dragons x 2 (ficlets 4 and 5)
Fandom: Bandom/Dragonriders of Pern crossover (posted for bandom_pern)
Rating: Not Intended for Children
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Previous Ficlets in the Series: Bob, Spencer, Brendon.
Title: Ficlet Four: Brian
Words: 1300
Summary: Brian is at the Weyr. Bob is not.
Brian
~
Brian made his way through the crowded dining cavern, looking for a place to eat.
He tried not to catch the eye of the tall, white bearded Craftmaster seated one table over from where Brian was standing. Every time they came to one of these meetings, the Farmercraft Master would end up talking his ear off about his idea for a new plough. Brian didn't think he could stand it. He found it so much easier when these things weren't held in the Weyr, then he could bring Bob with him. Bob would glare at people and they would walk away. Brian missed Bob.
Still, it would be cruel to even suggest he come. Much less ride here on dragonback.
Rogers had just noticed Brian and put his hand up to wave him over when Brian caught sight of a peaked leather hat. Patrick wasn't sitting with the other Craftmasters. Instead it looked like he had joined some of his friends from the Weyr; Brian could see some dragonriders and healers. Well, even making small talk with a bunch of Patrick's friends seemed like a better deal than discussing blade metal compounds with a farmer. He ducked his head and headed over.
"Schechter!" Patrick half stood, hampered by the long bench held still by the others sitting on it. "Thought you'd come and join the riff-raff?"
Across the table from Patrick, a tiny dragonrider with mutlicoloured hair shuffled herself and her friends along, indicating that he was welcome to take a seat with them. Brian did with a nod of thanks. Patrick introduced him to those he did not yet know, and he leant forward to grasp forearms with those he did, including the Wingleader sitting to Patrick's right.
"Pete. Nice to see you, man"
"And you! You came alone, I presume?" Pete looked around as if Brian might be hiding Bob behind his back.
"Just me. Bob's keeping things under control at the Hall while I'm gone."
"Sure thing. I heard he pretty much hides there all the time, now."
"Bob's not hiding. He's working." Brian knew Pete fairly well. His heart was in the right place, and he was an excellent Wingleader, but sometimes he didn't know when to let something drop. The best thing to do would just be ignore him.
"Yeah. Of course, of course." Pete reached over and snagged a jug of klah, filling a cup for himself and one for Patrick. "Hey, Patrick, you should go back with Schechter. Say 'Hi' to Bryar for us."
He could feel the riders around him wanting to ask questions. Most of the Wing Bob had flown with had since transferred across to the Weyr on the other coast, so most of these people only knew him by reputation, but it was understandable; losing their dragon was every rider's deepest fear. Nothing could compare to it. They all wanted to know how and why Bob had kept going; why he'd chosen to go into Brian's craft, rather than back to the Harper Hall where he'd started his training, or even just home to the Hold he grew up in. Brian really had no answers for them. And even if Bob was gruff and withdrawn, not a practical joker like the boy Brian had grown up with, he was just happy to have someone as dependable and hard-working as Bob as his journeyman.
"Just because he can't come here, doesn't mean we shouldn't pay him a visit, right?"
"Leave it, Pete," mumbled Patrick as he took a sip of his hot drink.
Conversation gradually picked back up around them as Brian ate. It was a little awkward.
The lunch itself made it all worthwhile. Brian looked down the length of the table. There were platters of meat, and mounds of soft, fresh bread, pots of succulent sauces and gravies. He almost wished he could get an artist to draw this, so that he could remember it the next time he was chewing and chewing and chewingchewingchewing on the stew that was served in his own Hall.
The meal came to an end, and the Weyrleader made his way around the cavern, checking that all the visitors had transport home.
"We would be honoured to take you home, Master Schechter," offered a brown rider at their table.
"Nate, dude! You are on watch duty this afternoon and you know it!" Pete crowed at him."Why would you try to pull that shit right in front of me?"
"Okay, Wentz," the chastised rider mumbled., "It was worth a try."
"I'm not on duty today."
Brian leant forward to look down the table and see who had spoken. He recognised the young rider that had accompanied Rubano several times delivering equipment to the smitcrafthall.
Before he could reply, another rider laughed and replied to him, "He's a Craft Master, Spencer. He ranks higher than a green."
A pink flush started to appear across the green rider's cheeks. His lips thinned and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, and then sat back out of Brian's eyeline.
