The Stampede, Broken into three parts.

[greenridertav]

WHO: Aivey, Br'ce, Essdara, R'vain, Tavaly, T'zen (Immath, Uneth)
WHERE: Feeding Grounds and into the Infirmary.
WHAT: Tav punches Cows.
WHEN: Early evening into late night, Night 9, Month 5, Turn 2
OTHER: Lots of ouch, and a big thanks to Aivey. :D YAY! Plot. Also, there might be a few poses that my MUCK client has eaten. I caught one, so if anyone has the whole thing, please leave it in a comment so I can ingetegrate it. x.x Catch any others, lemme know.


Dark clouds swirl heavy above; tearing up and raining softly down upon the grim scene. Always messy. Despite millions and millions of reminders, it seems. Gentle mists are toyed with, slices through the midsection as a single green cuts an impressive glide above the bowl. One beast lays diminished, already, and off in a far corner away from the fence that leads out into the southern bowl. She drops, stone like, upon a beast callous enough to stand too still. Om nom nom! Pulling the struggling beast away, Immath begins the task of feeding her hungry face.

Meanwhile, several yards away, the grown green's rider sits upon the fence, back to the gruesome sight of flesh and fur being torn asunder. Everything's got to eat, sure, but.. so gross. Not even /Tav/ is that messy at dinner time. A book sits open over her knees as she balances precariously. "...three times the flour.. And eggs. Shoot, that's huge." A cook book?

Throughout the later half of the evening, little noises from the beasts penned within the feeding grounds have sounded, giving an almost quaint, farm-type feel. With Immath's feeding, the tense air of the beasts has increased ten fold so that the main herd has broken into smaller clusters. One, some four beasts strong, lingers in the opposite corner of where Tavaly is found seated atop the fence. The lead beast - a big, brawny looking sort - paws nervously at the ground, its eyes wide, nostrils flared as a scent is picked up. The beasts near it press tighter together, braying nervously. Just behind them, hidden in the shelter of shadows and a dark cloak is a more human form; half bent and studying make a slipstreamed disk.

The green, maw bloodied and filled with pieces of fur and ligaments, raises her head and scrawls her voice across the damp air in a pink mist. Why won't those idiot beasts be quiet? Once more, the hungry teeth descend and soon the creature 'neath them stills, crying no more. Tav sighs. IT's that part that always bothers her. A primal urge born in dragons from birth. << The blood is always tastier when it still moves. >> Has always been the reason. However, even dragon logic cannot completely sway human sympathy.

Balance. Tav isn't very well known for it, and even with the thick fence, she has some difficulty in keeping herself on it. Now, near a post, she turns, swinging one leg over so she stradles the heavy wood, one glance in irritation towards the feasting green, another spared the lousy creatures as they bawl their stupid fears.

The bawling continues. It won't stop, but rather increases with frenzy as something other then (and in addition to) that feeding green breaks their limit: a partially in-human yowl and a sharp *crack*. With a loud bawl and bleat, the bulkiest of the bunch starts forward, four hooved limbs slipping upon the ground before tearing out hefty chunks of sod as it powers its way toward the side of the fence Tavaly is at. Herd mentality is called such for a reason: It's neighbors follow, and several others pick up the cue and join in so that it's six beasts total that charge unerringly toward Tavaly. Off behind them in the distance, that shadowed figure is still present. Form locked still, eyes set upon the impending collision, the tool of her current torment lies at her feet: a feline skin and herder's whip.

Still feeding. Not *quite* done with this one. Still some juicey bits left.. Immath's head, bowed with glowing golden gaze unfocused, is nowhere near the skyline. Nowhere near the patch of beasts that now rise. Only after the fleshy piece she'd been working on finally comes lose, does the green raise her head to peer at the shifting herd. A little too slow. Her jaws open wide and issue forth one of her legendarily loud creels.

Rumble. Tav raises her head from the book and looks over as the green exudes another pink-mist honk. The book, pages ruffled momentarily by gravity, freezes, trapped in Tav's claws. Her gaze shifts from dragon to-HOLYCRAP! Sorry, kitchen staff, this book's goin' in the mud! Tav lets her hands fly, the leatherbound cook's journal sails gracefully, arcing for a brief moment until it lands in the mud with a rather flatulent sound. Tav props herself on the post quickly and makes to get *OUT* of the way. Snag. WHAT?! Glancing down, the girl pauses, hisses, and begins a near panicked attempt at freeing her pantleg from the angled splinter that's decided now's the perfect time to pin her in place.

RumbleShakeShakeRumble! That ground is a'quakin' with the approach of that six-beast strong herd. Tavaly getting caught up and pinned in place is most definitely not a good thing, no, because these beasts have no sympathy or intent to stop. Those not engaged in the stampede - coincidently those seperated from Tavaly by her green - pack together on one side of the fence, but they too seem anxious and ready to bolt at a moment's notice. The shadowed figure responsible for it all is now gone, the evidence still left behind for what good would come of finding it. As for that stampeding cluster? With seconds to go before crashing through the fence Tavaly is on, they plow forward. Heedless of anything in their way.

Shlop. Still unfinished, Immath's second dinner is thrown to the side as the green scrabbles in the mud, wings sent up and maw open again to holler warning. Um.. /MOVE/! That ear-piercing voice wails.

"I'm /TRYING/!" Tav screams above the sound of hooves sent afar in fright. A ripping sound, not that of fabric, but of the very fibers of wood finally coming free. Tav scrambles backwards, falling backwards into the mud. Boy, nobody has EVER crab-walked so fast. She flips over and pushes herself up into a run -- too late. Heavy ankles suddenly tangle with one boot, and the steaming breath of the lead bull snorts hot against Tav's lower back. Between the horns the girl goes, and in an instant the girl is bodily shifted and *flung* ahead and to the side. Bits of fence are still sailing through the air, and a sizeable chunk manages to sail in just such a way that it gives her left shoulder a bit of a wakeup. Face down as she lands, Tav reaches forward with her right hand, pale eyes wide in something very close to terror. Fingers clamp tightly around mud as one of the outer-most herdbeasts trods over her ankle in its frightened retreat. Twice in her life has she screamed. This is number three. And even with all that hurt, the girl turns over and aims a swift kick to that clumsy-cow's butt. Yea. She KICKED that cow!

Immath> To Uneth: Immath shoots ribbons of red-hot light into whatever area permeates Uneth's mindstate. << They run! They run! Mine is caught! They have stepped on her and she bleeds! >> comes the green's frantic cry.

Immath> Water. Bubbles. Suddenly all popped and steamed by panic. And instant attention. << Where, Immath? Where, and I come! >> the blue replies very quickly.

