Brothers in Arms (Healer/Open)

[nightingale]

How are they going to know that we don’t intend to attack them? Don’t you think that your torn wing and the fact that I can barely move my arms will be enough to convince them? If I knew I wouldn’t ask. The blue was worried for his rider’s safety, but knew better than to voice such concerns to him in words. S’van sighed deeply and pressed his forehead against his dragon’s cool hide. Rifashth could feel the fever in him. We either take our chances with these people, or we die out there in the jungle. At least getting struck down in cold blood is relatively painless. I’ll follow you wherever you choose to go. Alright. This way....

Pressing his shoulder against the blue’s foreleg so he could use it as leverage, the bluerider took a moment to steady himself on his feet. Four days with little food and less sleep was beginning to take a visible toll on his already far from hardy physique, and the jungle’s heat had only served to enflame and infect the puncture wounds decorating both his arms –wounds that had been relatively minor when they had first taken to the skies after their wing.
He snorted at the memory of his former Weyr and this vision of the greenpairs he had once called comrades swooping in for the kill. With a vague and sadistic sense of amusement, he mused over how badly they would be punished for failing to complete their orders. All manner of horrific torture flashed through his mind. He couldn’t bring himself to pity them in the slightest.

The first few steps he took more closely resembled a stagger, but with a few modifications and a healthy dose of willpower he managed to step free of the treeline looking more or less like a healthy human being. He thought it better that they consider him a threat than assume he had no fight left in him. The cloak he wore disguised his wounds well enough, and so all he had to worry about was completing the illusion. Rifashth stayed close behind his rider, but there was no mistaking his ichor stained hide for anything else. In contrast to his rider, the blue made sure to drag his feet and gasp as much as possible to disguise the strength his body still contained. Tiny thing that he was, it wouldn’t be so hard to believe that he had a low tolerance for pain and was truly suffering.

Call someone Fash. Mine will speak to one of your dragonhealers. The blue broadcast the demand in a wide arc, allowing his words to touch anything capable of hearing the request. We are former warriors at Benden and seek parlay with someone who can provide us with the skills we require…Vanmine are you sure that it’s wise to be so rude to them? S’van took a deep breath, trying hard to hold his mind steady as a wave of dizziness washed over him. We’re not beggars Fash. This happens on our terms, or it doesn’t happen at all. The blue rumbled nervously deep in his throat, but offered no protest.

[weaving]

“Hmm…yes, here might be good. Lands flat enough to build on and big enough for quite a few apartments…” Jermayan mumbled as he scribbled something down into a notebook he’d taken to carrying when he went on these little expeditions. When he wasn’t busy helping tend to those injured in the infirmary, he’d begun scouting out possible new sites for the wherhandler apartments. They needed new ones, and soon. For now they’d been forced to hole up in makeshift shelters that would probably fall apart the first time a tiny raindrop fell on them. Their whers were suffering as well. While they were wild and so able to handle sunlight somewhat better than their more domesticated cousins, it didn’t mean they liked it. Jermaysk was growing irritable and grumpy from a lack of proper sleep; the wher often wandered off deep into the jungle where light couldn’t penetrate during the day, but that only made Jermayan worry so much about the possibility of a feline attack that the wher couldn’t sleep peacefully even in the darkness of the jungle.

“I’ll have to ask the others what they think-“ The strange announcement caught his attention. A benden rider, seeking help? A dragonhealer specifically. He wasn’t one, but at the same time he’d doubted that anyone else would respond. After all, it had been Benden who’d burned down their home, Benden was the cause of all those injured. Benden wasn’t exactly well liked around Selenitas at the moment. Still, he needed a healer and Jermayan wasn’t one to let people or animals suffer. The two sides warred in his mind for a few minutes as he stood there in indecision. What if it was a trick? But then again, why announce who you were if you were really planning on finishing the job? Wouldn’t surprise be better? This benden rider, whoever he or she was, couldn’t be here to attack them. The majority of people here would probably mow him down upon seeing him.

We go help? Two-legs hurt? Big-flier hurt? Need lotsa help. Always polite, Manners saw no reason not to help whoever it was who’d made the broadcast. He was perched on Jermayan’s head, though had skittered down to curl around his wrist as soon as he’d heard the call. Someone was hurt and they needed to help now! They could look at boring land later.

