Homecoming
Aivey and E'sere arrive at the islands. Derek welcomes them, in his way.
Midday at the islands, warm and dry and welcoming, and here waits a party of one to provide a strange welcome. Surely some of the rest of the island must know that five of the exiles' precious thirty riding pairs have gone elsewhere on some mission. But Derek knows where 'elsewhere' was, and why - and it's Derek who's perched on a rock here on this island shore, head tipped back, one hand behind his neck to rub out kinks grown there from some short time now spent watching the cloud-skipped sky.
It's no exile dragon that appears from between, though. Instead, blinking into existance in the heat of the West. Morelenth is unfamiliar, and plainly so: on an island with only one bronze, the dark, skeletally thin Reaches dragon stands out at once. He hovers a moment where he appeared and then dives sharply downward, bugling as he comes toward a landing on the sand of the beach. Almost before the dragon is on the ground, E'sere is sliding down his neck, strapless and harried-looking.
Well, shit. Derek's down off the rock in a hurry and doing something he hates to do: moving toward a dragon, and at speed, too. He puts up a hand to swing out a wave, but doesn't call out; words are spared until he's within a few yards of the other man and the beast he's come with. There the outcast captain comes to a halt and slides a glance up and down the bronzerider before asking - not, 'who are you,' or 'why are you here,' - "Do you know a woman named Aivey?"
"They're not back yet?" is E'sere's quick rejoinder, the bronzerider turning to face Derek, brows furrowing. He has only one bag, slung over his shoulder; he drops it to the ground and stares, frowning, at Derek. "I didn't think I'd beat them, though--I had the easier escape. Derek," he assumes. It's not a question, as he watches the exile leader. Morelenth looks torn between elation and worry, lowering his head behind E'sere to study Derek on his own.
"All right, then," replies Derek with a little nod. He skates a glance over at Morelenth, but not much of one - he puts his shoulder toward the bronze as if he's intend on speaking solely to the bronzerider, or as if the dragon's scrutiny is something he'd rather keep on the other side of invisible blinders. "Yes. Glad to have you." A few more paces then, to get close enough to offer out a weatherworn hand for greeting. "They have any time to tell you anything?"
Over the air, another dragon appears. A green, the creature creeling and circling and shaking its head several times before she wings in to land on the beach five or six yards from Morelenth and Derek. The rider slides down, peeling off his helmet and making small soothing noises to stop the whimpering green from fussing. He is one of the five, but the sky remains clear. The other four riders in absentia.
"E'sere, Morelenth," the bronzerider introduces himself and his dragon as he offers his own hand to Derek. "My wingsecond only said someone was coming after her--and there's only one group with any interest in doing that. I came as soon as I could get away." Morelenth pulls his gaze away from Derek to scan the sky, expectant; it keeps E'sere from having to take attention from Derek. The bronze is the first to clue them in to the green's arrival; E'sere still doesn't look over at her. She's not the important one.
"Is your wingsecond one of your compatriots, then?" Derek flicks a glance up, too aware of the skies - and of Morelenth's movement - to be oblivious to the green's appearance. Her arrival, alone, makes the island's leader frown, drawing down the curved corners of his moustache. "Not in danger still, I hope? How many are you?"
"Queens were pressing," says the greenrider with a faint wince. "We had to run or obey. Four are still there, three covering. He's on the ground with her." As the rider finishes, one of the blues, but the wrong blue, bursts in above, eyes whirling red as the dragon comes in for a landing. The greenrider studies the new arrival an instant before amending, "Two covering."
There is, on E'sere's part, a long pause. Finally he notes, "My wing flew the 'Fall." Another pause. "There's only us." Him and Morelenth, him and Aivey--take your pick. E'sere glances to the greenrider, and his frown deepens as he listens, not answering.
"Your wing - " Derek stops there and, for lack of words, raises a hand to run forefinger and thumb over his moustache. The gesture repeats, slowly, while he looks from the greenrider to E'sere and over to the blue soaring down, then back to the bronzerider before him. He draws back his hand belatedly from the clasp meant to be brotherly before he got distracted - and repeats the gesture of smoothing his moustache twice more before he manages to soothe his mouth enough to form more words. "Only you," he says, then, voice sandy and quiet. Another moment's dark thought and Derek seems to grasp his place, the moment in time, and realize its value. He reaches out his hand again, the other dropping from his face, like to clasp E'sere by the upper arm. "Well, you're with friends now. You'll have to tell us what happened, but we'll get you housed and suppered first. As soon as J'lor - " A glance at the greenrider, then, steady and steely eyed. "- gets here."