From the southern bowl, Dammit, dammit, dammit. R'vain can barely breathe the words while running, now full-tilt, while Tavaly's hidden by the beasts charging at and about her. But he's spared from trying to speak any more by dumbfounded open-mouthed panting when the greenrider's form goes sailing. The Weyrlingmaster clears the fence in a clumsy, hurried climb-and-leap maneuver, skids in the mud on the other side, and keeps going-- but his pace slows, as though hesitation overtakes him, until Tavaly proves still living with the scream and the kick. Then R'vain bolts full speed again, spraying spatters of mud clear up to the knee and paying them no mind whatsoever.

From the southern bowl, R'vain hops the fence and ventures into the feeding grounds.
R'vain has arrived.

What luck Tavaly would have, to be hit by the bull of the pen. The fence cracks with resounding force as he pushes his way past it, strikes the girl and flings her into the air. The beast trodding over her ankle is one of the four who make it out, the remaining two balking at the crack of air and the roar of dragon so that they bump into one another. It's not until Tavaly is already on the ground that they crash through the hole already in the fence, joining their partners in fleeing. Already though, the damage has been done.

Immath> To Uneth: Immath is seven shades of misery and fear. Images come. The place of feeding, the beasts bloodied and blood flowing, the fence, the small portion of rampaging beasts, and the rider afflicted caught on the fence before the creatures collide and the girl, Tav. Blunt, heavy pain throbs dully in the back of Immath's mind and a slice of it shared in thought. << It hurts! They are too heavy.. >>

Immath> No more words now, but wind, fierce and strong. Uneth has taken flight.

Taking flight, the green, maw still bleeding and resonating around the walls that make up the grounds. She flat out *drops* near the place of fence fragments, angry jaws set to snapping at the remaining beasts that threaten to trod further out. A/way/ beasts! Wings open and the green presents any other herdbeasts with a deadly adversary.

The one closest to the girl, who has since pulled herself back to where the fence still stands, brays suddenly as one of Tav's fists connects with its shoulder. Tav just punched a cow. Swell. Well, it made her feel better, anyway. She continues to pull back, muddied, bloodied, and now with two eyes that can't seem to stop leaking. Her left leg drags, pant leg torn and boot lost somewhere in the churned earth. Her ankle and up is.. messy. Mud mixed with skin broken by the heavy edge of cow hooves. Crappy. She pulls the collar of her jacket up and bites it, eyes clenched shut. Then there's another sound. Boots? She opens one eye and turns her head, looking. Hey, it's whatsisface!

From the southern bowl, Essdara eventually can't take the watching and waiting anymore, and is jogging across from where R'vain left her towards the feeding grunds, worry apparent on her facce.

Those beasts outside the pen stample away, heading to places unknown; places that hopefully aren't people or dragon populated. Those still trapped within are effectively held at bay, if not still on the cusp of erupting into their own stampede of terror. Not known for their sensabilities, lets just hope a dragon planted at the entrance is enough to keep them from charging in that direction or things can get even more messy.

Uneth spirals down from the sky above.
Uneth has arrived.

Essdara hops the fence and enters from the southern bowl.
Essdara has arrived.

A blue blur speeding in from the north, Uneth appears, no straps or rider on him, and a bit sudsy and wet, giving clue where he just was. He bugles a concerned cry to Immath while taking stock of what is going on.

R'vain, plainly, could care less about escaping beasts. In fact it might be that the few curses he sputters out, wet-voiced, as he closes the final distance between himself and the muddied young greenrider, are of the 'go, get gone, and never come back' variety, meant to chase off the offending bull and his cows. Then he's skidding splutchily to a sliding stop and bending, reaching toward Tavaly's shoulders as she backs up, and he's talking. Talking real low. "Don't lean on it. Don't get up. Tav, slow down, don't panic, take it easy. It's just mud. Can you breathe? Take a deep breath." And so on. Of Uneth, R'vain is not yet aware.

T'zen hops the fence and enters from the southern bowl.
T'zen has arrived.
Br'ce hops the fence and enters from the southern bowl.
Br'ce has arrived.

Those offending beasts are indeed well and gone. Those not in the pens, that is. All that's left behind in the way of evidence is half way across the field, hidden in the shadows: feline hide and herders whip, showing that this indeed was no accident. Echoing back to those gathered on the field are the braying of the escaped herdbeast, though their call grows distant as the seconds pass.

The green's head raises, for a moment, screeching at the blue in the air. Red. Eyes red. She maintains her protective stance, wings held aloft, stiff. Jaws snap at another of the beasts that get spooked in the wrong direction. Once all the creatures are scared stupid in the OTHER corner, the green's head turns, and the red bleeds into orange and gold as her nose swings down toward her rider. Whiiiiine!

Tav's eyes are still a little wide, and the hands that are suddenly on her shoulders only startle her further. And wait.. that hurt. "I.. I punched a cow.." She says, staring at the mud. One hand crosses over her chest and reaches over her left shoulder. Just out of reach, a wooden shard from the fence juts out. Not in enough to separate muscles. Skimmed the blade, perhaps. Blood tinges the edge of her shirt and soaks into the brittle fence piece. Pale skin has gone a little gray. "I was.. reading.. and.. they just started running.." She begins mumbling, turning a blank stare toward R'vain.

Uneth observes the situation, sees people beside the greenrider, beasts scattering about the bowl, and Immath holding the rest at bay. Choosing the most logical step, he lands a half a dragon-length away from Immath, and likewise keeps his wings spread to help her manages the frightened beasts in the pen.

Immath> Uneth's own eyes whirling in the yellows as he observes Tavaly and the beasts. << I am here. >> He redundantly declares. << I will help protect. Mine comes. He will help protect her. >> Simple confidence, amid the anxiousness.

R'vain bends low, his aim not to haul Tavaly up so much as to stop her from trying to do it herself. With her in hand he has a chance to look her over well-- and not like what he sees. "Leave it," he snaps, harsher than he should be, at that hand that reaches for the fence-piece. A little gentler, he explains, "It might be holding your blood in." Very important, keeping the blood on the inside, mostly. "Your leg's bent." The Weyrlingmaster's powers of observation and witty descriptive phrasing are reknowned. "Something musta spooked 'em. Immath get angry? She was fine when I first saw y'over here. You need a healer." It's like he realizes it only when he hears his rough, gravelly voice saying it-- and then he raises his head and casts a gaze about, as if there should be a healer right there to serve.

Essdara is near the4 fence, and watching it all in silent worry.

Immath> To Uneth: Immath pales, her thoughts now shrouded in mist as all focus turns to the stiff girl in the mud. But in there is soft acceptance of his help.

T'zen finally appears, sprinting across the bowl clad in just his burgundy shorts. He sees his dragon land, and immediately locates the group of people. Don't need to be a genius to know where Tavaly would be. He veers their direction, calling out, "Where's Tav?!"

A healer should have been called, but healers aren't known for having powers of telepathy or for their ability to hear dragons. Thus, no healer yet makes his or her appearance yet. It looks like blessed relief from numbweed is still minutes away.