It didn’t take long for him to come to a conclusion. Jermayan quickly set out toward the source of the voice and it wasn’t long before he stumbled upon the injured blue and his rider. The man's dragon certainly looked injured while at first glance the rider was fine. He didn't really know much about dragonhealing, but he could probably handle the most basic of the blue's injuries. Unfortunately he didn't have his healing bag on him, but perhaps the rider carried some of the supplies they would need. And of course all of this would only be done if this wasn't a trick and other benden riders weren't laying in wait to capture the remaining healthy healers of Selenitas. His knife rested on his belt and though he didn't move to touch it or bring any attention to it, the knowledge that it was there comforted him. He wasn't an expert fighter, but anything was better than nothing if it came down to it.

Hello hello! Blue big-flier hurt bad? Need help. Mayanlove help lotsa. Have no pain. Before he could so much as introduce himself, the ‘mandyr had done so for him. He reached up to stroke Manners lightly, shushing the 'mandyr in the process. "I'm Journeyman healer Jermayan. I'm no dragon healer, but I can take a look and see what I can do, if you'll let me. All our dragonhealers are busy right now caring for our own." As were all of their able-bodied healers. The only reason he'd been able to answer the man's call was because he'd been off duty at the moment, having finally been kicked out of the infirmary. 'A tired and worn-our healer makes mistakes,' they'd said, which he whole-heartedly agreed with. But he still couldn't but hate the fact that he'd been shooed away from doing his own job, a job that sorely needed to get done. It looked like he was being given the opportunity to help someone, though he'd much rather be helping someone who hadn't just recently attempted to annihilate them.

[nightingale]

Someone is coming. S’van let his fingers brush against the hilt of one of the throwing daggers concealed beneath his cloak. He was well aware that he wouldn’t be able to throw it straight –if at all- but having it close at hand was a comfort he wasn’t willing to give up any time soon. He spotted Jermayan through Rifashth’s eyes before his own had time to focus. This has to be a trap. Why would they send him out on his own? Perhaps they have few riders to spare. The bluerider felt the sting of guilt in his dragon’s tone, and immediately scowled at it. Not on our account. I only injured one girl and you didn’t so much as growl. We didn’t do anything to stop the slaughter. Doesn’t that make us just as guilty as our comrades? Not even close. Rifashth snorted quietly, understanding that the conversation was over.

Hearing Manners speak was enough to draw a visible flinch from the bluerider. He had never spoken to a dragon other than Rifashth before, and this voice was so alien and incoherent that it took him a while to fully understand what it was saying. Why was it talking like that? Was there something wrong with it’s mind, or was this just how dragons sounded when they spoke to humans they were not bonded to? It is not his dragon speaking. The blue informed him, keeping his pale green eyes fixed upon Jermayan and his tiny companion. The bronze flitter with small wings is speaking to you. Well…should I say something to it? No. I’ll speak with him. You have to introduce us to the healer.

The young man turned his pale brown eyes on Jermayan. He attempted to speak, only to realize that his throat was dry and gag slightly on the greeting he had been trying to offer. “S’van of Rifashth.” He managed, clearing his throat and remembering to stand at his full height despite the obvious fact that he was by far the shorter of the two men. “I would have you see to my dragon as best you can…there is nowhere else for us to go.” The last half of his statement was spoken with thinly veiled bitterness. Having to rely on anyone –especially a stranger from the Weyr you had just attacked- did not bode well with him. “We can offer you seven marks as payment.” He added quickly, making it clear that he was not presenting them as a charity case. “If that isn’t enough, I’ll be willing to work off the difference however you see fit.”

Hello. Rifashth greeted Manners tentatively, not entirely sure if he should be addressing the small bronze as a dragon or flitter. Yes, my wing has been injured. I understand that Yours is a healer. If he’s willing to help us we’d be most grateful. We don’t mean you any harm…my name is Rifashth. May I ask what your name is?

[weaving]

As the man introduced himself, Jermayan nodded solemnly, still mentally prepared for an attack. He refused to let his guard down around the man, at least not until he was absolutely certain it was safe. If only he’d had Jermaysk here with him. The brown was adept at telling when something wasn’t right, his superior sense of smell easily able to pick up on anything that wasn’t natural. Unfortunately it was the middle of the day, which meant that the wher was off hiding in the darkest parts of the forest and wouldn’t be able to come out with out some sort of discomfort for a few candlemarks still. Though a wild wher and therefore able to tolerate sunlight better, full day was still far too bright for him to come out unless His was in extreme danger.