There will be a few minutes more of waiting, but then, wait no longer. Three more dragons appear in the skies: a brown, a green, and a blue. They all swoop down to land, the brownrider and greenrider slipping free to meet with their companions already on the ground. Vellath lands last and nearest to Derek and E'sere. The rider slides down (his buckles never attached,) and throws goggles and helmet to the ground before reaching up to help his little riding companion down. "Easy, now." He looks over his shoulder to call more loudly, "We need a healer! Now!"
"They're still mine," E'sere answers Derek's first words, frown deepening. But, when Derek takes his arm, his mouth tilts into a smirk, and he nods once. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that," he answers simply, tracking Derek's gaze to the greenrider, studying the rider until the rest of the dragons arrive. Then, jaw tightening, he's turning to look at them. The bronzerider is quick to action, though, turning to the greenrider and snapping off, "Go. Get Katric." Not waiting to see if he's obeyed--E'sere simply expects it--the bronzerider turns to stride toward the cabal of dragons quickly.
Aivey is that odd shaped lump behind J'lor on his blue. She's a miserable odd shaped lump at that. The second the blue lands, Aivey is leaning over the far side of the dragon, toward J'lor's assistance and with it she does dismount. "I'm alright-" A weak statement considering she's half hunched over and really, really wanting to sit down as opposed to standing up. She's too busy to say much else: first E'sere is spotted and there is a moment of pure relief at that, then Derek is spotted next and pretty much everything ceases to exist.
"As he says," Derek echoes, behind E'sere's command. Let conflicts of leadership and realizations of rank come another time; just now, Derek has other things to do. He starts toward J'lor, his attention on the bluerider first, unwilling just yet to look at what he's brought. "Tell me," he says, as he's said before, then finally drags his gaze from things familiar to things familial. He stops short two paces away, not close enough to hold her up or take her in arms. From that distance Derek regards his daughter, grim mouth disappearing beneath his moustache - an expression she wouldn't even know how to read.
The first bluerider, whose dragon seems a bit less worse for wear from the mental headbutt with a queen, heads off towards the encampment at a clipped pace. He'll go to the infirmary, though he's muttering about 'bringing back whichever damn healer he pleases' and 'uppity bronzeriders think they're so special'. The other bluerider, the one with the girl, is keeping rather close. "She's scored. Shoulder and back, fairly deeply." And then, because he is a civilized sort of public disrupter, lawbreaker, and wanted criminal, "Aivey, this is Derek. Derek, Aivey." J'lor's eyes flick to the bronzerider and his brows lift upwards. "And you are...?"
E'sere, like Derek, seems willing to hang back a pace from the group, watching Aivey intently; it takes J'lor's trailed-off sentence to pull his gaze away from the girl, the bronzerider flicking a look up at the bluerider. "E'sere, Morelenth," he repeats the introduction of earlier, echoed by a relieved-sounding whuff from Morelenth, a few yards away.
Make no mistake about it, Aivey tries her damndest to read into that expression of her fathers -- and fails miserably. She does what comes natural next, and though it hurts like a sonnovayouknowwhat, Aivey straightens as much as possible and levels her gaze on her fathers. J'lor's introductions not needed, Aivey says, "Derek." Both confirmation and respectful greeting that's tinged with the smallest trace of happiness.
Not given to yelling, growling, or much else in the way of a raised voice, Derek jerks his chin after the rider departing to gather a healer and sends out a little hiss meant to hurry him along. Then he's one hundred percent with Aivey, head dipping a little, dark brows drawing together in a way that forms creases over the bridge of his nose. "I got your letter," he says after a moment, softly. The moment stretches a few heartbeats longer - and then Derek's attention snaps up to E'sere. "What, you didn't even meet?" On J'lor, then, where the leader's steely gaze rests harshest. "Tell me," he says again. And Aivey, his daughter, the girl worth rescuing at such dear costs - becomes background, a wound awaiting treatment.