It's a mostly naked brownrider that sprints through the bowl, chasing after T'zen. Both hands are frantically holding his towel up, and water drips from his wet hair as he dashes. "Ow, ow, ow, ow..." There's a low litany being voiced as he runs barefoot across the sharp stones of the bowl. "T'zen, what's going on?" He's a little slower, on account of his aching sole. "What happened to Tavaly?!"

The green continues to hold her stance, wings now drooping into the dirt. The blue is left to take her spot in holding the others.

Tav is shaking her head, even as R'vain speaks. The fullness of thought slowly begins to fill her eyes, and, gritting her teeth against the stinging sensations that assault her from two different directions, she reasons. "No no no. No. She was.. Otherway. Otherside. Nowhere near. They just.. Ran. Nothing Immath did. Not.. /Shards/ what is /in/ there?!" She turns her head, trying to find what's making her arm so blasted stiff.. Bent? "They stepped on me.." She explains, switching gears to look at the offended limb. Ugh. Boot missing, Tav narrows her eyes and.. ah, there it is. Her toes wiggle. "Just.. ugly. Still move it fine. Can.. can I get out of the mud, please?" She asks, brows turning inward as she looks up at R'vain.

Half-naked men. Not what R'vain was hoping to see when he tore his gaze away from Tavaly to go hunting the visual scene for a healer that's not there, but it'll do. "She's hurt. Get a healer," he barks, maybe not even recognizing T'zen. Then he's looking down again at Tavaly, or rather at her leg. "I don't think you oughta put weight on that." Skeptical. "I can pick you up, or you can try an' lean on me on th'other foot." At least she gets options. His expression, even upside-down, is perplexed. The matter of mysterious stampedes eludes his attention for now.

T'zen bursts pasts a couple of other riders who have just managed to beat him to where R'vain and Tavaly are. R'vain's order completely lost as he comprehends the first part. "Tav!" He drops to his knees beside the girl. "Shards, yer a mess," he adds in that helpful panicked voice. He takes a glance at R'vain. "We gotta get a healer!"

Br'ce may be hard to recognize, disheveled, damp, and without his clothes on. Very different from the dapper gentleman he normally projects. "I'll get one." The brownrider skids to a halt, turning to make a dash back for the infirmary, sacrificing curiosity in favor of being useful. Damn idiots, losing their heads in a crisis.

The body works in mysterious ways. An overstress of nerve clusters either results in screaming misery, or an overabundance of laughter. Luckily, Tav is one of those particular nut cases that, when hurt to such a degree, she laughs. And T'zen running up like this only fuels it. One hand already stretched up to sink into R'vain's monstrous paw, the girl stares blank at T'zen a moment.. And then giggles. "Yea.. Cows. Why're you soapy?" She tugs on the man's hand. "Help me walk.." She says, her grin fading to a grimace a moment. And then a blur. "Why is Br'ce nakedish..?" She asks, yowling after the attempt to push herself up with her left hand fails horribly. Wow, something really hurts back there..

"I already said that," replies R'vain in a nonplussed rumble, realizing only now that T'zen is, well, T'zen. But he just looks at the bluerider with that blank expression, then winces as Tavaly fails to haul herself to her feet (foot) by use of his hand, and yowls the result. "A'right, that was trying t'walk," grumbles R'vain. "I think we'd better go for carrying."

T'zen first holds Tavaly's hand as she tries to get up. When she seems to have difficulty, he catches R'vain's 'carry', and moves in immediately, ready to scoop the girl right up. And then, with an arm on her back and the other ready to go under her legs, he sees that awful twist in her leg, and luckily pauses. He looks back at R'vain. "Gotta support that, shouldn't we?" He then gives Tavaly an odd look as she laughs. "Shards, girl. Cow? Ya got trampled, an' yer laughin'? Just came from bathin' Une. Middle of it, even."

Uneth continues to watch the penned and cornered beasts unwaveringly, wings fanned, though he rumbles a bit.

Immath> Uneth echoes a thought of his rider. << Which one did it? >>

A few moments later, a journeyman healer comes in at a dead run, looking irritated. "What's going on here? All of you, move, move aside, someone tell me what happened. Succinctly." Oh joy, it's one of the angry healers. At a slightly more sedate pace, now wearing borrowed robe that's too short and tiny slippers, follows Br'ce

Another laugh. This one Farrrrrr more hysterical. "You were nekkid same time as Br'ce.. That's gross." Another laugh, and then a huuuuuge wince. "Chyah! Pleasepleaseplease, don't pick me up. OW!" If she weren't already holding R'vain's hand with her right, she'd bash T'zen across the head. Her left is busy curling up in her lap and being still. Occasionally pulling her shirt down. Another glance at R'vain. "You do it, you're bigger'n me." She whines, then looks past to the healer. And then Br'ce. And then cracks up further. Oh, defense mechanisms. Silly. To the healer, she asks, "Can I get out of the mud first? My butt's cold."

A healer arrives, and Dara looks relieved. Tava may be hysterical, but Dara is confident in her being ok. Quietly, she slips away, pulling her coat around her with a frown returning as she starts to think.

"Do what? Pick you up?" R'vain glances at T'zen. "Not that I think you can't carry 'er one-armed, but-- " And then, before this becomes a who-can-carry-the-weight-of-Tavaly-or-her-foot-more-efficiently contest, there's a healer. But R'vain isn't going to let go of Tavaly's hand or her shoulder, because then she'd be in the mud, or in T'zen's arms, which might result in her being in the mud, or something. Who knows. She doesn't want to be muddy, is all, so the healer's going to have to give orders about how these men are going to unflummox themselves and loft her properly, without hurting anything else.

T'zen frowns at the girl. "Well, shards, we gotta get you moved, girl," he retorts, and then sees the healer show up. And his manners earns him a worse frown. "Trampled by a beast, she was." That's succinct. And then back to R'vain. "So.. Tav says you carry'er, then." If she says so, then he'll comply, this time.

"We were not--I had a towel on." Br'ce says with a dignified reserve that comes through, despite his somewhat rediculous looking clothing. Still, he folds his arms across his chest, peering on worriedly from a distance, knowing better than to crowd the healer.

"Put her down, you oaf." growls the healer as he brusquely pushes T'zen aside. "No." is his flat response to Tavaly. "Unless you like exacerbating your injuries more than having a slightly chilly tush. Your choice, though, I'm just here for the pleasant conversation." Intense sarcasm aside, the healer's focus is absolute, gently probing around the wound in the shoulder, and poking and prodding his way impersonally all the way down to her ankle. "Keep her shoulder out of the mud." he directs R'vain. "And don't touch that fragment, I don't want any more nasty stuff getting in it." Poke, prod, twist. He's not the gentlest of healers. "You'll live." he informs Tavaly, still sounding rather irritated. "No broken ribs. I want to wait until we're somewhere cleaner to take that piece of wood out." There's a steely eye fixed on the two riders clustered around her. "Do you two think you can manage to carry her without dropping her, or should I call for some more reliable apprentices?"

