Scored
Location: Southern Bowl and Dragon Infirmary
Time: Afternoon on Day 20, Month 6, Turn 2
Players: J'cor, Roa, Karth, Tialith
Scene: A bad Fall and a serious injury change everything.
High over a bowl already echoing with the cries of a few wounded dragons, two of the queen's wing wink out of between, sharing the ungainly weight of a small bronze dragon between them. Karth, the bronze in question, is still conscious - his eyes are open, but they whirl a dull gray, and the only sound out of him is an occasional, almost musical whine as the two queens touch ground and carefully lower him to it. As soon as his bronze is down, J'cor - awake, but clearly unsteady - unstraps himself and slides down his dragon's shoulder, stumbling and catching at Karth when his balance betrays him on landing. The bronze lets out another musical whine and shudders his left wing, where Thread has taken out a patch of wingsail and torn open his wingbone, right over a joint. J'cor keeps a hand on him as he moves towards the dragon's lowered head.
A third gold, long and lean, winks in on the heels of the other two and she spirals down to land lightly, already starting to move towards the wounded bronze as her tiny rider finishes dropping off onto the ground and making her own jogging pace over towards Karth. A few figures from the infirmary are already coming out with the basics. Redwort, numbweed, stitches, and a thin roll of tarp material. Roa's tugging her goggles off her face and peeling off her helmet. "Tia?" is all the Telgari has to say as she approaches the injured dragon. "Hang on sir," is murmured to J'cor. "Tialith will take as much as she can. He'll be feeling better soon." The young queen has seating herself near Karth's upper torso and head. Her mental touch is warm and weighted, like a blanket left resting near the hearth. Keep still. We will help you. Look at me, please.
J'cor looks up Roa's murmured words, blinking hazily at her. "I'm sorry?" A hand goes to his head, pressing in at the temples and rubbing while he looks at her, then shakes his head and walks away in silence. He takes the side opposite Tialith next to Karth's head, laying his hand along the bronze's jaw and rubbing the groove of his throat. It eases another whine out of the bronze as Tialith's soothing message arrives, and takes a moment to be processed. Not raising his head, Karth merely drags his chin along the ground, away from his rider, and the gray whirl of his eyes gains speed as somewhere all those many facets find a focus on the gold. His wing shudders again, stopping only when J'cor steps up and lays a hand along his jaw once again.
The sensation is somewhat like that warm and weighted blanket has suddenly unfolded and wrapped around the wounded bronze. As greying eyes meet bluey-green ones the blanket slides and settles itself not just around Karth but *between* Karth and the pain of his wing. He is tucked away from it, wrapped close in her regard. That is very good, the young gold, younger by turns and turns, sounds nearly maternal. Just stay here with me. She will see to the rest.
Roa lingers for a moment, waiting for some unseen signal, and when she gets it she's scrambling up onto the bronze and calling down directions below. "I need redwort hoisted up here. And water. A lot of water." She's peeling off her flight jacket, tossing it aside, rolling up her sleeves. A bowl of redwort makes its way up and Roa is washing her arms up to the elbows. "How's he feeling, sir?" she calls down to the Weyrleader.
Karth, relieved from so much of his pain, does not take time to question the maternal tones. Opening his mouth, scraping his chin against the ground more in the process, he emits something halfway between a whine and sigh, the day-old scent of a raw, bloody meal wafting out with his breath. J'cor squeezes his eyes shut, but less at the smell of dragon breath than at Roa's question as he concentrates on straightening his own head so he can get a clear word out of his distracted bronze. "It helps," he calls back after a pause, opening his eyes again. An idle hand rubs along Karth's jawline as the dragon closes his mouth again. "Tialith helps." A clarification. Just at that moment, two blues arrive overhead, one slamming to the ground as fast as he can while the other makes a wiser, gentler descent. Both of their riders are injured, and healers peel off from other, stabilized patients to attend them.
"We'll get some numbweed on in just a moment and that will really do the trick," Roa soothes. Much like her lifemate, she's taken up a calm and casual tone as redwort is generously drizzled over the wound. There are holes. Large ones. And bone, exposed, is missing bits. As Roa takes in the full expanse of the injury, her lips press together and eyes with heavy shadows beneath squint just a little. She says nothing more, just floods the wounds with redwort and then begins to rinse the red concoction and the green ichor away with copious amounts of water that are being shuttled out from the infirmary.