The bluerider that went off isn't too long doesn't return, but shortly, there's crashing through the underbrush in the direction of camp, and Katric bursts through at a run, heading for the cluster of dragons. "You came, you came!" he squeals in the meantime, as he comes up gasping for air--it's a long way, after all. E'sere, fortunately for himself, turns in time to receive the hug thrust on him by the overexcited healer, the bronzerider's expression surprised and bewildered as he blinks at Katric. "I knew you'd come. I couldn't find Donavon, but he'll be along, I'm sure, when he finds out--I /told/ you he'd come back for us." This, smugly delivered to Derek and J'lor as E'sere turns him aroudn to face them. "Fix her," E'sere orders, pointing to Aivey; it's probably the first time the healer's noticed her. At once, the chattering stops, his expression setting to business as he moves forward. "What happened? /Thread/?" he asks as he peeks around to her back, the wound there. E'sere, meanwhile, only turns back to Derek and J'lor, shaking his head. "No. I came on my own, while they distracted the queens enough Morelenth could slip away," he answers.
First things first, J'lor finishes his introductions. "J'lor," he replies to E'sere. "Vellath's." And then dark eyes flick to Derek and he recounts, quickly, the rescue. "It went as well as could be expected. She was the only one out there, and we were in the middle of five wings flying fall. We grabbed her. We ran. Everyone will know." And then Katric is bursting through and J'lor watches the glee. He says nothing. Maybe he hasn't the heart or maybe he's just waiting for E'sere to do it for him. "Thread," he agrees with Katric's assessment. "Back and shoulder, and in there over a minute before we went between." Of Derek's reception for his daughter...there is no opinion offered or visible.
Aivey's eyes avert only at mention of the letter, dropping to the ground in shame. When she's ready to speak, to explain herself, she looks back toward Derek only to find herself dismissed. Her attention lingers on him a while longer, studying and comitting all she can to memory before she looks aside to E'sere. The smallest of smiles is offered, relief resurfacing purely for his benefit. Though Katric's ordered to fix her, Aivey pays him no mind. Voice still tight and quiet enough to play second to her father's conversation, she says, "Glad to see you made it."
Derek squints up at E'sere. "Then whose man are you?" Give him some credit for cutting to the chase. And for this, too - certainly he noticed the way his girl looked away from him, the way she shut off her gaze in shame. Even Derek couldn't miss it. And he's left her on her own for a little while now, so he can get the summary of the day's doings from J'lor. A twist of his mouth is easier to read than that disappearance of his mouth before, and skepticism lends his soft and sandy voice a little edgy burr. "They knew already," he affords the bluerider, suddenly weary, and lends at last his gaze to Aivey again. "When you're patched, I want to talk to you." Let his solemn gentility convey what his words do not, addendums like 'immediately' and 'first.' Let also a glance at Katric help, and the question, "How long's it going to take?"
"It's rather complicated to get into at the moment," E'sere notes in reply to Derek. And: "2C will do what damage control they can," he voices. "Though I doubt there's anything they can do for /her/." He cuts a glance back to Aivey and, catching her look, offers a quick smirk to her. "Of course I did. I learned my lesson /last/ time," he answers, amused, while Katric, brows knitting in concentration, moves to inspect the wound on her back. He shoots a quick look up at the three men and pauses--even he's a little leery of interrupting this particular triumvirate. Finally: "You think we could move to the infirmary? All my stuff's there, and it's--well, it's not really good, you know," he notes, glancing between them, but mostly to E'sere, nevermind he's the newcomer to the islands. And, to Aivey: "It's a ways back there--I don't think you can walk it?"
"They didn't know we were taking her," is J'lor's clipped reply. "Until we did." But then the bluerider falls silent until Katric mentions moving and carrying. He only peers over at Derek then, one brow lifted in silent question: You want to, or should I?
Predictably, the moment Derek speaks, Aivey's attention is on him. She follows every word, every bit of body language the man offers so that in the end, she nods with clear understanding. "I'll have someone show me the way," To where he's at, presumably. She looks aside to E'sere, offering nothing more then that brief moment of eye contact that passes onto Katric and J'lor, "Thank you," To the later, a sincere offering that's cut short by J'lor's look to Derek. To Katric, Aivey says, "-just start walking. My legs are just fine."