Patience. Not something she has in huge stock, anyway, and in this particular moment, she's lost all of it. "I'll live? /I/ could have told you that, you pea brain!" The girl's laughs now come in the form of uncomfortable snarls. "They'll be fine, they're competant, just.. pave the way, so I don't have to kick anybody." She growls. Okay, now things are starting to hurt. Shock is subsiding, and.. wow, ouch. Something catches, though. Wood? Out? Once more, she tries to look over her shoulder.. "So that's.. huh." Her grip on R'vain's hand tightens as trusty right-leg is pulled under and she does a pull-push routine to try and raise herself out of the yuck.

R'vain keeps Tavaly's shoulders, plural, out of the mud. Doing one and not the other one would require twisting her. He fixes the healer with a curious stare that turns irritable somewhere around the words 'reliable apprentices.' "We can get her," he growls. Angry healers, bah. If he gets to be angry, so does the Weyrlingmaster. "Leggo my hand, Tav. Take T'zen's. Let me get arms under you and-- Uh, T'zen, you can't take her legs, the one's all bent." A glance at the healer and grudgingly R'vain asks /him/ for instruction. "Can we put th'broken one," assuming it /is/ broken and not, well, worse, "over th'other one t'support it, or...?"

T'zen's no expert at proper carries. If he's ever needed such, he's likely been out completely. But he does see enought from his side to point out, "Ya lift her y'self, that splinter's gettin' in the way." He grimaces as the thought finally comes. "Together, maybe? So's she goes straight up?" And with one arm on her back still, and the other reaching under her legs, he eyes R'vain. Working together. This'll rankle.

"Well you didn't tell me that, did you, girl? Besides, I'm actually lying about that just to get you to shut up and stay calm so we can take you somewhere where you won't make a scene. So much for that idea." He thwaps her, lightly on the shoulder. "You don't move. You stay there. Or I'll kick you, and I don't have a twisted ankle to slow me down." He rolls his eyes at R'vain. "Her leg's fine, it's her ankle. And if you carry her like that, you're going to twist the shoulder." There's a moment's eyeing of the two men. "Okay, I just need one of you two. Sling her over your shoulder. That should avoid the worst of the injuries." Fireman carry style.

"SOMEBODY get me out of the mud. You. Put me over you're shoulder, I'll manage." She barks at R'vain, once again using the man's hand to pull herself up. Okay, getting grouchy. "And you. Stop being disagreeable. I'll make your night hell if you keep it up." She turns a frosty glare at the healer. This is NOT how she wants to spend her evening, dangit!

"D'you mean his night," R'vain, while shouldering Tavaly-- why is it that her word wins out over the healer's? Probably because she's closer to being in position to give him a sound kick where it'd hurt-- somehow manages to tip a nod to T'zen. "Or his?" The healer, for that jerk of his chin. By then he's hefting her, proving some positive use for the excess brawn and general biomass that his existence takes out of Pern's ecosystem, and flashing T'zen an apologetic look for not sharing.

Up goes Tavaly. T'zen raises from where he is kneeled in the mud, his legs now dark. Wet, soapy, and clad only in his shorts, he is a sight to see. He gives the Weyrlingmaster a frown, but soon directs that same front at the swelling ankle of Tavaly as the rest of her upper torse disappears over R'vain's shoulder. "Right then. Sooner in the infirmary, sooner she's made better." And he finally spares a glance at the surrounding. "Shells. How'd them beasts get out? Looks like they hit the fence straight on."

"They did." Tav mutters, her good arm propping her chin up on R'vain's back while the other curls up against her chest for protection. The wooden shard sticks up and out at a rather.. gruesome angle. Her eyes begin drooping. Tired. Wounded. So much energy wasted.. "S'go inside, now." She mutters to R'vain.

"I'm not being disagreeable. You're the one complaining about a cold bum and the wet mud. What about me, I was nice and cozy and in the middle of a good book? No one ever thinks of the healers." The man stands, watching R'vain pick up his patient. "All right. Try not to jostle her too much. Someone else will take over once we're there. Someone with more patience." grumblegrumble.

"They did hit the fence straight on. I think Tavaly was on it. Or near it." R'vain frowns and, now that the greenrider in question has become vital encumbrance, speaks about her as if she were not present. And carries her as ordered, his steps heavy and mud-slogging, toward the infirmary.

Br'ce just frowns at the antics, rolling his eyes. "Less banter, more healing." his his comment. Still, since Tavaly seems all right, he's going to go retrieve his clothing. His legs feel naked.

T'zen follows after, and looks ready to strangle the healer. Must strangle.. attitude.. "Yer not the one lookin' worse for wear, Healer," he manages.



------------------- Infirm from here on out ---------------------

R'vain carries Tavaly a little incautiously-- but she's lightweight and as long as she's not beating him about the back for jostling her in any way that hurts, he's selecting speed over smoothness of ride. Eventually he bends deep next to a cot and leans forward so she can roll from him onto the sheet.

Br'ce enters through the tunnel that leads from the bowl.
Br'ce has arrived.

R'vain carries Tavaly a little incautiously-- but she's lightweight and as long as she's not beating him about the back for jostling her in any way that hurts, he's selecting speed over smoothness of ride. Eventually he bends deep next to a cot and leans forward so she can roll from him onto the sheet. (re)

It's a sight to see.. All muddy, Tavaly clearly injured, T'zen still in shorts and mud. There's no doubt it's catching the attention of the healers and aides in the infirmary. And no doubt Tavaly's getting attention quick.

T'zen for his part is glowering at the back of the healer who's with them now.

Little to no sound does the girl make as she's hauled in a rather undignified manner into the infirmary. Hot on R'vain's heels, the lumbering green takes up space in the larger cavern, watching with golden eyes a-blur. The girl has taken to silence, for the most part, as she's suddenly the center of so much medical attention. Clearly, by the way she twitches away from seeking, healer's hands, she's not exactly happy. Blue eyes sweep over the sea of faces and peer at T'zen a moment, desperately trying to grab a moment's comfort in some form or another. "Yow!" She hisses as one healer bumps 'the bad shoulder'.

It's a few moments later that a now-properly dressed (with extra buttons done up) Br'ce that appears in the infirmary, hair combed and tugging at his cuffs to straighten then, carrying the robe and slippers in his other hand. Those are handed off, with thanks, to an apprentice, as he approaches the fringe of the bustle surrounding Tavaly. Good thing he's tall, he can see over people's heads. "Careful."

"Twisted and cut ankle, massive bruising, and that thing stuck in her shoulder. Nothing interesting to see here. I'm going back to my reading. Call me if anyone starts dying. Especially her. Though I hope you don't screw it up that much." The abrasive healer throws up his hands, washing them of the case as he stalks off towards the back, to his interrupted reading.

Immath> Uneth sends dark waves of sympathy, but also a bit of intenseness as he surveys beasts and the pen. << Which beast went mad? >> And a little later. << There is something else here. Not beast-smell. >>

"Isn't there s'posed t'be some sort of teaching they do at th'Healer hall about bedside manner?" R'vain's voice is low, but even when he speaks lowly R'vain is rarely quiet, and it's likely that every patient and healer for four beds away heard his grumpy remark. He lays a thick paw on Well, as much of it the healers won't be using, in any case.