"That'd be great. Thank you, ahh... Spencer." Brian looked over at Pete. His eyes were narrowed as he glared down the table. "Wentz, that all fine with you?"
Pete turned back to him and nodded. They both hated that rank bullshit. Brian hoped that he tore strips off that arrogant dim glow. "I'll go and pay my respects to the Weyrleader and we can be on our way."
~
Brian was used to flying on a larger dragon, but he still loved this; coming out of between and hovering high enough in the air to see the entire Hall laid out below him. When he was a boy, Brian had always wanted to be a dragonrider. It seemed such an exciting life. He'd imagined himself fighting Thread on a flaming dragon, tilting and turning on a wingtip.
He leant to the side, out from behind the shoulder of the young rider seated in front of him, and took the full force of the streaming air onto his face. He breathed in deeply.
The watchwher was greeting the dragon, and a few of the members of the Hall were coming out into the square to welcome him home and get a chance to look at the dragon. The rider, Spencer, grinned at Brian over his shoulder, and then called, "Hold on!" Brian had just enough time to grab the straps before they went into a spectacular spiralling descent.
"Show-off!" Brian yelled. Shells but he loved this. It felt like it was him flying, not the dragon. He loved his Hall, and cared about his Craft; he never resented the time spent in the hot, smoky hearth, but this freedom, and this pure adrenalin rush made him feel acutely alive.
The dragon landed gracefully, and Brian braced himself, less gracefully. Spencer took his arm to steady him as he swung one leg over the neck ridges to slide down to the leg and then onto the ground. He raised his fist in salute and thanks to both Spencer and his dragon.
Spencer grinned and returned the gesture, calling out, "Any time, Master Schechter!" as Brian stepped back to allow them room to turn around.
He was just ushering several apprentices back to the protection of the wall, watching over his shoulder as the dragon took several steps, wings stretched out, working up momentum to spring off from the ground, when a huge explosion blew the shutters off a window across the square. Brian threw himself down, covering the heads of those closest to him.
He heard a dreadful shriek and looked up in time to see Spencer being tossed into the air and the dragon tumbling over, her wing stuck at an unnatural angle beneath her.
~
Title: Ficlet Five: Bob Again
Words: 1370
Summary: Bob talks to a dragon.
Bob Again
~
The sound of the furnace exploding was still ringing in Bob's ears. He clapped his hands over them, trying to shut out the screaming and yelling. He really needed a second to get his thoughts straight. Nothing could block out the distressed call that echoed through his mind.
PENTH!
The dragon was in pain. And panicking.
Fuck.
He ran up the stairs and pushed past a bunch of people jammed in the doorway. They were all just standing there not doing a fucking thing.
Someone pushed Bob out of the way. He turned to complain, but saw that it was the Hall's Healer, so he flattened himself against the wall instead to let her pass.
The noise in his head was almost deafening enough, but it was nothing compared to the actual sound coming out of the dragon lying in the courtyard. For a moment, Bob thought he was going to be sick. He shook his head and squashed his own memories down. Only let himself think about this dragon right now.
He could see that she was injured. Her wing was pulled back and down, something in the joint obviously broken. There was ichor oozing down a hind leg; the bright, liquid green contrasting starkly with the mottled grey/green of her hide. Bob could see the injury that was bleeding. A strut from the shutters had pierced her leg. She was stuck.
She suddenly bellowed even louder, enough so that the remaining shutters rattled in their hinges. Bob ducked just in time to avoid being swiped by her thrashing tail.
LEAVE HIM! NO!
Bob broke into a run. Some dimglow was trying to take her rider away. No one here knew a single bloody thing about dragons. No one but him. Fuck.
"STOP!" Bob yelled. "Stop what you're doing!"
"Calm down, Bryar." Healer Morgan was standing in front of him, one hand to his chest, the other trying to grasp one of his flailing arms. She was a good head shorter than he was, but that didn't stop her holding her ground. "We have to get the rider somewhere to treat his injuries. If we don't move him away from the dragon it's going to hurt him more."
Bob knew that all they could hear was furious bellowing, angry and aggressive, but his head was filled with fear and desperate sadness.
"She's not going to hurt him for fuck's sake! But she has to see him or she will hurt someone."
Morgan hesitated and glanced over at the distraught dragon. Her neck was stretched out towards the makeshift stretcher being carried by two sturdy smiths. "Okay, Bryar," she nodded and let his arm go.
"Worm! Stop!" Bob ran over to the closer of the two men. "The Healer said to keep him out here."