Karth, despite Tialith's intervention, still gets some sensation from his wing, and the drizzling of redwort provokes another, restrained shudder. His mouth parts a small ways, but closes again without him making a noise. He starts to lid his eyes, but J'cor makes a minor clucking noise and the bronze opens them again with a grunt. Helpless to do much else, he flexes his talons against the stone floor of the bowl.
When the injury has been sufficiently cleansed, it's a small pot of numbweed that Roa requests next, quickly slathering the stuff on the jagged edges and the exposed joint. Her own hands are rinsed again in Redwort and then she pauses, staring over the carnage and just thinking. Assessing what, if anything, can be salvaged. One hand has already moved to press against the place where ichor drips heaviest. Tialith keeps her quiet vigil, holding her gaze on Karth, keeping him as shielded as her mind can manage. J'cor unmistakable starts to lean - for all the influence he exerted on Karth, earlier, he seems to be having trouble keeping his own eyes open. A quick shake of the head, a stomp of his feet, and he's alert again. He takes a small step back, his fingers trailing along Karth's neck as he moves away from the bronze's head. From Karth's shoulder, he peers up at Roa, watching her work in silence. Karth's eyes spin a little faster at his rider's departure from his face, but he soon emits another sigh and refocuses on Tialith as he was told.
She begins with what's most obvious. As suture string and the accompanying scissors/forceps are sent up, the first order of business is to simply close off those veins that have been sliced, that will leak ichor in too great an amount. Her fingers move from red to green and Roa alternates rinsing her hands and dipping into the gore. The veins oozing around the open joint are closed. A few around the edges of the gaping holes. And then, carefully, she begins tug the skin over the bone and starts to piece flesh back together. No prognosis has been offered. No words. Not yet.
J'cor does not ask for any, but his own expression grows increasingly grim as her methodical work continues. He can only watch for a few minutes, however, before his observations apparently leak over to Karth, and the bronze's eyes whirl faster as he emits a frightened bleat and jerks his head off the ground. J'cor turns away quickly, moving towards his bronze's chest and looking up at his raised head. As he does, he catches sight of more dragons arriving from between - they're stream in steadily now, some of them injured in multiple places as those with only minor injuries strive to continue flying just to keep damaged formations intact. The Weyrleader's head tilts towards Roa, but he doesn't actually look, lest Karth be upset again, nor does he say anything. Partially soothed by his rider, Karth begins to lower his head, but faint whirls yellow have joined the gray in his eyes, winding together in a way that's unsuitably, disturbingly pretty.
You must keep still or she cannot work, The words remain soothing if, suddenly, the littlest bit distant. Something important is not to be shared and that is a challenge when Tialith is so closely linked to the bronze. Roa rinses her hands again and leans back from the joint. It's covered with skin now, stitched over, but slightly misshapen. Pieces of bone are, simply, gone. The Telgari's eyes lift to watch as more wounded come in. This will be, then, a long day for her. "Sir?" she asks quietly. "What happened, please?" With Tialith as focused as she is, she cannot ask.
J'cor acknowledges her voice with another tilt of his head, but the actual words provoke a shudder and an uncharacteristic scowl. "I don't know," he answers quietly, eyes and voice aimed at the ground. He corrects himself with a small, rough clearing of his throat and straightens, angling his head so that he can view Roa - or, rather, the vague shape of Roa - without being able to focus on any details that might upset Karth again. "Karth is unclear," he answers, more loudly now, but in a flat and emotionless voice. The bronze's eyes whirl at his name, his chin finally coming the rest of the way down to touch the bowl floor again. His jaws flex a bit, teeth clicking softly, and watches Tialith, but is apparently in communication with his rider, for J'cor is suddenly finding details to fill in the blanks. "He was relaying my orders. My weight shifted left, so he followed, assuming I'd seen Thread on the right. It was, in fact, on the left. There it took his wing." J'cor pauses here, taking a deep breath he doesn't expel right away. To judge by the pain in his expression, either Karth's memories are vivid, or his own begins to fill in at this point. "He went between while he could, and came out falling."