There is a pure, murderous glare sent at the retreating healer's back. "Fine, you runner's hind end, I'll do it myself, and when I'm deemed unfit to fly Threadfall, and they ask why I'm so messed up, I'll tell the Weyrleader it was your fault. Failure to perform your duty. Right snotty prat. Weren't for this little accident, I'd rip your hair out you loathsome little roach." She'll do it, too. Tav sits straight up, both legs dangling off the edge of the bed. Her right hand goes to searching again, brows contorted into quite the angry expression as she searches, blindly, for the woodshard she knows is still in there.

T'zen's glower turns towards Tavaly, and finds her looking his way. There's an immediate softening in his eyes to reflect that seeking in hers, and he even winces when she cries out in pain. And then that insufferable healer makes his quip, and though R'vain's started to make room for him, and though he's made his audible complaint, and though Tavaly's added to it, T'zen's quite ready to go a step further. A really big step, as he literally steps after the healer, fist clenched. The man won't need to be called. He's the one about to be killed. The decision is so much either when /other/ healers are working on Tavaly.

Meanwhile the Weyrlingmaster seems to be altogether too caught up in looking for something in one of the interior pockets of his jacket. He has the lapel pulled away from his chest in one hand, the woolly lining showing, and prods around in the pockets inside with the other paw. "Stop it," he growls, quite a bit louder than the other thing he said. Possibly a roar. The threat of a roar. A thundercloud, threatening rain. Or lightning. "Ain't th'place for a beating." Dig, dig, dig. There's something he wants in one of these pockets /somewhere/.

Br'ce has the grace to look rather embarrassed. "I'm sorry, he looked studious, and he was one of the first journeymen I saw." is his explanation. "At least he gave you a diagnosis?" Think of the bright side. At least the three are unified in being angry at their healer. "T'zen! Don't you dare!" Ack. Br'ce starts after the bluerider, intent on restraining him. "How about you take care of Tavaly first, right?" Arms snake under...

( And here, my MUCK client eats half a pose. :( )

... warning you, though, she's a bad patient. Nothing terribly wrong with her--twisted ankle, wooden shard in her shoulder, bruises, cuts. Much more your territory. I'll stick with sick people." There's a glance cast over his shoulder, a somewhat disdainful look at the struggling T'zen. "Watch out for those two goons she has with her, though. They seem to think that the more angry they get, the better treatment the patient gets." This, at least, he has the grace to say somewhat under his breath. He's not completely stupid, after all.

The scene at hand is a strange one. R'vain, standing to the side with one hand rummaging inside his pockets. Br'ce now bodily lifting T'zen away from a healer whose haughty retreat is now hurried by the threat of a bluerider with angry murderous intent. A couple other healers try to weed their way closer to Tav who is, most begrudgingly, seated on a cot. Both legs hang down to one side, both muddied, but only one missing a boot. The pantleg of that same bootless left limb is torn and, among the muddy splatters, blood and disrupted flesh. For the most part, however, the rest of the leg seems fine. Scrapes, smaller cuts, bruises, and a nasty, nasty snarl. "Aw, let 'im be, T'zen. I'll eat him for breakfast later." Tav says, just as her fingers touch upon the wooden shard jutting from her left shoulder. Always the left. Ridiculous! Her eyes search out again, this time finding R'vain's face among the softly blurred edges. "Cha lookin' for?" Concentrate on something else.. Her fingers tighten on the shard.

T'zen roars as he's suddenly restrained from behind, "Ignore my Tav, will ya, ya shardin' wherry-" and instead of fighting the lift from behind, he leaps up with it, kicking a leg out towards the healer in a last ditch attempt to connect. Task done, he's back on his feet, struggling against Br'ce's pin. "Lemme go!"

Neiran nearly rends his spine from the rest of his skeletal system, so quickly does he jerk upright out of the little reading stoop he was in, when a hand claps on his shoulder. He's not so startled that he fails to take the rather sudden briefing of his colleague; on the contrary, he already seems alert and receptive. Whatever he was doing - sipping tea and reading about fashion, by the looks of things - isn't nearly as important as this. He rises swiftly from his seat, already rolling up his sleeves as he crosses from his isolated table to the scene of carnage. If there's adrenaline pumping in his veins, it doesn't show in his placid face. The roaring elicits a small raised brow as he approaches the cluster around the cot. Before addressing the riders, he makes eye contact with one of the more adept aides loitering by, and nods for a cart with supplies to be brought. "Good evening," he intones calmly, looking from one to the other. "I have been...assigned to assist you." He waits a moment to see if his attentive presence is enough to still the wrath - he's keeping out of swinging range yet, just in case.

"Bluerider! Some of 'em are better at some stuff'n others. Let 'em pick out someone who handles tramplings." R'vain finally comes out with a closed fist from his jacket pocket. There might be a little gray string hanging from his fist, but he stuffs it into one of his hip pockets quickly enough that it's not going to be something anyone should be noticing. After all, there's a bleeding girl with a broken ankle trying to levitate off the cot in an effort to stop her crazy weyrmate from devouring a healer's head. Yep, for the first time in his life R'vain is a passive, easily unnoticed bystander.

Immath> To Uneth: Somewhere in the back of her mind, Immath pulls herself into the here and now, turning toward the direction Uneth's thoughts come from. << The big one. The one with horns. The others follow that one. >> She explains, then clouds over again. Worry.

"Not until you calm down." Br'ce has a surprising amount of strength in his slight frame, enough to keep T'zen from being able to get loose and wreak havoc, at least. "You can go find him later, if you want. But I'm sure he has his reasons for behaving so...rudely." It's clear from the man's tone of voice that such a label is one of the worse ones he can attach to a person. When it seems like T'zen is calm enough not to snap and go after, he loosens his grip.

"Hi, Neiran." Comes a quiet voice. Tav's. The one who's all bloody and gross in the infirm, for once. "Ankle's nasty, yea, but.. can we get this thing out first? It's starting to get sticky.." She whines, her fingers already wrapped around the wooden thingy. A glance is shifted over to "Please?"

T'zen snorts like an angry runnerbeast, and wrestles his arms out once Br'ce lets up. "Fine." Muddy, walking around in shorts. The perfect attire to go comfort Tavaly. Or something. His name and plea heard, he turns and walks back to Tavaly. "Almost got'im," is the first thing he says upon return, one hand reaching to his matted hair as he regards the eerie healer now standing at Tavaly's bedside. And then he finally really focuses on the girl again, and his brows knit with concern. "How ya doin, girl?"

