unimportant, a casual gesture, and his expression certainly helped in that regard, but Kalierre had never been good at lying to herself. The gesture was one of familiarity, and it was distinctly out of place given the circumstances they were in. She merely found herself rather confused.

"Running after me?" she questioned, frowning, though she fell silent as his explanation continued. Still, he said nothing to answer that question right away. Five men? Had so many pursued Phremath? Not for the first time, Kalierre wished she could remember the Flight clearly to appreciate that point, if nothing else. She knew it had nothing to do with herself. Pride, however, was not completely nonexistant, as Phremath had managed to snare that many chasers, despite the deformity that the green still had plenty of insecurities about. At least this should help with Phremath's inferiority issue.

Kalierre blinked. She ran? Why didn't she remember that?! A flash of guilt immediately surged to the fore. Here she'd been thinking Sk'ler had unwittingly brutalized her - more or less - and it was another type of fatigue entirely. That didn't explain the bruises. Still, it changed things, and she briefly regretted the coldness with which she'd greeted the boy upon his awakening. No, she still had no desire for him, but now she had very little, if anything, to actually hold against the weyrling.

It was certainly fortunate that she hadn't yet returned to taking care of his hand.

At mention of the cliff, Kalierre paled, unable to keep her trembling fully contained. She'd thought that vague remembrance was her mind's construction for her mental state, not reality. They'd chased her nearly to the edge of the cliff? What if she'd gone over? Phremath would have died. What if some of the others couldn't stop? How many men and dragons would she have led to their deaths, if Sk'ler hadn't been enough in his right mind to stop her? "K'von, I - I'm sorry. I had no idea." Or at least, no reason to believe anything other than what she had. Who would have thought the vague recollection of rushing toward certain disaster and not being able to claw her way back into consciousness was something as physically real as running toward the cliff's dropoff?

Oh, the guilt. If she hadn't run - if she'd been intelligent enough to leave Lust with someone else when she knew Phremath was about to rise - they wouldn't be sitting like this right now. On her knees, she bowed her head, not noticing the breaking of eye contact from the brownrider. "Then Sk'ler saved me?" she questioned quietly, the words mostly a place holder to her frantic thoughts. "That must have been why..." She didn't finish. Phremath barely knew Triniath. Now, Kalierre didn't know who the other three were - their faces were just as lost as the rest of the Flight was - but she was fairly certain Phremath would have taken Dohulth over Triniath in normal circumstances. They were simply closer.

Why hadn't Phremath stopped her?

The dragonhealer said nothing more about the Flight right away, though she was clearly studying K'von's hand with more than necessary intensity, considering she hadn't yet restarted the process of getting everything back into place. "This isn't normal, is it?" Her voice came out sounding rather small. Though she knew Flightlust could be overpowering, she'd never heard of people dashing through Pern or attempting to jump off cliffs. Shaking her head, she forced her mind back to other matters. They would simply have to ensure that she couldn't do the suicide act next time Phremath rose. That was all...She wished it had sounded more convincing in her thoughts.

Looking up at his smile, the dragonhealer attempted to return it, but she honestly didn't find that funny. What was funny about a race toward death and having your hand torn apart by a salamandyr? Clearing her throat, Kali returned to the task at hand to attempt to escape the overwhelming feeling of guilt. She wanted to apologize and tell him - tell him that having K'von in her furs at the end of Phremath's Flight would have pleased her. But it simply wasn't an option. Either he wouldn't care, or he would, in which case it would be rubbing salt in the wound. She couldn't do that to him.

"Thank you for being honest with me," the woman said, genuine gratitude transforming her features. "And for not killing Lust." She attempted a touch of humor of her own. "Though you probably should have. Next time - though hopefully there won't be one - you have my permission to bash him against the nearest wall." Half-hearted smile. Her voice softened. "I would have liked to see you here healthy, not like this."