There's a twitch starting in Derek's mouth, some snap he's going to toss back at J'lor, when Aivey speaks for herself. Then, just as he dismissed her before, he dismisses the men, now. "She can walk." Soft-spoken, it is nonetheless his defense of her claim. After it, he abruptly closes those two paces that stood between she and himself all this time so he can put his arm there for her to take. Barefoot, in his worn and tired castaway's clothes, his elbow's angle is that of a gentleman's era gone by; his other hand poises across himself at the ready to steady her if she needs it. "We'll talk in the med-- infirmary," he tells her. "Tell me if you need to slow down."
Katric eyes Aivey and then Derek in dubious fashion, but he shrugs and starts to walk, keeping the pace slow and one hand held out to steady Aivey on her other side, hoveringly. "Are you the one that stabbed Donavon?" he asks after a moment, brows still furrowed intently. E'sere, meanwhile, turns to step back over to Morelenth, pick up the one item he managed to get away with, and then fall in step with the rest of the group as they head to the infirmary. Morelenth remains behind, stretching out on the sand and enjoying the warmth of freedom.
As Derek offers his arm to his daughter, J'lor falls back a step to allow the two of them some privacy. Or the illusion of such. And then, at Katric's question, both brows shoot up. Stabbed? With a small shake of J'lor's head, the very idea is dismissed. Surely not. Surely. Not. Still, he swallows, shoulders squaring just a bit more as he paces after the others.
The offered arm is something Aivey is not expecting, though to her credit there's no hesitation to take the offered assistance. "I'll be fine," she assures her father; even if she's not, it's almost assured she'll do her best to cover, "Thank you." Again a sincere offer that's met with a hesitant smile, her eyes forever locked on his for reactions with which to judge his response and by proxy, her own. It's Katric's question that draws her attention to him and the smile is in place before she can stop it. "We had a disagreement."
"You're welcome," replies Derek, and although Aivey doesn't need it, he reaches across to rest a hand over hers when Katric asks his question. Her answer comes, and he tightens his hand. His chin lifts, as if he's attendant to the upward slope of the path that will take the little group up from the beach through the forest and the settlement's center toward the caves, the cliff, the infirmary. It will be quite a walk, and Derek's hand is broad, worn and muscular. Its signal would be hard to miss. But now that she's beside him and has the benefit of his profile, his smile, too, would be hard to miss - that same grim disappearance of his mouth into the shadow of the moustache, marked by a telltale curve at the corner.
"Katric," E'sere says simply. It's enough to earn a guilty look from the healer, and he /almost/ falls silent. Then, well. Then he looks back to Aivey. "I think he's still kind of annoyed about that," he notes easily. "Though, I think he's pretty mad at Jensen, too. But don't worry--he's fine now--Donavon, I mean. Jensen... I haven't seen him in a while. We never could get him alone." Very mournful, the healer's tone as they walk. E'sere just rubs at his eyes tiredly. At least Katric has no more questions, falling silent himself while they escort Aivey to the island infirmary, where he'll be able to take charge of doctoring her injuries and leave everyone else to discuss amongst themselves as they will.
Well, 'surely not' goes out the window pretty damn quick and J'lor's hands lift to shove, sudden and sharp, into his pockets. His head comes down even as Vellath lifts his and launches from the beach to wing his way back to the weyr. The material of the pants is decent, but the pockets are thin and the way his knuckles stand out in relief is a dead giveaway he's balled his hands into fists. Then Katric is going on about Jensen and it is almost a relief, really. The bulding animosity is simply let loose in a dark and heated glare at the back of the healer's head. Boots kicks up sand, more than necessary, as the bluerider continues to make his way.
Aivey leans a little closer to her father then she does Katric, still giving him the majority of her attention despite speaking to the healer. Even with his mention of Jensen, she replies only to the portion about Donavon. "I'm sure we'll run into one another soon enough. He can apologize then," as though it were Donavon's fault she had to stab him. Aivey looks quickly to E'sere, her expression amused and J'lor? J'lor is regarded for all of a moment, then it's back to Derek whom she quietly studies.
Derek is silent, but the smile stays in place, and he steals a sideways glance at Aivey. Her words apparently win approval - because the grip of his fingers over hers relaxes, then his hand slips away so he can push branches and leaves overhanging the path out of their way. Let J'lor kick and scuff. For now, the leader of rogues is pleased enough.