The little weyrwoman listens in silence and as she does, her fingers have begun working again. They fill in the spaces between stitches, working around the perimeter of each wound and sealing off anything large enough to still be bleeding. "And the others coming in. Do you know...did everyone hit the same wave of it?" Bandages are coming up now and carefully getting settled over the injuries.
J'cor shakes his head, stretching a hand around to Karth's chest - what little of it he can reach, given the bronze's size - and offering a few gentle pats of reward for his efforts to reconstruct his injury. Leaning into his dragon's side, his eyes unfocus as he touches base with the dragon again. "Karth says no," J'cor relays distantly. "He doesn't know what is happening with the others, but he was alone at the fore of 3C when hit. Teraneth should have caught this patch." A direct quote, it would seem.
3C. Roa's fingers work quickly and carefully and for such an awful wound, its repairs took very little time. There is white bandage in stark relief against bronze hide as Roa slides down to wash her arms once more. "Three cee," she murmurs. "What is it about that wing. Can he stand? Do you think we could get Karth into a couch in the infirmary? He needs to sleep and better there than here." Where everyone can see. "Teraneth. D'ven's bronze."
"He flew on the left," J'cor confirms. The murmur about 3C's ill luck doesn't carry to him, for he doesn't respond to it as he takes a step back to allow Karth more room to move his legs. With surprising primness, considering his wound, Karth raises and shakes each of his forepaws, sending off bits of rockdust accumulated on his talons when he was scratching the bowl floor. Only once they're clean does he actually move to stand, bracing his forelegs awkwardly in front of him by way of pushing his rear end up first - less like a grown bronze dragon than a runner foal just learning to walk. As Karth moves through the steps of this maneuver, J'cor walks back to where Roa is washing her arms, watching her for a moment of solemn silence before he moves himself to speak. "Weyrwoman. I have recounted what I can of Karth's injury. Please tell me what I should know." Like a student reciting a memorized formality, so detached is his tone.
Roa dries her hands, one eye on that task, the other watching the struggling bronze. Tialith also lifts to her feet, though hers is a single fluid motion, and she stands in silent ready to assist the little Karth should he need it. The Telgari doesn't look at J'cor, but rather down at the towel, stained red, in her hands. "It would be better, I think, to wait until he is sleeping," she says.
J'cor stiffens at those words, his eyes finding a focus far beyond her as he absorbs the words. Karth, meanwhile, does not seem to need help from Tialith - as torn up as his wing was, his legs are just fine, and the biggest problem he has is the odd numbness from his wing, which makes him inclined to angle left as he picks his way towards the infirmary. J'cor does not move again until the bronze is almost past him, tail trailing by as J'cor starts and looks again at Roa. "I rely on your discretion," he murmurs as he starts to move with his bronze, wisely keeping several paces behind Karth's left-wandering balance.
The little weyrwoman falls into step besides J'cor, Tialith trailing behind the pair, all of them following after the wounded bronze. "Sir," she says with a small nod, Within, a couch has already been prepared, soft furs draped over its expanse, a new chart waiting at the foot. Aides bustle, gathering unused or well used items from Roa's work and a handful of other dragonhealers have begun attending those other injuries that have begun filtering in.
Karth moves towards the infirmary readily enough, but at the actual entrance he balks. His nose proceeds him, venturing forth through the draconic entrance so he can have a good sniff and look around, whereupon J'cor comes up next to his tail and gives it a small nudge with his boot. A whumpf, then, from the bronze as he steps inside, moving towards the prepared couch and pausing again to sniff the furs before he steps into the prepared bedding, scratching around to get comfortable. J'cor steps up beside his head, staring at his dragon's eye - a murky color now, predominantly blue but faded by the influence of gray and yellow whirls. "A curtain would be appreciated, if there is one available for him," the Weyrleader remarks over his shoulder.
Roa trails behind, Tialith gliding in after. "It's not usual," Roa admits by way of the curtain, "but I'll have it arranged." For now the sleek little queen sets up a vigil at the foot of the bed, her clear gaze enough to cause any curious dragons to tip their glance away and any curious people to give that particular couch a wide berth. Rest, suggests the Telgar gold. It will be private when you wake.