[kysseh]

While K'von could argue with himself all day that reaching out to move that piece of hair was of greater benefit to her than him, he knew he would have been lying to himself somewhere deep down. No, he had wanted an excuse to touch her, in the vain hope that maybe it would jog her memory of something, of anything. There was no response, though, so he gave up on that line of thinking, just sitting quietly in his chair while she seemed to be putting the pieces together. Of course, if he had given her all the pieces, it would have been a far quicker process, but his editing job had left out a few minor twists and turns in the plot, like the fact that they had all run nude through the weyr in pursuit. Yes, that was perhaps best left undiscussed for now.

The pure facts that she had lost all the color in her face and was now trembling at the realization of what had happened firmly put in place the idea that she truly and honestly remembered nothing. He felt awful for thinking worse of her, too lost in his own envy and self-pity to realize he was the only one hurting. He tentatively reached out to rest one tanned hand on her arm. "It's fine, Kalierre. Not all of us were stupid enough to think we could chase you over. Though I would appreciate you not giving me a panic attack in trying to pull that stunt again," he said, ending with a slight chuckle on the last statement despite the fact that he still wished it would have been Dohulth, not Triniath.

Her breaking off the eye contact her, and he felt even worse for giving her such a... brief... version of the spectacle of events. She did as he hoped, though, attributed her rescue to the weyrling, and he just smiled at her, the smile slightly more genuine. "Why what?" he inquired, wishing he had the energy--and the right--to reach out and touch her face like he had done before, in the bathing pools. Actually, he would have preferred to just cuddle her up onto his lap and let her know that it was all right, that she was fine, he was mostly, or partially, fine, and the world kept going about its business. Somehow, that thought did not seem like it'd be a heart-lifting one, though, so he kept his mouth shut, watching her return her full attention to his damaged hand. He twitched a finger of it and instantly grimaced. Bad idea.

At her query, he tapped the side of her face to make her look at him, the fact that her voice sounded so unsure making him nervous. "Well, I've never had it happen to me, but... first time for everything, I suppose." Yes, first time for yanking someone back off the edge of a cliff, that was for sure. Her attempt at a smile buoyed him, albeit not enough for his ego to stop smarting. He suspected it would take a bit before his wounded male pride would tolerate another rejection like that. Her returned focus to the wounds was both blessing and bane, for he would have liked to just talk to her for awhile, but the hand needed to be fixed. He wanted to use it again, preferably to hold her and scratch Dohulth's eyeridges, but he couldn't be too picky. He did lean his head over a bit to see the mess of his hand and frowned. Shardit. He was starting to hate that little-

Wait... honest?! "That wasn't complete honesty," he admitted, gifting her with a genuine, if regretful, smile of his own. "Complete honesty means admitting how disappointed Wherryface and I are that we weren't... good enough. We won't be next time." That still was not complete honesty, but it was the most she was going to get out of him. He had admitted too much as it was, and he almost felt a gleeful urge at the thought that he might guilt her into- NO! He frowned firmly on that thought to shut his mind up. He was not going to guilt her into anything more. I will not chase next time. Dohulth cut in, still very sullen. HA! I have marks that say you will. Even /you/ can't resist a pretty green in the sky. K'von retorted, to which the brown had no reply besides a grumble.

"Truth be told, I couldn't hurt him since he was yours. I just thought he was... you know, upset about you not being reachable," he admitted. Her attempt at humor was at least in the step in the right direction, and the bit of a smile that she offered, along with her words, made him offer up a genuine smile of his own, despite his wounded ego. "Yes... I know where to find you now, though. Can't escape me that easily." Actually, she could, but that was another of those carefully edited details. He was doing that a lot today.

[reqqy]

She was still very much caught up in the 'what ifs' of a plunge down the cliff with lust-crazed riders on her heels when K'von's hand drew her firmly back to the present. Kalierre chuckled slightly, the sound a nervous one. The news was still too new for her to respond to his lightheartedness any better than that. And why was she the one receiving sympathy, anyway? Her hands were both intact. She hadn't jumped from the falls, despite the crazed intentions of a maniac rider with a dragon in Flight. Kalierre didn't even remember enough of the Flight to be able to discern which of K'von's words were straight fact and what he was sugarcoating. Hard to believe, with what she did know, that he could be sugarcoating anything, but Kalierre knew that, in his position, she likely wouldn't be giving every detail. Particularly if they were upsetting ones.