Midday at the islands, warm and dry and welcoming, and here waits a party of one to provide a strange welcome. Surely some of the rest of the island must know that five of the exiles' precious thirty riding pairs have gone elsewhere on some mission. But Derek knows where 'elsewhere' was, and why - and it's Derek who's perched on a rock here on this island shore, head tipped back, one hand behind his neck to rub out kinks grown there from some short time now spent watching the cloud-skipped sky.
It's no exile dragon that appears from between, though. Instead, blinking into existance in the heat of the West. Morelenth is unfamiliar, and plainly so: on an island with only one bronze, the dark, skeletally thin Reaches dragon stands out at once. He hovers a moment where he appeared and then dives sharply downward, bugling as he comes toward a landing on the sand of the beach. Almost before the dragon is on the ground, E'sere is sliding down his neck, strapless and harried-looking.
Well, shit. Derek's down off the rock in a hurry and doing something he hates to do: moving toward a dragon, and at speed, too. He puts up a hand to swing out a wave, but doesn't call out; words are spared until he's within a few yards of the other man and the beast he's come with. There the outcast captain comes to a halt and slides a glance up and down the bronzerider before asking - not, 'who are you,' or 'why are you here,' - "Do you know a woman named Aivey?"
"They're not back yet?" is E'sere's quick rejoinder, the bronzerider turning to face Derek, brows furrowing. He has only one bag, slung over his shoulder; he drops it to the ground and stares, frowning, at Derek. "I didn't think I'd beat them, though--I had the easier escape. Derek," he assumes. It's not a question, as he watches the exile leader. Morelenth looks torn between elation and worry, lowering his head behind E'sere to study Derek on his own.
"All right, then," replies Derek with a little nod. He skates a glance over at Morelenth, but not much of one - he puts his shoulder toward the bronze as if he's intend on speaking solely to the bronzerider, or as if the dragon's scrutiny is something he'd rather keep on the other side of invisible blinders. "Yes. Glad to have you." A few more paces then, to get close enough to offer out a weatherworn hand for greeting. "They have any time to tell you anything?"
Over the air, another dragon appears. A green, the creature creeling and circling and shaking its head several times before she wings in to land on the beach five or six yards from Morelenth and Derek. The rider slides down, peeling off his helmet and making small soothing noises to stop the whimpering green from fussing. He is one of the five, but the sky remains clear. The other four riders in absentia.
"E'sere, Morelenth," the bronzerider introduces himself and his dragon as he offers his own hand to Derek. "My wingsecond only said someone was coming after her--and there's only one group with any interest in doing that. I came as soon as I could get away." Morelenth pulls his gaze away from Derek to scan the sky, expectant; it keeps E'sere from having to take attention from Derek. The bronze is the first to clue them in to the green's arrival; E'sere still doesn't look over at her. She's not the important one.
"Is your wingsecond one of your compatriots, then?" Derek flicks a glance up, too aware of the skies - and of Morelenth's movement - to be oblivious to the green's appearance. Her arrival, alone, makes the island's leader frown, drawing down the curved corners of his moustache. "Not in danger still, I hope? How many are you?"
"Queens were pressing," says the greenrider with a faint wince. "We had to run or obey. Four are still there, three covering. He's on the ground with her." As the rider finishes, one of the blues, but the wrong blue, bursts in above, eyes whirling red as the dragon comes in for a landing. The greenrider studies the new arrival an instant before amending, "Two covering."
There is, on E'sere's part, a long pause. Finally he notes, "My wing flew the 'Fall." Another pause. "There's only us." Him and Morelenth, him and Aivey--take your pick. E'sere glances to the greenrider, and his frown deepens as he listens, not answering.
"Your wing - " Derek stops there and, for lack of words, raises a hand to run forefinger and thumb over his moustache. The gesture repeats, slowly, while he looks from the greenrider to E'sere and over to the blue soaring down, then back to the bronzerider before him. He draws back his hand belatedly from the clasp meant to be brotherly before he got distracted - and repeats the gesture of smoothing his moustache twice more before he manages to soothe his mouth enough to form more words. "Only you," he says, then, voice sandy and quiet. Another moment's dark thought and Derek seems to grasp his place, the moment in time, and realize its value. He reaches out his hand again, the other dropping from his face, like to clasp E'sere by the upper arm. "Well, you're with friends now. You'll have to tell us what happened, but we'll get you housed and suppered first. As soon as J'lor - " A glance at the greenrider, then, steady and steely eyed. "- gets here."