J'cor dismisses the unusual nature of the curtain with a flick of his hand, which action he transforms into a broad gesture of thanks as Roa continues her sentence. "Thank you," he answers, at the same moment Karth says the same thing to Tialith. Thank you, the draconic echo begins, snorting lightly as his rider's words run over his. He stretches out along the couch, wings shuddering a bit - his usual habit of draping on the ground them will have to be curtailed, in these tight quarters - while he settles them along his back. I will do so. Three eyelids drop at once, almost determined to fall asleep. His rider stands by, watching with his arms crossed and the corners of his mouth drawn down in a grim little line.
Roa waits. She watches Karth settle and smiles faintly as Tialith relays the echoed message of thanks. When Karth closes his eyes, quickly and tightly, Roa asks softly, "Asleep, or pretending?"
J'cor holds up a hand, not taking his eyes off Karth or offering an immediate response. "He will," the Weyrleader murmurs indistinctly, after a matter of seconds, but he's still clearly waiting for something. A minute, and then he turns to look at Roa directly. "Asleep." He does not want to hear from her immediately, so he buys a few moments of blissful ignorance by finding and co-opting a pair of unused stools from the couch across the way, one occupied by a restful brown dragon. He picks up the stools and brings them to Karth's bedside, taking for himself the one closer to his bronze.
Roa seems in no particular rush to share her news, whatever news it may be. As the stools are drawn up, she accepts one, sinking down into it so her hands can settle in her lap. "Are you ready?" she asks. "You will have to be ready." It's the closest to a warning she can manage.
J'cor has just drawn up a stool, but at her words he cannot remain in place on it anymore. He looks at her for a second, then stands, turning his back to her and taking a step closer to Karth. His expression is shielded that way, but some of his response can be read in body language - dropped shoulders, a hand that goes up over his eyes. It can be read too obviously - there are other people in the infirmary, and he does not trust Tialith's intimidating gaze to keep off all observers. He catches himself and turns his retreat into an impromptu inspection of the near edge of Karth's folded wing. When he turns back around, his expression solidified into a stone mask. He retakes his seat. His finger and thumb press together, forming a ring, then release. Again. Then he says, "Very well. Yes."
Roa watches the series of events from start to finish, her own gaze stoic, her hands remaining quiet and in her lap. And then, slowly, she begins. "Sir. He's lost a significant portion of his wing and some of a bone joint. The sails were damaged very badly, and the joint wound will inhibit motion on top of all that. He..." her eyes drift shut and she inhales slowly. "He's not going to be able to fly again."
J'cor's mask is commendable - having seen the wing himself, and having been indirectly warned to expect the worst, he does not seem surprised when the truth comes out. "At all." This statement - so obviously answered, really, by her words - is the only slip of discomposure he allows. After it, his hand snaps up to stall an answer he already knows. "Very well," he says again. "It is obviously a situation that will take some time to accept. Eventually, the weyr will know. They will have to. For now, however, I ask that you keep this information to yourself."
"At all," comes the very soft agreement from Roa. "I..." but there is, really, nothing she can think to say. Her hands lift and then fall, limply, back into her lap. "I will leave the sharing of this information to your discretion, sir. It will...the wing should heal. The joint may cause weather discomfort or fail to align fully, but he shouldn't be in any real physical discomfort. To hear it isn't much, I know. But. It's something."
J'cor absorbs this information with the same passivity, only a slight incline of his head to acknowledge the fact that it is, to a certain extent, 'something.' "Very well." His mantra for the evening. "I thank you, Roa. I assume you will have other patients to attend to, in the bowl, by this time."
"I expect so," agrees Roa, her attention drifting back to the sleeping bronze dragon. "We'll be here. When he wakes. If you should need anything. I..." but again the girl falls silent and then, suddenly, is standing. "I'd better see about that curtain and return to the bowl."
J'cor, after a short pause, gathers himself to stand and see her off. Protocol must be observed. "Thank you, Roa," he repeats, allowing only the smallest crack in his mask as a note of restraint, but real gratitude seeps into his tone. The other, dominating portion of his tone, however, is comprised of a dismissal.
A tiny shakes of her head. "None are needed, sir." Roa turns away, snagging an aide and speaking softly until he hurries off to gather helpers and a screen or curtain or somesuch for the recovering bronze is on its wa to being formed. For the moment, until she is needed elsewhere, Tialith remains where she rests even as her rider disappears out into the bowl.