Immath> Uneth searches, passing images back to Immath. << I know which one you speak of. They tell us to not eat that one. >> A bit darker. << He is sure to be eaten now. I will let you. But I do not see him here. He must be out. >> And then more curiosity, images revealing an odd length of fur in the mud, dragoneyes picking it out easily in the dark. << It is not beast. What is it? >>

Immath> To Uneth: Immath winces, a flash of imagery sent skittering across her mind. Horns, one of them scraping toughly against her rider's side. The second piece gives the green pause. << I do not know it. >> She responds, simply.

"Of course," the Journeyman replies to Tavaly's plaintive request. "I would agree that the wood in your shoulder is the most pressing issue." He refrains from laying hands on her just yet, though already his eyes are flicking all across her, assessing, compiling, diagnosing and planning. A small squeaking sound at his shoulder alerts him to the cart's presence, and he turns to wash his hands in water and redwort solution. The cart is laden with all manner of intimidating and valuable metallic surgical apparatuses, not the greatest of which is a scalpel, not the least of which is a pair of minute forceps. Gentle sloshing is Neiran's only comment as he lathers and rinses, head turned to watch T'zen and Tavaly's interaction. Without looking away, he murmurs to his recruited assistant, "please retrieve an ice compress." Hands rinsed of the pinking antiseptic solution, the healer dries them on the trolley's towel, and begins wetting a cloth with clear water from a pitcher, still silently focused on his patient.

R'vain lurks around a few paces away. Far enough to be useless, close enough to keep an eye on what's happening. "Not th'place an' time," he remarks idly, warningly, a reproof for T'zen. But when the bluerider's at the greenrider's side again, the Weyrlingmaster finds somewhere else to look, something else to occupy his gaze with. His muddy boots, for a while. Neiran's pink-washed hands, until they're rinsed of the pink. Then he withdraws that little thing from his pocket-- it looks, for a moment, like a little bag, gray with a gray thread to close it-- and hefts it in the clutch of his paw. Thoughtful.

Br'ce spares a glance for his formerly clean clothing. Now a bit muddy, thanks to having to restrain T'zen. There's a disgusted mutter, and a brow-furrowed glance given at his dirt-streaked hands. A clean square of linen is produced from a pocket, and he does his best to wipe his hands clean. "Stand clear and let the healer do his job, fellows." the brownrider suits action to advice, choosing to lean against a nearby wall, crossing his arms across his chest. Only the tapping of his fingers against his bicep reveal him to be anything other than the cool, composed, and relaxed man that he projects so well. That, and intent observation of Neiran's actions.

"I wanna be drunk." Is Tav's first response. To T'zen. She leans forward a little, forehead resting against the bluerider's chest for comfort briefly. Enough to sustain. She's cold. The smell of different.. healery things manages to get into her nose, and those pale eyes widen a little. Always a mite frantic in infirmaries, Tav's comfort level at actually being in a healer's care is.. well, non existent. Br'ce's here. Huh. "Nice butt, by the way." She comments to the brownrider with a slight smile. Watch that composed expression melt like butter. Where'd.. where'd R'vain go? With her eyes, only, the girl looks around.

T'zen brings a hand up to briefly pet Tavaly's hair, his eyes now on that wood sticking out of her shoulder. "Sure, Tav. We'll get you fixed up," he says by way of drunk. And then he looks at Neiran, also clearly uncomfortable, but knowing there's no better place for the girl to be. "Ah, Healer? Neiran.. let's do this. Got something to give her?"

"Thank you, Br'ce." The healer acknowledges the greenrider's courtesy with that grateful sentence. He turns to address Tavaly, then, setting his moistened cloth aside. Neiran's eyes linger on T'zen, for a few moments, but it is to the suffering girl that his words are directed. "I will administer a topical and oral analgesic in order that you should feel a minimum of discomfort. I can also sedate you, if you wish, but I would prefer not to allow you to drink to inebriation at this moment. I can assure you that the sedation and analgesics I will give you will be adequate. Your wound will require stitches, but I will assure you that they will take little time, and the method of suturing I will use will amount to very little, if any, scarring. Would you prefer me to explain what I will do, or would you prefer my silence?" Some patients find comfort in being told the steps of their treatment, while others would rather not be so enlightened. In the meantime, he's produced a small array of tablets on a little plate, offered with a waterskin to wash them down. There's a bottle with a dropper lid on the plate, too, a tincture that will provide some kind of relief.

"I have something to give her." R'vain at last reapproaches, but it's not Tavaly he's really moving toward, except for the fact that she's right next to his target. T'zen. T'zen, whose position at bedside is now ursurped by the healer. The Weyrlingmaster pauses a moment, next to the bluerider, to watch Neiran the way someone who's not a dragonrider might admire the process of getting straps onto an enormous bronze. Then he remembers his purpose and glances at T'zen; a moment later he holds out the object he'd been tossing lightly in the palm of his hand, apparently for the bluerider to take. It is a silvery-gray, probably velvet, pouch closed with a matching drawstring. "When she's better." Again, talking like the injured party is not present. Poor greenrider.

There's a momentary tightening around the eyes, and a bit of a flush around the neck, but Br'ce is harder to rattle than that on this occasion. "Thank you." he says graciously. "Just--" he bites off what he was going to say, not willing to give Tavaly any more ideas than she already has. "--take it easy. I see your sense of inappropriateness hasn't deserted you, you can't be that badly hurt." he finishes. "Ah. I think your being drunk might be more of a liability than an aid, Tavaly. You're not a, uh, quiet and subdued drunk." Unlike Br'ce, who tends to make a declaration or two, and then slide safely under the table. Neiran is watched with quiet attention, and faint satisfaction. Ah, finally. Someone competent around here. Though his regard is distracted by the bouncing bag. Hmmm?

A hand gently pushes Neiran's offerings aside. "I'm good. Don't need stuff to take it away. And you talk about what you're doin' as much as you want to, won't phase me at all. I've had worse." She says stoutly, looking up at Neiran with as neutral a glance as possible. "Wouldn't mind a blanket, though. Kinda cold." Shiver. Her voice quiets as she looks towards T'zen again. "Just hold my hand. I'll be arright." Wait, what's this? As R'vain steps closer, Tav raises her head and peers at him. "...I'm better. What is it?" She asks, trying on a small, crooked smile for the moment. Br'ce's comment about drunkness gets a short laugh (and a wince afterwards. OW, dangit!) "You've never seen me drunk."

T'zen really hasn't seen her drunk often either, as, matched drink for drink, he's gone way before she even gets tipsy. He peers blankly at Neiran at his overly detailed description of whatsits and magic potions, and even says at one point, "Yeah, but, will it /help/?" Demonstrating his mastery of medical speak. He actually nods approvingly as Tavaly rejects the unknowns, and dutifully takes her hand in his. And when she mentions blanket, he's the one who ends up shivering, the cold and his lack of attire finally reaching him. And then R'vain. He looks carefully at the offered package, and then takes it from R'vain, nodding his thanks to the man, while eyeing him curiously.