There will be a few minutes more of waiting, but then, wait no longer. Three more dragons appear in the skies: a brown, a green, and a blue. They all swoop down to land, the brownrider and greenrider slipping free to meet with their companions already on the ground. Vellath lands last and nearest to Derek and E'sere. The rider slides down (his buckles never attached,) and throws goggles and helmet to the ground before reaching up to help his little riding companion down. "Easy, now." He looks over his shoulder to call more loudly, "We need a healer! Now!"
"They're still mine," E'sere answers Derek's first words, frown deepening. But, when Derek takes his arm, his mouth tilts into a smirk, and he nods once. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that," he answers simply, tracking Derek's gaze to the greenrider, studying the rider until the rest of the dragons arrive. Then, jaw tightening, he's turning to look at them. The bronzerider is quick to action, though, turning to the greenrider and snapping off, "Go. Get Katric." Not waiting to see if he's obeyed--E'sere simply expects it--the bronzerider turns to stride toward the cabal of dragons quickly.
Aivey is that odd shaped lump behind J'lor on his blue. She's a miserable odd shaped lump at that. The second the blue lands, Aivey is leaning over the far side of the dragon, toward J'lor's assistance and with it she does dismount. "I'm alright-" A weak statement considering she's half hunched over and really, really wanting to sit down as opposed to standing up. She's too busy to say much else: first E'sere is spotted and there is a moment of pure relief at that, then Derek is spotted next and pretty much everything ceases to exist.
"As he says," Derek echoes, behind E'sere's command. Let conflicts of leadership and realizations of rank come another time; just now, Derek has other things to do. He starts toward J'lor, his attention on the bluerider first, unwilling just yet to look at what he's brought. "Tell me," he says, as he's said before, then finally drags his gaze from things familiar to things familial. He stops short two paces away, not close enough to hold her up or take her in arms. From that distance Derek regards his daughter, grim mouth disappearing beneath his moustache - an expression she wouldn't even know how to read.
The first bluerider, whose dragon seems a bit less worse for wear from the mental headbutt with a queen, heads off towards the encampment at a clipped pace. He'll go to the infirmary, though he's muttering about 'bringing back whichever damn healer he pleases' and 'uppity bronzeriders think they're so special'. The other bluerider, the one with the girl, is keeping rather close. "She's scored. Shoulder and back, fairly deeply." And then, because he is a civilized sort of public disrupter, lawbreaker, and wanted criminal, "Aivey, this is Derek. Derek, Aivey." J'lor's eyes flick to the bronzerider and his brows lift upwards. "And you are...?"
E'sere, like Derek, seems willing to hang back a pace from the group, watching Aivey intently; it takes J'lor's trailed-off sentence to pull his gaze away from the girl, the bronzerider flicking a look up at the bluerider. "E'sere, Morelenth," he repeats the introduction of earlier, echoed by a relieved-sounding whuff from Morelenth, a few yards away.
Make no mistake about it, Aivey tries her damndest to read into that expression of her fathers -- and fails miserably. She does what comes natural next, and though it hurts like a sonnovayouknowwhat, Aivey straightens as much as possible and levels her gaze on her fathers. J'lor's introductions not needed, Aivey says, "Derek." Both confirmation and respectful greeting that's tinged with the smallest trace of happiness.
Not given to yelling, growling, or much else in the way of a raised voice, Derek jerks his chin after the rider departing to gather a healer and sends out a little hiss meant to hurry him along. Then he's one hundred percent with Aivey, head dipping a little, dark brows drawing together in a way that forms creases over the bridge of his nose. "I got your letter," he says after a moment, softly. The moment stretches a few heartbeats longer - and then Derek's attention snaps up to E'sere. "What, you didn't even meet?" On J'lor, then, where the leader's steely gaze rests harshest. "Tell me," he says again. And Aivey, his daughter, the girl worth rescuing at such dear costs - becomes background, a wound awaiting treatment.