Time: Afternoon on Day 20, Month 6, Turn 2
Players: J'cor, Roa, Karth, Tialith
Scene: A bad Fall and a serious injury change everything.
High over a bowl already echoing with the cries of a few wounded dragons, two of the queen's wing wink out of between, sharing the ungainly weight of a small bronze dragon between them. Karth, the bronze in question, is still conscious - his eyes are open, but they whirl a dull gray, and the only sound out of him is an occasional, almost musical whine as the two queens touch ground and carefully lower him to it. As soon as his bronze is down, J'cor - awake, but clearly unsteady - unstraps himself and slides down his dragon's shoulder, stumbling and catching at Karth when his balance betrays him on landing. The bronze lets out another musical whine and shudders his left wing, where Thread has taken out a patch of wingsail and torn open his wingbone, right over a joint. J'cor keeps a hand on him as he moves towards the dragon's lowered head.
A third gold, long and lean, winks in on the heels of the other two and she spirals down to land lightly, already starting to move towards the wounded bronze as her tiny rider finishes dropping off onto the ground and making her own jogging pace over towards Karth. A few figures from the infirmary are already coming out with the basics. Redwort, numbweed, stitches, and a thin roll of tarp material. Roa's tugging her goggles off her face and peeling off her helmet. "Tia?" is all the Telgari has to say as she approaches the injured dragon. "Hang on sir," is murmured to J'cor. "Tialith will take as much as she can. He'll be feeling better soon." The young queen has seating herself near Karth's upper torso and head. Her mental touch is warm and weighted, like a blanket left resting near the hearth. Keep still. We will help you. Look at me, please.
J'cor looks up Roa's murmured words, blinking hazily at her. "I'm sorry?" A hand goes to his head, pressing in at the temples and rubbing while he looks at her, then shakes his head and walks away in silence. He takes the side opposite Tialith next to Karth's head, laying his hand along the bronze's jaw and rubbing the groove of his throat. It eases another whine out of the bronze as Tialith's soothing message arrives, and takes a moment to be processed. Not raising his head, Karth merely drags his chin along the ground, away from his rider, and the gray whirl of his eyes gains speed as somewhere all those many facets find a focus on the gold. His wing shudders again, stopping only when J'cor steps up and lays a hand along his jaw once again.
The sensation is somewhat like that warm and weighted blanket has suddenly unfolded and wrapped around the wounded bronze. As greying eyes meet bluey-green ones the blanket slides and settles itself not just around Karth but *between* Karth and the pain of his wing. He is tucked away from it, wrapped close in her regard. That is very good, the young gold, younger by turns and turns, sounds nearly maternal. Just stay here with me. She will see to the rest.
Roa lingers for a moment, waiting for some unseen signal, and when she gets it she's scrambling up onto the bronze and calling down directions below. "I need redwort hoisted up here. And water. A lot of water." She's peeling off her flight jacket, tossing it aside, rolling up her sleeves. A bowl of redwort makes its way up and Roa is washing her arms up to the elbows. "How's he feeling, sir?" she calls down to the Weyrleader.
Karth, relieved from so much of his pain, does not take time to question the maternal tones. Opening his mouth, scraping his chin against the ground more in the process, he emits something halfway between a whine and sigh, the day-old scent of a raw, bloody meal wafting out with his breath. J'cor squeezes his eyes shut, but less at the smell of dragon breath than at Roa's question as he concentrates on straightening his own head so he can get a clear word out of his distracted bronze. "It helps," he calls back after a pause, opening his eyes again. An idle hand rubs along Karth's jawline as the dragon closes his mouth again. "Tialith helps." A clarification. Just at that moment, two blues arrive overhead, one slamming to the ground as fast as he can while the other makes a wiser, gentler descent. Both of their riders are injured, and healers peel off from other, stabilized patients to attend them.
"We'll get some numbweed on in just a moment and that will really do the trick," Roa soothes. Much like her lifemate, she's taken up a calm and casual tone as redwort is generously drizzled over the wound. There are holes. Large ones. And bone, exposed, is missing bits. As Roa takes in the full expanse of the injury, her lips press together and eyes with heavy shadows beneath squint just a little. She says nothing more, just floods the wounds with redwort and then begins to rinse the red concoction and the green ichor away with copious amounts of water that are being shuttled out from the infirmary.