The dragonhealer could only be thankful that he didn't press more knowledge upon her right away. She doubted she could handle it.

No, she didn't remember the fear, or the pain, or anything like that. Here K'von was, who had joined the Flight, however insanely unorthodox it was, and ended up chasing a woman intent on killing herself - she still didn't know the why on that one - while having his hand ripped apart by the woman's salamandyr. Moreover, he'd gotten nothing from the Flight but pain and exhaustion. And the memories. Kalierre felt guilty. Oh, so very guilty. She didn't want to accept his sympathy, wondered why he was being so nice to her. And yet she was upset, if unfairly so, and responded to his kindness as any creature would.

So weak.

Another question broke her train of thought. She blinked. "Why Phremath chose Triniath," she stated, surprised into being completely direct about it. Then she winced. "I mean, I suppose it could have happened anyway, but I just don't think...ummm...well, Dohulth..." She clamped her mouth shut. This wasn't working. Finally, she stated, "I guess I just wondered why she'd chosen a younger dragon - a weyrling that she doesn't really know." The smile looked sheepish and entirely forced.

And K'von merely verified her thought. It wasn't normal to be that consumed by flightlust, that completely out of control. That scared her. Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on the way you looked at it - her healer's mind was curious. In all truthfulness, it was unlikely that Kalierre's mind was simply more susceptible - although that was possible considering she could once speak with all the dragons of the Weyr. Was Phremath's lust somehow more powerful because of a second, more concealed genetic mutation?

Eyes widening slightly at K'von's admission, her face flushed. "Don't be ridiculous," she snapped. "There's nothing wrong with you or Dohulth. I'm sure it was just the circumstances. Even if it wasn't, Flightlust isn't predictable or rational." She hated the thought that either he or his brown would consider themselves not good enough. That was just a load of bull. Angry at the idea, she went back to taking care of his hand with a vengeance.

Fortunately for K'von, 'with a vengeance' simply meant faster. Her touch was light from long practice.

The dragonhealer had done what she could with the slashed insides, and now began to stitch up the skin, changing over to a string that would require removal so he absolutely had to be checked out again. Not that she wasn't going to bust down his door if she didn't see him soon, anyway.

She really shouldn't have worried, given his last comment. Wrinkling her nose, she stated lightly, "Oh, I'm sure you'll be quite sick and tired of me by the time this hand is back up to snuff." Her fingers probed the closed wounds, making sure everything had settled into place.

[kysseh]

Her nervous chuckle was mildly reassuring, though only slightly so. K'von smiled a bit, as much as he could manage, at her, just letting his hand rest there for a moment, finding it calmed him and his own surliness almost more than it soothed her. He wanted to be angry and upset, but her attitude about it was not one meant to rile. She did not know, and it both infuriated and shamed him.

Her sudden directness toward the subject made the balance switch toward anger for the moment, until she had the good grace to look guilty about it. He flushed a bit. Shards, but they were both just making this worse. "Dohulth is upset, but he'll get over it. We both will," he reassured her a little too quickly, wanting to put her at ease again so that he could return to licking his wounds in peace. He knew that his leaving out of certain crucial details was probably making it even more awkward, but he could not, in good conscience, shove all the details at her. She looked shaken enough as it was, and it was just better if she thought that Phremath had just chosen Triniath for some unknown reason. It did not open that barrel of grubs that made for sticky, awkward conversation, about his own and Dohulth's slighted feelings. Her forced smile made him stick his tongue out a bit at her in a cross between play and genuine jealousy. Now she was just making him feel worse. "She must've had her reasons," was his only response.