The bluerider that went off isn't too long doesn't return, but shortly, there's crashing through the underbrush in the direction of camp, and Katric bursts through at a run, heading for the cluster of dragons. "You came, you came!" he squeals in the meantime, as he comes up gasping for air--it's a long way, after all. E'sere, fortunately for himself, turns in time to receive the hug thrust on him by the overexcited healer, the bronzerider's expression surprised and bewildered as he blinks at Katric. "I knew you'd come. I couldn't find Donavon, but he'll be along, I'm sure, when he finds out--I /told/ you he'd come back for us." This, smugly delivered to Derek and J'lor as E'sere turns him aroudn to face them. "Fix her," E'sere orders, pointing to Aivey; it's probably the first time the healer's noticed her. At once, the chattering stops, his expression setting to business as he moves forward. "What happened? /Thread/?" he asks as he peeks around to her back, the wound there. E'sere, meanwhile, only turns back to Derek and J'lor, shaking his head. "No. I came on my own, while they distracted the queens enough Morelenth could slip away," he answers.
First things first, J'lor finishes his introductions. "J'lor," he replies to E'sere. "Vellath's." And then dark eyes flick to Derek and he recounts, quickly, the rescue. "It went as well as could be expected. She was the only one out there, and we were in the middle of five wings flying fall. We grabbed her. We ran. Everyone will know." And then Katric is bursting through and J'lor watches the glee. He says nothing. Maybe he hasn't the heart or maybe he's just waiting for E'sere to do it for him. "Thread," he agrees with Katric's assessment. "Back and shoulder, and in there over a minute before we went between." Of Derek's reception for his daughter...there is no opinion offered or visible.
Aivey's eyes avert only at mention of the letter, dropping to the ground in shame. When she's ready to speak, to explain herself, she looks back toward Derek only to find herself dismissed. Her attention lingers on him a while longer, studying and comitting all she can to memory before she looks aside to E'sere. The smallest of smiles is offered, relief resurfacing purely for his benefit. Though Katric's ordered to fix her, Aivey pays him no mind. Voice still tight and quiet enough to play second to her father's conversation, she says, "Glad to see you made it."
Derek squints up at E'sere. "Then whose man are you?" Give him some credit for cutting to the chase. And for this, too - certainly he noticed the way his girl looked away from him, the way she shut off her gaze in shame. Even Derek couldn't miss it. And he's left her on her own for a little while now, so he can get the summary of the day's doings from J'lor. A twist of his mouth is easier to read than that disappearance of his mouth before, and skepticism lends his soft and sandy voice a little edgy burr. "They knew already," he affords the bluerider, suddenly weary, and lends at last his gaze to Aivey again. "When you're patched, I want to talk to you." Let his solemn gentility convey what his words do not, addendums like 'immediately' and 'first.' Let also a glance at Katric help, and the question, "How long's it going to take?"
"It's rather complicated to get into at the moment," E'sere notes in reply to Derek. And: "2C will do what damage control they can," he voices. "Though I doubt there's anything they can do for /her/." He cuts a glance back to Aivey and, catching her look, offers a quick smirk to her. "Of course I did. I learned my lesson /last/ time," he answers, amused, while Katric, brows knitting in concentration, moves to inspect the wound on her back. He shoots a quick look up at the three men and pauses--even he's a little leery of interrupting this particular triumvirate. Finally: "You think we could move to the infirmary? All my stuff's there, and it's--well, it's not really good, you know," he notes, glancing between them, but mostly to E'sere, nevermind he's the newcomer to the islands. And, to Aivey: "It's a ways back there--I don't think you can walk it?"
"They didn't know we were taking her," is J'lor's clipped reply. "Until we did." But then the bluerider falls silent until Katric mentions moving and carrying. He only peers over at Derek then, one brow lifted in silent question: You want to, or should I?
Predictably, the moment Derek speaks, Aivey's attention is on him. She follows every word, every bit of body language the man offers so that in the end, she nods with clear understanding. "I'll have someone show me the way," To where he's at, presumably. She looks aside to E'sere, offering nothing more then that brief moment of eye contact that passes onto Katric and J'lor, "Thank you," To the later, a sincere offering that's cut short by J'lor's look to Derek. To Katric, Aivey says, "-just start walking. My legs are just fine."