Karth, despite Tialith's intervention, still gets some sensation from his wing, and the drizzling of redwort provokes another, restrained shudder. His mouth parts a small ways, but closes again without him making a noise. He starts to lid his eyes, but J'cor makes a minor clucking noise and the bronze opens them again with a grunt. Helpless to do much else, he flexes his talons against the stone floor of the bowl.
When the injury has been sufficiently cleansed, it's a small pot of numbweed that Roa requests next, quickly slathering the stuff on the jagged edges and the exposed joint. Her own hands are rinsed again in Redwort and then she pauses, staring over the carnage and just thinking. Assessing what, if anything, can be salvaged. One hand has already moved to press against the place where ichor drips heaviest. Tialith keeps her quiet vigil, holding her gaze on Karth, keeping him as shielded as her mind can manage. J'cor unmistakable starts to lean - for all the influence he exerted on Karth, earlier, he seems to be having trouble keeping his own eyes open. A quick shake of the head, a stomp of his feet, and he's alert again. He takes a small step back, his fingers trailing along Karth's neck as he moves away from the bronze's head. From Karth's shoulder, he peers up at Roa, watching her work in silence. Karth's eyes spin a little faster at his rider's departure from his face, but he soon emits another sigh and refocuses on Tialith as he was told.
She begins with what's most obvious. As suture string and the accompanying scissors/forceps are sent up, the first order of business is to simply close off those veins that have been sliced, that will leak ichor in too great an amount. Her fingers move from red to green and Roa alternates rinsing her hands and dipping into the gore. The veins oozing around the open joint are closed. A few around the edges of the gaping holes. And then, carefully, she begins tug the skin over the bone and starts to piece flesh back together. No prognosis has been offered. No words. Not yet.
J'cor does not ask for any, but his own expression grows increasingly grim as her methodical work continues. He can only watch for a few minutes, however, before his observations apparently leak over to Karth, and the bronze's eyes whirl faster as he emits a frightened bleat and jerks his head off the ground. J'cor turns away quickly, moving towards his bronze's chest and looking up at his raised head. As he does, he catches sight of more dragons arriving from between - they're stream in steadily now, some of them injured in multiple places as those with only minor injuries strive to continue flying just to keep damaged formations intact. The Weyrleader's head tilts towards Roa, but he doesn't actually look, lest Karth be upset again, nor does he say anything. Partially soothed by his rider, Karth begins to lower his head, but faint whirls yellow have joined the gray in his eyes, winding together in a way that's unsuitably, disturbingly pretty.
You must keep still or she cannot work, The words remain soothing if, suddenly, the littlest bit distant. Something important is not to be shared and that is a challenge when Tialith is so closely linked to the bronze. Roa rinses her hands again and leans back from the joint. It's covered with skin now, stitched over, but slightly misshapen. Pieces of bone are, simply, gone. The Telgari's eyes lift to watch as more wounded come in. This will be, then, a long day for her. "Sir?" she asks quietly. "What happened, please?" With Tialith as focused as she is, she cannot ask.
J'cor acknowledges her voice with another tilt of his head, but the actual words provoke a shudder and an uncharacteristic scowl. "I don't know," he answers quietly, eyes and voice aimed at the ground. He corrects himself with a small, rough clearing of his throat and straightens, angling his head so that he can view Roa - or, rather, the vague shape of Roa - without being able to focus on any details that might upset Karth again. "Karth is unclear," he answers, more loudly now, but in a flat and emotionless voice. The bronze's eyes whirl at his name, his chin finally coming the rest of the way down to touch the bowl floor again. His jaws flex a bit, teeth clicking softly, and watches Tialith, but is apparently in communication with his rider, for J'cor is suddenly finding details to fill in the blanks. "He was relaying my orders. My weight shifted left, so he followed, assuming I'd seen Thread on the right. It was, in fact, on the left. There it took his wing." J'cor pauses here, taking a deep breath he doesn't expel right away. To judge by the pain in his expression, either Karth's memories are vivid, or his own begins to fill in at this point. "He went between while he could, and came out falling."