Nowhere else to go? That phrase caught the healer’s ear and he frowned slightly. Why wasn’t he back at Benden, with the others, where he was supposed to be? Had something happened at Benden that no one in Selenitas was aware of. This was all terribly confusing and something that he didn’t think he could deal with alone. Unfortunately, everyone else was busy and there was no easy way for him to notify them. Manner’s mindspeech had a limited range and they were currently too far from the weyr for him to be heard. Even if he could call for another healer, the only dragonhealers who weren’t currently too injured to do anything were S’lain and E’rro, both of whom were swamped with injured dragons already.

“I don’t have any healing supplies with me at the moment. Is there anyway that you could make it to the infirmary or is your dragon too hurt? And seven marks will be fine.” He hadn’t even considered payment, but if he accepted for the sake of S’van’s pride. Chewing on his lip thoughtfully, he eyed the bluerider pair before him, unsure of where to begin. Getting them to the infirmary would be easiest, but also dangerous. They would probably get taken down before he had a chance to do so much as look over the blue’s injuries. Selenitas wasn’t exactly feeling friendly toward anyone from Benden, injured or not and taking them there would be like signing their death warrant.

“Perhaps you could have your dragon call for extra assistance. Something along the lines of ‘Healer Jermayan requests dragonhealing supplies as well as an assistant’ will do.” Hopefully someone would answer that call. Much as he hated Benden for what they had done, there was a dragon in front of him, suffering, and enemy or not, he couldn’t let the blue suffer. Besides, S’van had said they’d had no where else to go. Had they been thrown out of Benden? And if so, why?

Manners I. Mayanlove healer yes, very good. Make pain all better. Who you, big flier blue? Why flier hurt, bleeding? No good. Happy that the blue had spoken to him, Manners was all too happy to respond. He absolutely loved talking, even to dragons and firelizards, which the majority of his species seemed to absolutely detest.

[nightingale]

Put your hand on my knee Vanmine. The bluerider obeyed dimly, only realizing once he was braced firmly against his dragon’s leg that he had been swaying on his feet. He tasted blood as one of his eye teeth pierced the inside of his lip, the metallic bitterness demanding that he focus more intently on the world around him. He tore irritably at his hazy thoughts. What had the healer said? Something about the infirmary…no. He wasn’t going to risk moving into hostile territory when Rifashth was too injured to fly. “I would prefer that you administered the treatment here." He spoke evenly, but his eyes were hard. “I’m sure that you are well aware that we are not welcome in the south. Those not bound to do no harm by their healer’s knots would have no qualms with attacking us given the chance.”

He nodded when it was suggested that Rifashth call for assistance, and once prompted by his rider the blue did just that. Healer Jermayan requests dragonhealing supplies as well as an assistant. Please be prompt. Not a word out of place, save for an added dose of polite urgency. The small blue was not concerned for himself –his wound pained him slightly, but it had scabbed over long ago and showed no signs of worsening. His rider’s mind however, was rapidly dimming with exhaustion. He knew that the sooner he was treated, the sooner Vanhis could stop worrying about the way people were looking at them and rest. He nudged the young man's mind gently, and felt his consciousness brighten. They only had to wait a little longer, the blue reassured him.

The dragon then returned his attention to Manners. He was rapidly taking a liking to the strange little creature. The lack of formality and honest kindness he displayed were of the variety he had rarely seen at Benden, and he rather liked receiving them. My name is Rifashth. He repeated patiently, a quiet hum resonating in his throat. You can call me Fash if it's easier. I was hurt a few days ago when Mine and I were flying. He brushed against his rider’s mind for permission to discuss what had happened, but was declined with wordless petulance. How it happened isn't important. He finished bluntly, a whirl of colour rippling briefly across his eyes. He was not usually this disinclined toward being secretive, but there was just something so... trustworthy about this young man and his strange flitter. The idea of being deceitful toward them did not bode well in his conscience.

[Tashe]

/Healer Jermayan requests dragonhealing supplies as well as an assistant. Please be prompt./ Taking the call for assistance and using it's exact words, Ismaroth wired it to E'rro via their connection. /Should we go?/ They're asking for Dragonhealing supplies? /Yes... but you're on break... / I suppose we better go anyways. If I remember correctly Jermayan is only a Healer. Shifting unhappily, the young Brown leapt off of his ledge and angled down toward the canyon's floor. Although his rider was on break, he had insisted that spending it near the infirmary was far more efficient than going to to sleep in his own cot. Pulling up from his dive, Ismaroth beat his wings to lengthen his descent so that he could land without having to slow himself on the ground. He would wait here for his Mine to arrive.