His eyes widened, and he reared back in surprise, away from her. Shards, but she could be waspish when she wanted to! He frowned a bit and just stayed silent as she went back to taking care of his hand a little faster than before, ignoring the discomfort in favor of brooding over the thought of what she would say if she knew what had really happened. Yes, there had been much wrong with he and Dohulth, like their instinct to protect, to be good creatures despite inclinations to be otherwise. Now he was upset, and he just patiently sat and sulked. He needed wine.... lots of wine. Drinking himself into oblivion sounded like a marvelous plan once this painful little operation was complete.

"I could never get sick of you." Whoops, had he say that out loud? It seemed his body was still operating without his presently broody mind, and though it was the truth, it was not he wanted to tell her right now. He watched her push at and investigate at his hand, growling softly in discomfort. That did not feel very nice, though he was not about to stop her. He wanted that hand back very much. There was one small detail that needed clarifying, though...

"I mean... sick of seeing and talking to you. I couldn't. You've kind of grown on me," he admitted softly, sighing. "I don't blame you, Kalierre... not for the Flight. Just... know that, okay?" Even as he said it, he realized it was true. He did not blame her. HE was upset and sullen about being slighted, but he could not blame her for the unusual and dangerous series of events. Maybe that was what irritated him the most, that he had no one to slap the blame on.

[reqqy]

Shardit, shardit, shardit. She'd known the moment the words left her mouth that it was the wrong thing to say, but then she'd only dug herself a deeper hole. Kalierre usually was much better at choosing her words. But it was still so confusing to her, and her physical exhaustion must be beginning to carry over into mental weariness. For the first time since arriving at Selenitas - certainly since she'd taken over the infirmary, however informally - Kalierre determined that she was going to get someone else to cover this shift. With her doing the more complicated procedures in most cases, or at least overseeing them, she'd be putting everyone who came into contact with her in danger. The woman bit her lip. Truly, she didn't want to know that K'von and Dohulth were disappointed. She hadn't passed them by! There was nothing, nothing whatsoever she could do about it, except feel guilty, and Faranth knows how much good that was going to do. A brief flash of aggravation at K'von for telling her such a thing ignited, but it disappeared swiftly. She couldn't blame him for anything. Even with the numbweed, he had to be hurting, and people who were hurting could hardly be held responsible for their own words. The dragonhealer knew this better than most. Besides, he'd been remarkably good about everything.

Stilling only for a few seconds at his phrase, Kalierre continued to inspect his hand, her expression entirely neutral. Hard to believe he wasn't trying to confuse her at this point, with what appeared to be a plethora of mood fluctuations. Of course he'd grow tired of her. It was only natural, especially when, at least subconsciously, his mind would be associating her with the pain. But to say that wasn't the only reason would have been a lie. Everyone grew tired of her. The woman had never had much room in her life for anything but her passion, and now that little bit of attention left over was completely devoted to her Phremath. She simply wasn't someone who made a good partner. Though S'rei's repeated - if tacit - rejections had hurt her, she recognized the truth readily enough. Kalierre would always be there for a struggling amnesiac or a man whose hand had been shredded, but beyond that she was not truly available; her first love would always be Phremath and her work. And even though the realization itself was a tad unsettling, she knew she would never change. Her heart cried out for the hurting, and the child's heart still buried deep inside her could not handle doing nothing. Trying and failing was one thing. Being too frightened or unsure to try, or simply not being there to do anything, was completely unacceptable.

His pained growl drew her out of her contemplations, the woman's expression shifting back toward the calm mask that she always wore when dealing with a patient. Her voice lowered, soothing. "Don't worry, hun. It's almost done. Just making sure all your bones and everything are in place so it doesn't heal funny. That's it. See? It's over now." Kalierre smiled gently at him. "Keep holding it up for me. We want your blood pumping a little faster so it clears out any clotting or infection. Yes, that's good, just keep holding it up." Now she'd thoroughly retreated into the role of healer. It was her most natural face, and perhaps the most real one, though that was debatable. There was little about her manner itself that could be faulted, save for the fact that, compared to the way she'd been with K'von, it would clearly seem impersonal. Obviously, she'd be acting this way with anyone at all.