The little weyrwoman listens in silence and as she does, her fingers have begun working again. They fill in the spaces between stitches, working around the perimeter of each wound and sealing off anything large enough to still be bleeding. "And the others coming in. Do you know...did everyone hit the same wave of it?" Bandages are coming up now and carefully getting settled over the injuries.
J'cor shakes his head, stretching a hand around to Karth's chest - what little of it he can reach, given the bronze's size - and offering a few gentle pats of reward for his efforts to reconstruct his injury. Leaning into his dragon's side, his eyes unfocus as he touches base with the dragon again. "Karth says no," J'cor relays distantly. "He doesn't know what is happening with the others, but he was alone at the fore of 3C when hit. Teraneth should have caught this patch." A direct quote, it would seem.
3C. Roa's fingers work quickly and carefully and for such an awful wound, its repairs took very little time. There is white bandage in stark relief against bronze hide as Roa slides down to wash her arms once more. "Three cee," she murmurs. "What is it about that wing. Can he stand? Do you think we could get Karth into a couch in the infirmary? He needs to sleep and better there than here." Where everyone can see. "Teraneth. D'ven's bronze."
"He flew on the left," J'cor confirms. The murmur about 3C's ill luck doesn't carry to him, for he doesn't respond to it as he takes a step back to allow Karth more room to move his legs. With surprising primness, considering his wound, Karth raises and shakes each of his forepaws, sending off bits of rockdust accumulated on his talons when he was scratching the bowl floor. Only once they're clean does he actually move to stand, bracing his forelegs awkwardly in front of him by way of pushing his rear end up first - less like a grown bronze dragon than a runner foal just learning to walk. As Karth moves through the steps of this maneuver, J'cor walks back to where Roa is washing her arms, watching her for a moment of solemn silence before he moves himself to speak. "Weyrwoman. I have recounted what I can of Karth's injury. Please tell me what I should know." Like a student reciting a memorized formality, so detached is his tone.
Roa dries her hands, one eye on that task, the other watching the struggling bronze. Tialith also lifts to her feet, though hers is a single fluid motion, and she stands in silent ready to assist the little Karth should he need it. The Telgari doesn't look at J'cor, but rather down at the towel, stained red, in her hands. "It would be better, I think, to wait until he is sleeping," she says.
J'cor stiffens at those words, his eyes finding a focus far beyond her as he absorbs the words. Karth, meanwhile, does not seem to need help from Tialith - as torn up as his wing was, his legs are just fine, and the biggest problem he has is the odd numbness from his wing, which makes him inclined to angle left as he picks his way towards the infirmary. J'cor does not move again until the bronze is almost past him, tail trailing by as J'cor starts and looks again at Roa. "I rely on your discretion," he murmurs as he starts to move with his bronze, wisely keeping several paces behind Karth's left-wandering balance.
The little weyrwoman falls into step besides J'cor, Tialith trailing behind the pair, all of them following after the wounded bronze. "Sir," she says with a small nod, Within, a couch has already been prepared, soft furs draped over its expanse, a new chart waiting at the foot. Aides bustle, gathering unused or well used items from Roa's work and a handful of other dragonhealers have begun attending those other injuries that have begun filtering in.
Karth moves towards the infirmary readily enough, but at the actual entrance he balks. His nose proceeds him, venturing forth through the draconic entrance so he can have a good sniff and look around, whereupon J'cor comes up next to his tail and gives it a small nudge with his boot. A whumpf, then, from the bronze as he steps inside, moving towards the prepared couch and pausing again to sniff the furs before he steps into the prepared bedding, scratching around to get comfortable. J'cor steps up beside his head, staring at his dragon's eye - a murky color now, predominantly blue but faded by the influence of gray and yellow whirls. "A curtain would be appreciated, if there is one available for him," the Weyrleader remarks over his shoulder.
Roa trails behind, Tialith gliding in after. "It's not usual," Roa admits by way of the curtain, "but I'll have it arranged." For now the sleek little queen sets up a vigil at the foot of the bed, her clear gaze enough to cause any curious dragons to tip their glance away and any curious people to give that particular couch a wide berth. Rest, suggests the Telgar gold. It will be private when you wake.