Smoke was pouring out of the gap in the building and there were hunks of stone scattered across the courtyard. There were so many people shouting alongside the sound of distress echoing around his mind. He felt like his head was going to explode. Where the fuck was Schechter? He'd listen to Bob.
Scanning the courtyard, he could see Brian helping move some of the people who had been hurt when the wall near the windows had collapsed. He kept looking over at the injured dragon and then around, as though he was looking for something. Or someone. His eyes landed on Bob and widened.
Bob couldn't hear him over the chaos, but he could see his lips move as he said firmly, The dragon! Help the dragon!
Bob nodded. What else could he do?
He took a deep breath and walked past the bystanders as close as he could get to the swaying head of the dragon and projected as firmly as he could, "Hey. It's going to be all right. Listen to me. He's okay. Calm down."
They are taking him! He cannot hear me!
Bob tried to stand where she could see him. Her eyes were whirling with the yellow and grey of fear and pain.
"They are trying to help him. They really need you to keep still, so they can bring him closer. They are worried that you will hurt him."
The dragon's head reared back, giving Bob a chance to step in closer, close enough to rest a hesitant hand on her front leg. The feeling of the hide under his palm was so familiar he felt dizzy.
I will not hurt him! He is mine! I am his!
"I know. I know. I told them that. They are trying to help."
He is hurting and he cannot hear me...
Bob closed his eyes against the pain that soaked the tone of the voice in his head.
He could hear Brian giving orders behind him, clearing away unnecessary gawkers; urging the healer and her assistants closer to the dragon. "She's not going to hurt you, dammit, just get him over there!"
Bob concentrated on thoughts of hope and comfort and started to rub her leg joint. She stilled her head and seemed to lean slightly towards Bob.
They put the stretcher down close enough for her to touch the crumpled figure with her nose. She nudged at his arm, his hair moving with her breath. Her head dwarfed them all. Bob could feel the tumble of emotion she was emitting; confusion and loneliness and worry. He kept reassuring and consoling her, projecting confidence that everything was going to be all right. Her tail gradually stopped thrashing.
Brian crouched next to Healer Morgan. "His name is Spencer. Smith I think."
He then turned to Bob. "How are you doing? Bryar? You okay? Fuck, this must be so... I can't even imagine... "
Brian was rubbing his forehead with the fingers of one hand. He gripped Bob's shoulder with his other one. "It's good you're here. We would have no idea what to do without you."
Bob gave a stiff nod of his head. He knew that was true.
Morgan was leaning forward and cataloguing Smith's injuries. "He's not as bad as he looks, I'd say. Left wrist appears to be broken; there are some abrasions here," she lifted the torn jacket and shirt aside, prodding gently at his torso, "Looks like that strap got caught on his arm and then rubbed along here, burning the skin. The main problem is this contusion on his temple. I think he's concussed. Pulse and colour are fine."
She smiled at Brian, who huffed in relief, and turned to face the gigantic green dragon head. "He's going to be fine," she said clearly, eyes shifting from one enormous eye to the other. "Bob, can she hear me? Does she understand?"
"She can hear you. I don't know if she'll believe you until he wakes up, though."
He is hurt. And still sleeps. Why does he not speak to me?
"Now we need to see what we can do for her. I am no Dragon Healer." Morgan stood next to Bob. She smiled a reassuring 'healer smile'. "Where is your pain...?" She hesitated and turned from Bob to Brian. "What is her name?"
Brian rubbed over his face. "The dragon? Shells. I have no idea. Bob?"
They both turned to Bob. He stared back at them.
I am Miloth. I am glad that you can hear me. You have no dragon.
Bob swallowed against the lump in his chest. He swallowed again and took a deeper breath, trying to steady his voice before he spoke.
"I... I'm glad I can hear you, too, Miloth."
She moved her head until her eye was level with his head. The whirling was slowing down, the grey tinged still with some yellow.
The healer helps Penth?
Penth? Ah, Spence. Of course.
"Yes. Healer Morgan... Greta. She is helping him. And she'll help you, too."
She is kind. She will help him to heal and to wake up.
"She is. She will."
All around them the chaos continued. The journeymen healers were lining up the injured. Brian had been called away to check that there would be no further explosions, and Greta was asking for numbweed, lots of it.
And Bob was speaking with a dragon.
It is good that you are here.
Bob took another deep breath. He could smell the weyr on Miloth's hide and it was all he could do not to bury his face in it.