Ferreting through her supplies once again, the dragonhealer pulled out a few lightweight rods, holding a one after another to the splayed hand with a critical eye before setting aside a few. Again, she applied a touch of numbweed, then literally soaked a roll of bandages in redwort before carefully beginning to wrap his hand from the wrist to the ends of the fingers, leaving each of his digits free to move.

K'von's halted words jerked her out of her retreat. She might have gasped in any other circumstance. As it was, her hands twitched, and she winced in sympathy at the pain that movement must have caused him. Lifting her eyes to search his face, she bit her lip slightly, the uncertain young woman again peering out from behind her gaze. Oh, how she wanted to tell him that he may believe that now, but soon enough he'd find her unsuitable. Find her too consumed by her work, and look elsewhere, for someone who actually had space for him in their life. She wanted to tell him. But - and oh, how selfish it was - Kalierre wanted K'von to feel that way about her. It made her heart dash, heat come to her face, and she couldn't say that the feeling didn't appeal to her, however uncomfortable it was.

He didn't...blame her. The dragonhealer swallowed. Had she thought he did? No...yes. Kali must have believed it, somewhere, because she couldn't deny the sudden stinging come to her eyes. The woman ducked her head to hide it, her hands lightly stroking his wrist, as if they needed something to do but she couldn't quite figure out what. "Okay," she whispered, knowing she should at least say something. What had she been -? Ah, yes. Taking up the rods, she began to lay four along the length of his hand, binding each one to keep him from moving the fingers and destroying the internal work she'd performed. His middle and ring finger were bound together since they shared a tendon. Though the bindings were tight, there was no danger of lost circulation.

Edging closer, Kalierre lifted his hand to rest on her shoulder, not quite relinquishing her hold on it with the one hand. Her eyes looked horribly, terribly tired, her face slack and rather pale. Shaking herself, she met his gaze with a quiet, quiet smile. "Try to keep it up as much as you can. It will heal faster that way." It will have a better chance of healing at all. She wasn't about to voice that particular concern. She'd done her best, and that was usually enough. No sense worrying. No sense...He'd drawn her out of the Kalierre who was the healer, and she couldn't for the life of her, seem to struggle back into that role. Her mind searched for what else she needed to tell him. And came up with a disturbing blank.

Without thinking - Kalierre's mind was shutting down, despite how desperately she tried to roust it - the dragonhealer's head fell against his knee. Why couldn't she...

"Kalierre?" A hand on the shoulder that didn't bear K'von's. She twitched, moving just enough to look at the girl who'd spoken. Yes, fellis, she'd asked for that when she'd first seen the mess of the brownrider's hand, hadn't she? The apprentice clearly looked concerned. Trying a comforting smile, Kali took the small bundle from the girl's hands. Fellis. Numbweed. Redwort. Bandages. Everything K'von might need to change the dressing himself, if he was like so many of the other dragonriders here. Better to facilitate that streak of independence than to allow the wound to fester by giving him nothing with which to care for it at all.

The woman set these things aside as the apprentice left and took his free hand between hers in a way to be sure she had his full attention. "If you absolutely can't get here, you can change the dressings yourself. The same way I did it, okay? Numbweed, soak the bandages in redwort. But I really wish you'd just let me change them, so there's no chance of anything strange happening. It can be here, or in my weyr, or just tell Phremath to call me over, whichever works best. I really won't mind the interruption." Her thumb stroked his hand gently, subconsciously. "It's going to swell a little. The numbweed will deaden a lot of the pain, but at least take the fellis at night. It's a downer, fellis is, so no alcohol when you take it. I don't want to have to try to resuscitate you for being a fool." Weary smile.

Would it be so bad, his lips? Her eyes widened at the errant thought, a flush taking her face. She really must be tired. No, maybe not his lips, but she still didn't want to touch them in that way. Kalierre struggled to gather her thoughts together again. "Anything seems strange to you, call me. Discoloration. Oozing from any of the stitches. Anything at all. Even if it's not a problem, I'd rather play it safe."