--

"E'rro what are you doing! We need those suppli--"

"There is an injured Dragon near the jungle and I'm going to help Jermayan. If you have a problem with that, you will have to bring it up with me or Bluerider S'lain after I come back." Stuffing the jar of numbweed into the medical bag, the Brownrider turned sharply on his heel, leaving the woman in a sort of stunned silence. He left the makeshift infirmary the same way he had come not more than a few moments before, quietly making his way to the closest exit. Why had the Dragon waited so long to call for assistance? It was possible that the Dragon who had asked for it was simply relaying the message. Whatever the case, whoever was injured had probably already lost a good amount of Ichor. Stupidhead Mine! Looking up as he approached Ismaroth, E'rro scowled openly. "Nuisance. Go back home, go eat the leftover fowl." I can eat? Not stupidhead! Goodhead mine!

Exchanging places with his Mandyr, the Brownrider waited until his little Blue was far enough away from them before asking Ismaroth to take off. Despite how annoying the little male was, E'rro had become partial to Nuisance. Fastening the bag of supplies to his Harness, the young Dragonhealer grunted as his Brown leapt into the sky.

---

/Look there. Why are they so far apart?/ I... don't know. Land a distance away. Circling once before touching down, the Brownpair came to a stop a few Dragon paces behind Jermayan. Immediately sliding down to the ground after unhooking the second bag, E'rro walked over to the other Healer, all the while trying to fix the strap on one of the bags. "Jermayan. I've come to help, I've also brought supp...lies." He stopped a stride short of the Wherhandler, it was then he had looked up from his bags.

It was the Dragon, not the human, who had made him pause in the middle of his word. The Dragon was familiar to him, one from his Benden past. /Is that... who I believe it is? I knew I recognized that voice.../ There is only one Dragonpair that I've seen, who's Blue had those particular markings. Taking the last step to draw parallel with Jermayan, his eyes trained on the man, the Brownrider suddenly wished he had more than one knife on him... just in case. He knew this man, in fact to a degree, they had been friends. His face lost any interest it had held, leaving the indifferent mask he wore when he didn't want his real emotions to show through. A look that the other man would probably remember. "... S'van..." /Rifashth?/

[weaving]

As S’van stated that he’d much rather not approach the infirmary, Jermayan nodded understandingly. He wouldn’t put the man in any danger, at least not while he was his patient, but as soon as the bluerider made any sort of threat toward him, his oath as a healer wouldn’t mean a thing. For now he was cautiously trusting S’van, but that could all change at a moment’s notice. In fact, he was half expecting it to. Yes, they’d had ex-bendenriders come and join them before, his fellow healer E’rro was one of them, but that was the exception, not the rule, and with the recent attack still fresh in his mind, he couldn’t be too careful.

As the man’s blue made the call, he folded his arms over his chest, waiting for the call to be answered impatiently. His toe tapped rapidly against the ground and he scanned the skies, waiting for a sign that it had been answered. Manners meanwhile, was enjoying his conversation with the blue wholeheartedly, even if His seemed to be somewhat reserved and cautious around them. Fash? Fash pretty name. I like. Hurt flying no good. Be careful, no get hurt. Much better, no need healer. In order to better look at the blue, he’d climbed up onto Jermayan’s head and now stood on his hind legs, head tilted slightly in curiosity with his frill extended slightly.

Jermayan sighed in relief as he caught sight of E’rro’s brown. “Looks like help has arrived,” he commented, nodding toward the descending brownpair. He smiled slightly as E’rro approached, though what happened next was unexpected. Clearly E’rro recognized them. Well, this certainly changed things. Shifting from side to side uncomfortably, he trained his gaze on S’van, waiting to see the bluerider’s reaction.

[nightingale]

“E’rro…” It was the scar that tipped him off. It wasn’t the sort of feature that could be easily overlooked, and S'van had seen it while it was still fresh. There was no forgetting a mark like that, nor the face attached to it. The bluerider’s shock showed as little more than vague interest as his gaze settled on the younger rider, and within moments even that flicker of emotion had been neatly concealed. What in the name of weyrling queens was he doing in a place like this? Ismaroth! We thought that we’d lost you to the Sky Raid! Rifashth’s forthright amazement mirrored his thoughts perfectly. E’rro was supposed to be dead, not working as a healer for the weyrfolk who were to have cut him down over a turn ago. But he wasn't dead...and that was more comfort than he had known in a long time.