Neiran's eyes lid halfway, and follow the path of that satchel as it's passed to T'zen. "I hope, Weyrlingmaster, you are not offering any illicit substances." Neiran's warning is gentle, for the moment, offering room for explanation - and always room for him to confiscate the item before in the infirmary, and he's wielding the sharp objects. Though, for the moment, the sharpest thing he has in his hand is that washcloth again, the tray of offerings duly set back on the trolley once it's been rejected, no mote of surprise on his face. If anything, he looks as if a suspicion has been affirmed. The best assistants are the ones that know what Neiran wants before he has to say it, and just as the lad is putting down the ice compress, he's sent off with a glance to fetch a blanket from the foot of a nearby bed. "First, I will sterilize the wound with water, then apply a small measure of numbweed so you are still when I remove the slivers," he states, very matter-of-fact, leaning in to daub the cloth around the gory wound, as the assistant wraps a blanket around her shoulders and then skitters off to get that ice compress so he can put it on her ankle.

"She ain't a quiet and subdued sober," grunts R'vain, and releases the pouch soundly into T'zen's hand. A glance at Tavaly, grinning wide and toothy, tells her that he hears her-- sure, you're better-- and disregards the validity of her statement. Affectionately, but still-- disregards. "Keep a good eye on 'er, bluerider." So, maybe no brawling in the infirmary tonight at all, since T'zen hasn't got into it with the older healer /or/ the Weyrlingmaster. Tsk. Lost opportunities. R'vain's turned around then and heading for the bowl, leaving chunks of mud in his wake.

"Well, no, but I'm extrapolating from the rest of your behavior." Br'ce responds, the irritation in his voice only feigned. "I would recommend, however, that you listen to the healer. We all know you're tough and strong and all that; let him use the analgesics. For my peace of mind." His voice is gruff because he cares. Still, he's watching R'vain leave with furrowed brows, lost in some other train of thought regarding the man.

Perking for a moment to what Neiran has to say, she makes a grunting sound that sounds at least someone agreeable. "Yea.. Numbweed. That.. That's a good idea. 'Ppreciate it. I wanna be somewhat.. /here/ for the most of it, but.. I don't want it to sting. So, yea. Numbweed's definitely okay." She sits very still, save to pull the blanket around her good shoulder and her back. She leaves the other arm out so Neiran has a clear workspace. Thing. Her good foot pulls the edge of the blanket around the other foot to keep /it/ warm. Now that it's really gross and muddy. And then R'vain's gone. Crap! "But..." she looks at T'zen, then. "Open it, I wanna see!" Little happy things.

T'zen nods. He knows numbweed. "Aye, good." He releases Tavaly's hand to open the bag, looking inside. His brows raise suddenly. "Woah," he says, and reaches in, pulling out a silver necklace of fine craftsmanship, a tiny gray pearl set and hanging at the end in a pendant. He blinks at it, and then blinks at Tavaly. "Some gift," he says, half in wonder, half suspiciously. And then he looks in the bag again, and pulls out a piece of paper, which he reads silently, eyebrows shooting up.

"If she wishes to proceed without analgesics, that is her preference, and it will be heeded until such a time that she changes her mind," the Journeyman says, in response to Br'ce. "I will note, rider, that the analgesics are not immediately effective, so a change of opinion due to discomfort will not yield immediate results," Neiran adds for Tavaly's benefit, holding off on further wound-probing. The cloth he holds already has some blood on it, sopped up from the surrounding skin. Meanwhile, the poor lad who's been made into Neiran's helper tonight is busy trying to lift the blanket unobtrusively so he can try and get the cold compress on the injured ankle. But with all the mud, and the girl sitting, he's having a hard time of it. Neiran's ignoring him, as well, busy resuming his cleaning of the area, and watching that satchel suspiciously. The cloth has to be rinsed several times, and it's likely that even despite the healer's nimble fingers, the wooden shard jarred a little uncomfortably. Deeming it clean enough for now - that is, clean enough to see - he washes his hands once more, opens a jar of numbweed, and gets a brush with which to apply it. Prepare to be painted into lovely numbness. Seeing the contents of the satchel are only a trinket, he focuses anew on his task.

One brow goes up as the bag opens. "My, my." Br'ce murmers, casting another look at where R'vain retreated to, and then a glance at Tavaly. Brow furrow. Hmm. There's a sudden stubborn set to his chin; this gift is taking him down roads of thought he'd rather not travel. To distract himself, he steps fowards to assist the apprentice, lending him a hand by rearranging and holding up the blanket for the poor boy. Note that he's not even looking in the direction of the note. See? This is what's called 'discretion'. Mark it well, because nobody else in this weyr seems to have it.

In the space it takes T'zen to untie the thing, Tav's listening to Neiran. "Understood. Trust me, I'll letcha know if I change my..." Shiny. "..mind." Blank stare. Tav's face becomes a wash of pure.. well, stupid. "Oh.." She says, blue eyes widening at the silver gleam and the cloudy pearl. "What.. um. What's the note.. say?" Tav asks in broken sentences. Whether it's because of the jarring woodpiece, or just the fact that she's absolutely dumbstruck.. well.. Hard to detect. Blink, toes. "Oh.. Thanks, Br'ce." She offers, numb.

Rather than read it, T'zen simply holds it out to the girl, his mouth twisted as though unsure whether to frown or grin. "A bit timely, this," he says, looking down at the work at the foot of the cot, and then the space R'vain once occupied, before looking back at Tavaly, eyebrows still raised.

The note is a summons to duty. To report to E'sere for 2C duties in the morning.



The lad murmurs a small thanks to Br'ce, and remains crouched there to hold the ice to the girl's ankle. "Thank you, Br'ce." The more audible thanks is from the Journeyman, proving that he's not ignoring the assistant's doings utterly. While his patient is distracted with shiny things, he continues spreading on the salve, and soon enough numbness will seep from skin into muscle, rendering the wound a pit of unfeeling tissue oddly disconnected from the rest of the body. That disconnection is a good thing, as is the distraction that the necklace brings, for Neiran is now washing up in preparation to use those forceps to remove the splinter, and that entails fishing for any smaller pieces that have broken off; a process which most find disconcerting at best. The healer doesn't bat a lash, of course, simply readying some cloths in case the removed piece should let loose blood that streams rather than oozes, but if fortune's on the rider's side, no such thing will pull her from reading the note.

A simple smile of acknowledgement, and he's carefully arranging the blanket to cover as much of Tavaly as comfortably as possible, with a surprisingly tender touch from the rigid and often-irritated-at-Tavaly-and/or-T'zen man. Because, really, he's a big softy. Still not looking at the note, or the necklace. See how good he is? He'll even step back now, back to the wall to lean, and watch Neiran pluck splinters out of Tav. With as unconcerned and nonchalant face as he can manage. Ew.