And now she truly couldn't think of anything else, though she knew she was probably missing something. She let his uninjured hand fall. Kalierre thought about rising. Truly she did. Her muscles even worked to perform the act, but, in the end, she found her body not responding. When had she gotten so weary? Trying to hide this sudden weakness from K'von, she took to studying the ground near his feet.

[kysseh]

Her silence depressed his mood, and K'von just watched her, eyes flitting between her face and his hand in the hopes that she might offer a reaction to something. He had always like to knew where he stood with people. It just made things easier when the boundaries were clear, but with all that had happened, he was unsure of what move to make now. Did she view them as casual acquaintances... as friends? Near-strangers, which was the closest thing to the truth?

Oh, /now/ she reacts! he thought a bit bitterly at her impersonal and overbearingly soothing response to his expression of discomfort. Shardit, but she was acting just like his foster mother, and that rankled. He had been fairly raised by a pair of healers, likely the reason he had survived that Turn on his own, and her attitude now reminded him of that long lost parent when she was in her healer role, all gentle sweet comforts. He managed to keep his annoyance at bay, but he still shifted in his chair a bit, grimacing as the residual movement caused a flare up of pain near his hand. Yes, that was a bad idea, but better still than snapping at her.

After a moment, he managed to get his sullen indignation under control, and he resumed his stance of watchfulness, unable to resist muttering a "Yes, Mother" under his breath. Shardit, but it'd been awhile since he had thought of those far-distant people, and the reminder of them set hard on his heart. He had had three parents, really, and now one was dead, the other two in a place where he could not reach them with the belief that he was dead. As much as it hurt to admit it, he missed that closeness, missed being near people who cared. Sure, he had a tentative truce with Tanith and her rider that could be loosely called a friendship of utility. She, at least, knew what it was like to see the things he had, and by unspoken agreement, they did not discuss it, even when they went for a tandem exercise flight to keep themselves and their mindmates from getting lazy in this much more peaceful weyr. It was something, at least, but it was not like the constant love and devotion that his family had provided and he had returned.

I am not enough? Dohulth said softly, to which K'von responded that that was not what he meant. Dohulth would always, always be his first love and first in his heart. But humans needed other humans too, and the brown recognized that almost immediately, brushing off the perceived slight. That is why we came here. You will find a new family here. Despite Dohulth's confidence, K'von was not so sure. His lack of success so far was... depressing, at best.

The movement of her hands caused a new shot of pain, and he clenched his jaw tight to keep from reacting. Well, the bandaging of the hand had been going well until he had had to open his bag mouth again. Berating himself for the fact that he could not seem to keep his tongue in check, he was surprised to see her gaze turn from his hand to his face. She looked nervous, unsure, and it was upsetting to him. Even when she looked away again, her touch so gentle on him, he felt the need to reach out and comfort. He had intended to, in fact, until she began to work on his hand again, and the hand that would have moved along her arm remained still. He would wait until she was finished, and then they would sort this out without distractions or interruptions or any other obstacles. K'von was a patient, persistent man when he wanted something, and he wanted very much to work things out with her.

She looked so weary and exhausted, and K'von berated himself for pushing her after such an unorthodox afternoon Flight. He wanted to apologize, but he knew she would brush it off. He managed a faint smile and a nod for her as she explained. "I think I can manage that. I've been injured before." Several times, actually. He had even boiled up his own numbweed salve out in the jungles and plains of Southern to soothe his and Dohulth's wounds. He was not completely incompetent... as much as he joked that he was. He knew how to keep himself from completely falling apart, physically speaking. Mentally and emotionally, however.... those were entire other clutches of eggs to not be explored.

The feel of a touch on his knee alerted him, and he instinctively reached out to caress her, concerned. He needed to stop pushing her; she had looked bad enough when he got in, and he had only made the problem worse. While a small part of him was sullenly glad for her sharing in his own pain, the majority of him was focused on her wellbeing alone. He missed the vitality that she had demonstrated before, at the pools, and he reached out in the hopes of restoring that to her, somehow. The appearance of the little apprentice stalled him, and though he managed a nod for the girl, the focus of his attention was the woman kneeling in front of him.