J'cor dismisses the unusual nature of the curtain with a flick of his hand, which action he transforms into a broad gesture of thanks as Roa continues her sentence. "Thank you," he answers, at the same moment Karth says the same thing to Tialith. Thank you, the draconic echo begins, snorting lightly as his rider's words run over his. He stretches out along the couch, wings shuddering a bit - his usual habit of draping on the ground them will have to be curtailed, in these tight quarters - while he settles them along his back. I will do so. Three eyelids drop at once, almost determined to fall asleep. His rider stands by, watching with his arms crossed and the corners of his mouth drawn down in a grim little line.
Roa waits. She watches Karth settle and smiles faintly as Tialith relays the echoed message of thanks. When Karth closes his eyes, quickly and tightly, Roa asks softly, "Asleep, or pretending?"
J'cor holds up a hand, not taking his eyes off Karth or offering an immediate response. "He will," the Weyrleader murmurs indistinctly, after a matter of seconds, but he's still clearly waiting for something. A minute, and then he turns to look at Roa directly. "Asleep." He does not want to hear from her immediately, so he buys a few moments of blissful ignorance by finding and co-opting a pair of unused stools from the couch across the way, one occupied by a restful brown dragon. He picks up the stools and brings them to Karth's bedside, taking for himself the one closer to his bronze.
Roa seems in no particular rush to share her news, whatever news it may be. As the stools are drawn up, she accepts one, sinking down into it so her hands can settle in her lap. "Are you ready?" she asks. "You will have to be ready." It's the closest to a warning she can manage.
J'cor has just drawn up a stool, but at her words he cannot remain in place on it anymore. He looks at her for a second, then stands, turning his back to her and taking a step closer to Karth. His expression is shielded that way, but some of his response can be read in body language - dropped shoulders, a hand that goes up over his eyes. It can be read too obviously - there are other people in the infirmary, and he does not trust Tialith's intimidating gaze to keep off all observers. He catches himself and turns his retreat into an impromptu inspection of the near edge of Karth's folded wing. When he turns back around, his expression solidified into a stone mask. He retakes his seat. His finger and thumb press together, forming a ring, then release. Again. Then he says, "Very well. Yes."
Roa watches the series of events from start to finish, her own gaze stoic, her hands remaining quiet and in her lap. And then, slowly, she begins. "Sir. He's lost a significant portion of his wing and some of a bone joint. The sails were damaged very badly, and the joint wound will inhibit motion on top of all that. He..." her eyes drift shut and she inhales slowly. "He's not going to be able to fly again."
J'cor's mask is commendable - having seen the wing himself, and having been indirectly warned to expect the worst, he does not seem surprised when the truth comes out. "At all." This statement - so obviously answered, really, by her words - is the only slip of discomposure he allows. After it, his hand snaps up to stall an answer he already knows. "Very well," he says again. "It is obviously a situation that will take some time to accept. Eventually, the weyr will know. They will have to. For now, however, I ask that you keep this information to yourself."
"At all," comes the very soft agreement from Roa. "I..." but there is, really, nothing she can think to say. Her hands lift and then fall, limply, back into her lap. "I will leave the sharing of this information to your discretion, sir. It will...the wing should heal. The joint may cause weather discomfort or fail to align fully, but he shouldn't be in any real physical discomfort. To hear it isn't much, I know. But. It's something."
J'cor absorbs this information with the same passivity, only a slight incline of his head to acknowledge the fact that it is, to a certain extent, 'something.' "Very well." His mantra for the evening. "I thank you, Roa. I assume you will have other patients to attend to, in the bowl, by this time."
"I expect so," agrees Roa, her attention drifting back to the sleeping bronze dragon. "We'll be here. When he wakes. If you should need anything. I..." but again the girl falls silent and then, suddenly, is standing. "I'd better see about that curtain and return to the bowl."
J'cor, after a short pause, gathers himself to stand and see her off. Protocol must be observed. "Thank you, Roa," he repeats, allowing only the smallest crack in his mask as a note of restraint, but real gratitude seeps into his tone. The other, dominating portion of his tone, however, is comprised of a dismissal.
A tiny shakes of her head. "None are needed, sir." Roa turns away, snagging an aide and speaking softly until he hurries off to gather helpers and a screen or curtain or somesuch for the recovering bronze is on its wa to being formed. For the moment, until she is needed elsewhere, Tialith remains where she rests even as her rider disappears out into the bowl.