And it likely won't. When Tav's got something in her mind, she's gonna do it head on. When the note is held for her perusal, her jaw drops further. If possible. Without falling on the floor, or bashing Br'ce or the other healer in the head. Pause for shock. Oh, hey, there goes the shard. Does she care? Nooooo. "I.." She begins, the corners of her lips suddenly disappearing into a huuuge grin. "YES!" She squeals, managing to *not* do a victory dance after Neiran's got the ugly piece-of-fence out. Now she gets to share! "Guys, I'm done! I mean.. I can start! I.. Hahaaa!" Squeeeeal.

T'zen finally breaks into a grin at Tavaly's reaction. It's a bit subdued, though, and he lowers his gaze to the necklance still in his other hand, the one with the note dropping after Tavaly finishes. "Prolly won't be doin' much tomorrow, though, Tav," he says grimly, watching Neiran work at her shoulder, and wincing several times in the process. "Shardin' beasts had to pick now to go wild on ya."

"What timing." Br'ce murmers, concealing a smile behind one hand. He pushes off the wall, coming to his full height and looking gravely down at remember?

Neiran winces slightly at the proximity of that squeal to his ear, but intrepidly continues on. He's rather close to her arm, now, using forceps to hold open the wound whilst looking for slivers, before occasionally probing deeper to retrieve one. Despite the somewhat ear-shattering squeal, he's glad of the distraction. It saves him having to keep up a monotonous running commentary of his procedure. He doesn't ask to be elucidated on the situation, this 'doneness' and talk of beasts going wild. He'd much prefer to rinse out the wound with water anew, a little bit of redwort added to guard against infection. Once he's gathered suture and thread, the nature of the gift dawns on him, and he murmurs, "Congratulations. Please hold still. I will begin suturing the wound now."

"Well.. I gotta at least go out and talk to him. I can do that much. And.. I can start drilling in a couple days. If I'm good." Hold still? Tav glances over her shoulder briefly and nods. Her next question is for Neiran. "Exactly how long do you think this'll inhibit me?" She asks, peering into her peripherals. "Please say no more than a few days.. Besides, y'don't use your feet to fly, right?" She looks up to T'zen and beams, stretching her neck out to touch her forehead to his chest again, maintaining stillness through her shoulders, as well. Br'ce gets a smile. "Thanks.. Feels good to finally get down to work, y'know?"

T'zen relents, offering a better grin at the excited girl. "Aye, can definitely report. What happens after that depends. But it is indeed 'bout time." He leans in a bit to better facilate her contact, and then carefully replaces the necklace back in the bag, along with the note. "Ol' Weyrlingmaster didn't give me no gift." And the man chuckles wryly. "Woulda been a bit of a fright if he had, methinks." And then he looking off into space, over Tavaly's head. And shivers again, something Tavaly would notice while against his chest. "Uneth found something. Looks like a critter the beasts trampled. Big enough.. wonder what it was? Coulda spooked them."

"I have not yet assessed your ankle," the healer replies, already sliding the needle in to make the first knot, drawing the lips of the wound together deftly. "However, judging by your composure, I would estimate that it is merely sprained and not broken, and that you will be allowed to walk under your own power - with a tenser bandage - in a day or so. Once I have looked at it I will determine if you need crutches for a short period of time." Neiran ties no more knots in his suturing line, sewing her wound with a technique called 'running' sutures. As promised, it will heal more cleanly, both in terms of infection risks and aesthetic. He's deft at it, too, quick movements of dextrous fingers see the thread coaxing the wound closed neatly and evenly in such a way that the Weavercraft would lament to see such a seam wasted on flesh rather than at the hem of a Lord's garment.

A solid nod. "I'm glad that you're taking a serious attitude to this." Br'ce says approvingly. "Take it easy, though. Wingleaders would rather have a rider out for several sevens and come back fully rested and healed, rather than one that comes back after a seven, and is chronically in and out." he says in his authoritative Leader tone. "Something trampled?" There's a momentary distance in his eyes as Trellazoth relays the even fuzzier image, twice removed. "I'm not exactly sure. Are you saying you think this stampede might have been deliberate?" His eyes move over to meet T'zen's, troubled.

Deep breath. Stare. Eyelid droop. Hmm. "Okay." She says, whether it's to Neiran, T'zen, or Br'ce.. it can't really be certain. What is certain, however, is that Tav is tired as heck and is starting to get reeeeally drowsy. She looks over her shoulder and asks in a hopeful voice, "Can I sleep soon? I dunno how long I'll be able to stay awake.." She rubs her forehead against T'zen's stomach a minute, then to him, asks, "And would you stay? And bring Uneth in?" She pauses a moment. "Found something? OH.. So something /did/ scare the cows. Huh." Br'ce is given a smile and a short nod. "I don' wanna mess it up."

T'zen eyes Br'ce. "Well, doubt the critter intended t'be trampled. Still." The question by the brownrider pricks something in the bluerider. "Let's go see what it is." He sets the bag with the necklace on the nearby table, and then cups Tavaly's face in his hands. "'Course, Tav. I'll stay. Just gotta check somethin'." He shivers. "And find clothes." He kisses her forehead. "I'll be back right soon. And Uneth too. He's the one waitin' for me to come see that thing in the pens. Like to know what spooked them beasts. Could happen again y'know." And he steps back, glancing at Br'ce. "Curious?"

Br'ce directs a smile at Tavaly. "I'm sure you won't." Still, he wouldn't be him if he didn't add, "If you're careful." There's another glance at nothing." Still, as he follows after T'zen, there's concern plain in his face. Fret fret.

Predictable drowsiness following activity and blood loss. The girl's turn towards fatigue is noted, just as he's tying off the last knot on the line of stitches. Unfortunately, Tavaly won't be able to boast about the number of stitches the fence gave her, as the lack of knots really makes them difficult to count. "Certainly. A warm bath will be drawn for you, clean clothes brought, and a fresh cot prepared." The lad holding the ice on her ankle didn't get the drift immediately after he stated that, so a small nudge with his leg, unseen beneath the level of the cot, prods him into action. Ice abandoned, the lad scampers off to rally the troops into preparing what he's asked. Neiran gives the line of stitches a final look-over and wash, a lift of his chin suggesting satisfaction, perhaps even pride, in what he sees there. Then, without warning, he kneels to take stock of this ankle. From there, his voice floats up, dignified as ever. "I will ask that you be attentive to your wound for signs of swelling, and soreness. There is potential for infection, and it is best to catch it before it has the chance to fester." Fingers, cool and clean, gingerly prod at the ankle.

The ice has certainly done its job. Tav's ankle is cold as hell, and she barely feels the touch. "Yea.. I twisted my ankle before. Didn' cut it last time, though. The bull only kinda slid off of it. Managed not to stomp on it straight on." She explains as best she can, gingerly testing out her shoulder. "Hey, that's pretty good.. Thank you. I'm sure it won't feel too pretty when the numbweed wears off, but.. Really, it /feels/ well done." She doesn't push it. Just a test, is all. The night will wear on a while longer. Tav will get undirtified, find some dry clothes, and then pass out most excellently. And not wake up for seeeeveral hours.