She started to speak again, but he was mildly distracted by the feel of his good hand clasped between hers. He caught most of what she said, and he managed a slight scowl when she immediately put a ban on alcohol. Was she reading his mind?! At least the fellis would knock him out, no brooding required, so he counted that as a boon. "If you're not busy, I'd feel better with you doing it," he admitted, lightly squeezing one of her hands in his to let her know that he understood. Oh, yes, K'von understood very well that his hand was going to require constant maintenance. He would have to plead with Aliscia for a little help with oiling and bathing Dohulth, for the loss of one hand made life just a tad difficult. Considering that he had put in a good word for her, he knew she would agree without too much fuss. "I can bandage and treat well enough, but you're the expert." And it was your sharding little beast that did it. he thought, immediately cringing a bit at the guilt for just thinking such a thought. Either Dohulth was in a supremely foul sort of mood, or K'von was more disappointed than he had thought over the incident. Of course, no man liked to save a woman from certain death, only to see her nude body pressed up against another man, whispering that man's name whilst her body promised all sorts of things. K'von had never been possessive, but he was still very male and very proud of certain... skills. The fact that he had been so spurned would leave a lingering wound to his ego for a bit.

He nodded in understanding of her words, agreeing that playing it safe was the good route. He had not missed the flush take her face, but he chose to ignore it for the moment in favor if his damaged appendage. "I will. I'd like to keep this hand." His face fell a bit when she let go of his hand, but she did not seem to be moving away or getting up to go. He tilted his head to one side, eyes narrowed a bit as she inspected the ground seemingly no intention of making a move. That made him wonder, and this time he did not hesitate to reach out, stroke a hand lightly against her hair. The hand soon moved, though, and as he pulled his injured hand in closer, he leaned forward to curl the good one around to the back of her shoulder, tugging lightly to urge her in closer where he could better reach. He wanted to touch her now, both to ease the weariness on her face and soothe his pricked pride over the incidents of the Flight. Bare skin was better, but he was not about to make demands. No, he would snatch what he could get.

[reqqy]

Well, of course he'd been injured before. She remembered the slashes down his back. Everyone seemed to have some sort of injury, in this Weyr, she thought to herself, the mental exhaustion firmly taking hold. And most of those wounds had been treated by her, hadn't they? It was happening. Finally. She'd seen it happen to so many healers in Benden, healers who simply didn't show up at the infirmary again. Burn-out. After two turns of struggling to keep everything together, after two turns of juggling the healers, taking on any and all dragonhealing single-handedly, and trying to do right by her Phremath, Kalierre simply couldn't think of getting back up on her feet and moving to another dragon. Another patient. Another ailment. Another injury. No matter how many she helped, they just kept coming.

And coming.

And coming.

Why were there so many? She'd wanted to help, but it was like trying to stop the river by standing in the middle of it. Impossible. And, gradually, you began to lose ground, the little you could stop diverting around you anyway or pushing you back. Step by step. The dragonhealer was now feeling as if the river had slammed against her wavering feet and knocked her loose, sweeping her away.

She'd just told K'von to call her, that she wouldn't mind the interruption. That was true. It was...surprising, in a way, given the fact that almost anything else was enough to make her want to go off and curl up in a corner. If she could only do these things for the people she knew and cared about, wouldn't that be easier? It wouldn't be an unending stream. Oh, the journeyman knew this was just her weariness speaking. Though she'd been feeling these things for a long time, the rigors of the Flight must have broken down her defenses. She just needed sleep. Yes, sleep. Then everything would be back to normal, with the constant stream of patients and the four-hour breaks for sleep. Shardit, but an urge to cry was stealing up on her, and she absolutely refused to do so. Not in front of him.

Nevertheless, when he agreed that she should be the one to change his dressings, the words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them. "If I could just treat your hand, I'd..." She'd what? Be happy? No. Kalierre didn't even know where she was going with that, and the brief moment of confusion touched her face. She simply didn't know. Anything. Not anymore.