“What are you doing here?” Did they hurt you? Are you being held captive? Those words he managed to swallow, remembering that Jermayan was still standing nearby. He didn’t even bother to entertain the thought of asking why he had never tried to get in touch with them. It was probably for the same reason he had decided returning home after the battle wasn’t an option. Benden did not tolerate failure, and harsh as those punishments were they were nothing compared to the sentences handed to those they considered traitors. Asking that he risk his life and that of his dragon for the sake of bringing his former roommate closure was more selfishness than any one person was entitled to...and in any case, he liked surprises...and this one was rather pleasant.

Ismaroth, we're so happy to find you and Yours are safe. The little blue crooned emphatically, shades of pale happiness fluttering across the surface of his eyes. Please, is there anything you can do for Mine? He's been injured, but he doesn't trust these people and I don't know what to tell him. I don't trust them either…please, tell me if we can trust them to help us. There were few dragons that Rifashth had ever truly considered friends at Benden, but Ismaroth had always been the one he trusted above all others. They had known each other for all of the young brown's life, and just as his rider had made it a point to keep an eye out for E'rro when he could, Rifashth had done his part in keeping Ismaroth out of trouble. If there was any creature who’s word he would take for truth as readily as he would take S’van's, it was Ismaroth.

[Tashe]

/Rifashth! It is you!/ So they had been right, it was their old friends from Benden. /We failed to complete a command that a Bronzerider had given us at the Dominance Display, and Ermine got knocked out by the Weyrlingmaster at that time. When he woke up he wanted to return, but I knew that having been gone so long, returning then would spell certain death for us... so I refused to go back. We have been here ever since./ Fluttering his wings, Ismaroth's eyes picked up their swirling pace. He had not expected to ever see the Blue again, and yet there he was standing before him.

To say the least he really was stunned. Like his Brown, he had resigned himself to the reality that he'd never see any of his previous friends outside of combat. Having killed C'aal in battle, it was slightly relieving to see that he didn't have to engage S'van, at least it didn't seem like he had to. "It was death, or defect. Ismaroth chose to stay, so I finished Weyrlinghood here. I'm now a Selenitas rider." Searching the Blue Dragon with his eyes, E'rro could pretty much guess why they were here. Although Rifashth's injuries weren't life threatening by the looks he had been getting of them, his wing was in no shape to fly. /Mine, Rifashth says His is injured. They both need some help, it is a good thing we decided to come. There is now Humanhealer and a Dragonhealer. What luck./ His gaze slid back onto the cloaked man. Had he decided to defect, or was he merely going to get patched up and then leave? The Bluerider didn't seem like the one to entirely betray Benden. "The better question, what are you doing here?"

/I am happy to see you two as well. E'rro is more surprised than anything. We had not expected to see either of you./ He twitched his tail slightly and tilted his head as the Blue began to speak once more. /In the wake of so much, Selenitas is on edge. Everyone will be wary of Bendenriders. But if you show trust they will be less wary, and maybe even begin to trust you back./ He swung his head in the direction of Jermayan. /You can trust them, and us, to get you healthy again. But Yours must trust this young man to help him, Mine is only a Dragonhealer./ He was genuinely worried about the Bluerider, he did not want to have his Mine go through the death of another friend... if the two humans were still friends that was. It was hard to tell exactly what E'rro was thinking, their open bond often garbled emotions if their was a multitude of them firing all at once.

"... I hope you don't mind a tired, Apprentice Dragonhealer looking at Rifashth." He turned to the Wherhandler and offered him the extra bag. "Here, there is Redwort and the works in there. I also included Mosstea salve when I heard you were near the jungle, infections like the heat here as you know and I wasn't certain if the rider was injured or not. But according to Ismaroth, he is." He turned back to the Bluepair, adjusting the strap of his own medical bag. Normally, he talked very little, but when it came to healing he found that he spoke more in those hours than the rest of the day combined. Stepping forward hesitantly, E'rro slowly made his way forward, posed to stop if S'van told him too. He was going to make the first move, since Ismaroth pressed him to help Rifashth.

He knew (rather had known) S'van pretty well, hopefully their past would intercede and bring the tenseness down a notch. Though, the Brownrider had not seen the other man in well over a year, so there was going to be a little bit of nervousness in the whole episode. He didn't know where the Bluerider stood, and he could bet that S'van felt the same way about him.

/How did you and yours get hurt? Was it a Selenitas Dragon?/