There's a twitch starting in Derek's mouth, some snap he's going to toss back at J'lor, when Aivey speaks for herself. Then, just as he dismissed her before, he dismisses the men, now. "She can walk." Soft-spoken, it is nonetheless his defense of her claim. After it, he abruptly closes those two paces that stood between she and himself all this time so he can put his arm there for her to take. Barefoot, in his worn and tired castaway's clothes, his elbow's angle is that of a gentleman's era gone by; his other hand poises across himself at the ready to steady her if she needs it. "We'll talk in the med-- infirmary," he tells her. "Tell me if you need to slow down."
Katric eyes Aivey and then Derek in dubious fashion, but he shrugs and starts to walk, keeping the pace slow and one hand held out to steady Aivey on her other side, hoveringly. "Are you the one that stabbed Donavon?" he asks after a moment, brows still furrowed intently. E'sere, meanwhile, turns to step back over to Morelenth, pick up the one item he managed to get away with, and then fall in step with the rest of the group as they head to the infirmary. Morelenth remains behind, stretching out on the sand and enjoying the warmth of freedom.
As Derek offers his arm to his daughter, J'lor falls back a step to allow the two of them some privacy. Or the illusion of such. And then, at Katric's question, both brows shoot up. Stabbed? With a small shake of J'lor's head, the very idea is dismissed. Surely not. Surely. Not. Still, he swallows, shoulders squaring just a bit more as he paces after the others.
The offered arm is something Aivey is not expecting, though to her credit there's no hesitation to take the offered assistance. "I'll be fine," she assures her father; even if she's not, it's almost assured she'll do her best to cover, "Thank you." Again a sincere offer that's met with a hesitant smile, her eyes forever locked on his for reactions with which to judge his response and by proxy, her own. It's Katric's question that draws her attention to him and the smile is in place before she can stop it. "We had a disagreement."
"You're welcome," replies Derek, and although Aivey doesn't need it, he reaches across to rest a hand over hers when Katric asks his question. Her answer comes, and he tightens his hand. His chin lifts, as if he's attendant to the upward slope of the path that will take the little group up from the beach through the forest and the settlement's center toward the caves, the cliff, the infirmary. It will be quite a walk, and Derek's hand is broad, worn and muscular. Its signal would be hard to miss. But now that she's beside him and has the benefit of his profile, his smile, too, would be hard to miss - that same grim disappearance of his mouth into the shadow of the moustache, marked by a telltale curve at the corner.
"Katric," E'sere says simply. It's enough to earn a guilty look from the healer, and he /almost/ falls silent. Then, well. Then he looks back to Aivey. "I think he's still kind of annoyed about that," he notes easily. "Though, I think he's pretty mad at Jensen, too. But don't worry--he's fine now--Donavon, I mean. Jensen... I haven't seen him in a while. We never could get him alone." Very mournful, the healer's tone as they walk. E'sere just rubs at his eyes tiredly. At least Katric has no more questions, falling silent himself while they escort Aivey to the island infirmary, where he'll be able to take charge of doctoring her injuries and leave everyone else to discuss amongst themselves as they will.
Well, 'surely not' goes out the window pretty damn quick and J'lor's hands lift to shove, sudden and sharp, into his pockets. His head comes down even as Vellath lifts his and launches from the beach to wing his way back to the weyr. The material of the pants is decent, but the pockets are thin and the way his knuckles stand out in relief is a dead giveaway he's balled his hands into fists. Then Katric is going on about Jensen and it is almost a relief, really. The bulding animosity is simply let loose in a dark and heated glare at the back of the healer's head. Boots kicks up sand, more than necessary, as the bluerider continues to make his way.
Aivey leans a little closer to her father then she does Katric, still giving him the majority of her attention despite speaking to the healer. Even with his mention of Jensen, she replies only to the portion about Donavon. "I'm sure we'll run into one another soon enough. He can apologize then," as though it were Donavon's fault she had to stab him. Aivey looks quickly to E'sere, her expression amused and J'lor? J'lor is regarded for all of a moment, then it's back to Derek whom she quietly studies.
Derek is silent, but the smile stays in place, and he steals a sideways glance at Aivey. Her words apparently win approval - because the grip of his fingers over hers relaxes, then his hand slips away so he can push branches and leaves overhanging the path out of their way. Let J'lor kick and scuff. For now, the leader of rogues is pleased enough.