It was just too much when he touched her. Kalierre's heart caught in her throat, all the emotions washing over her at once. For a moment she simply trembled, but then he was pulling her closer, and she wanted the warmth. The comfort. The solid feel of someone, anyone, in this place where she struggled alone. Rising up off her knees, she allowed him to pull her forward, her arms reaching out and encircling his waist to bring him closer. She buried her face against his stomach. The tears would not remain caged any longer. Sobbing quietly, she clung to him, and it was a mark of her exhaustion that she didn't seem to care for her own pride or for what people might think upon seeing this. It was her infirmary, but she didn't want it anymore. They could have it. All of it.

"I can't," she whispered, shaking her head. The tears were beginning to soak through his shirt now. "Don't make me come back here," she pleaded, her hands tightening into fists around the fabric. If only he hadn't touched her, she likely would have been able to hold it in until she could return to the weyr and let it out on her own. "I can't do this anymore." The sobbing grew more desperate.

[kysseh]

K'von had sensed a meltdown coming. He did not know how he knew, perhaps the way she just blurted out the ambiguous bits of a thought and then stopped before she could finish it. He wanted to inquire about her intentions, but the tremble in her halted him before he could do much more than open his mouth. He settled for just pulling her closer with the intention of giving her an embrace to soothe her rattled nerves and his bruised ego, but she decided to change the situation by moving in close. The brownrider's eyes went wide as warm arms wrapped around his waist, and he glanced down at her head, suddenly not at all surprised to hear quiet sobs emanating from her. The wetness on his shirt was further proof of her distress, and he experienced the typical male reaction to feminine tears.

Momentary panic.

Thankfully, long years of concealing emotions meant that 'panic' entailed not moving and just staring until a solution presented itself, and thus he just stared down at the top of her head for a moment. Then instinct took over, and he stroked her head very gently with his uninjured hand, occasionally drifting it down to rub her back. He would have offered useless platitudes of comfort, but he knew how much those irked him and decided they would be little better for her. She would see right through it, and he was disinclined to upset her more. He felt horribly guilty enough as it was. He should have just shut his mouth about the whole thing and let her deal with it later. Stupid, stupid, stupid! he told himself furiously, not ceasing the motions of his hand in a futile attempt to soothe her.

Her words touched a chord, and he let out a quiet sigh, feeling her hands fisting into the fabric. What was a man to do?! Should he just placate her current mood and let her scream at him later for dragging her away from her precious infirmary? Or should he slap her once and tell her sternly to take it in stride? He was undecided, though his mind was more clearly made up as her sobs grew more desperate in nature. Mind made up, he touched on Dohulth's mind with the intent to relay a message, only to catch sight of movement in the doorway.

Hepaticath's says to make her go sleep. Dohulth said, and from the look the new goldweyrling was giving him, K'von had a feeling that that was not a verbatim quote. He briefly wondered how she had known when she smirked humorlessly at him, and Dohulth's mental presence became definitively smug. Sharding wherry. I'll thank you later. he told the brown dragon, offering up a tentative smile to the apprentice healer. She returned it with a stern look, pointed one finger at the sobbing journeywoman--who received a much gentler expression from the apprentice, which he envied-- and then disappeared from the doorway.

Right... now he needed to fix this mess before she turned up in even worse shape. He took her shoulder and shook her lightly to distract her from her distress, enough to hear him. "I'm not making you do anything but leave right now," he told her, and while his tone was gentle, his resolve was firm. He was going to walk, drag, or one-armed-carry her back to her weyr, dump her in her own bed, and then go dose himself unconscious with fellis in his own. "They can handle it. You need to sleep, and if you don't, I'll have Dohulth wake Phremath to make you." He hated to resort to that sort of threat, but she was doing no one any good by being an exhausted wreck all over the infirmary. Frankly, he would have liked to snug himself into bed to hold her, but he was unwilling to push his luck or his own self-control, the latter of which was in dangerously short supply right now. She was beautiful and clutching at him. What straight man could say no to that?! "Kalierre?"