"Yeah. I know. It's good."
next
~
Thankyou to maple_mahogany and miss_diverse for the read throughs and to barmy_bunk for the beta.
Disclaimer: The Pern universe and the world, creatures and customs that belong to it remain the intellectual property of Anne McCaffrey, and the characters referenced in this piece are fictional representations of real people. No offense or infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.
Rating: Not Intended for Children
Pairing: None
Warnings: None
Previous Ficlets in the Series: Bob, Spencer, Brendon.
Title: Ficlet Four: Brian
Words: 1300
Summary: Brian is at the Weyr. Bob is not.
Brian
~
Brian made his way through the crowded dining cavern, looking for a place to eat.
He tried not to catch the eye of the tall, white bearded Craftmaster seated one table over from where Brian was standing. Every time they came to one of these meetings, the Farmercraft Master would end up talking his ear off about his idea for a new plough. Brian didn't think he could stand it. He found it so much easier when these things weren't held in the Weyr, then he could bring Bob with him. Bob would glare at people and they would walk away. Brian missed Bob.
Still, it would be cruel to even suggest he come. Much less ride here on dragonback.
Rogers had just noticed Brian and put his hand up to wave him over when Brian caught sight of a peaked leather hat. Patrick wasn't sitting with the other Craftmasters. Instead it looked like he had joined some of his friends from the Weyr; Brian could see some dragonriders and healers. Well, even making small talk with a bunch of Patrick's friends seemed like a better deal than discussing blade metal compounds with a farmer. He ducked his head and headed over.
"Schechter!" Patrick half stood, hampered by the long bench held still by the others sitting on it. "Thought you'd come and join the riff-raff?"
Across the table from Patrick, a tiny dragonrider with mutlicoloured hair shuffled herself and her friends along, indicating that he was welcome to take a seat with them. Brian did with a nod of thanks. Patrick introduced him to those he did not yet know, and he leant forward to grasp forearms with those he did, including the Wingleader sitting to Patrick's right.
"Pete. Nice to see you, man"
"And you! You came alone, I presume?" Pete looked around as if Brian might be hiding Bob behind his back.
"Just me. Bob's keeping things under control at the Hall while I'm gone."
"Sure thing. I heard he pretty much hides there all the time, now."
"Bob's not hiding. He's working." Brian knew Pete fairly well. His heart was in the right place, and he was an excellent Wingleader, but sometimes he didn't know when to let something drop. The best thing to do would just be ignore him.
"Yeah. Of course, of course." Pete reached over and snagged a jug of klah, filling a cup for himself and one for Patrick. "Hey, Patrick, you should go back with Schechter. Say 'Hi' to Bryar for us."
He could feel the riders around him wanting to ask questions. Most of the Wing Bob had flown with had since transferred across to the Weyr on the other coast, so most of these people only knew him by reputation, but it was understandable; losing their dragon was every rider's deepest fear. Nothing could compare to it. They all wanted to know how and why Bob had kept going; why he'd chosen to go into Brian's craft, rather than back to the Harper Hall where he'd started his training, or even just home to the Hold he grew up in. Brian really had no answers for them. And even if Bob was gruff and withdrawn, not a practical joker like the boy Brian had grown up with, he was just happy to have someone as dependable and hard-working as Bob as his journeyman.
"Just because he can't come here, doesn't mean we shouldn't pay him a visit, right?"
"Leave it, Pete," mumbled Patrick as he took a sip of his hot drink.
Conversation gradually picked back up around them as Brian ate. It was a little awkward.
The lunch itself made it all worthwhile. Brian looked down the length of the table. There were platters of meat, and mounds of soft, fresh bread, pots of succulent sauces and gravies. He almost wished he could get an artist to draw this, so that he could remember it the next time he was chewing and chewing and chewingchewingchewing on the stew that was served in his own Hall.
The meal came to an end, and the Weyrleader made his way around the cavern, checking that all the visitors had transport home.
"We would be honoured to take you home, Master Schechter," offered a brown rider at their table.
"Nate, dude! You are on watch duty this afternoon and you know it!" Pete crowed at him."Why would you try to pull that shit right in front of me?"
"Okay, Wentz," the chastised rider mumbled., "It was worth a try."
"I'm not on duty today."
Brian leant forward to look down the table and see who had spoken. He recognised the young rider that had accompanied Rubano several times delivering equipment to the smitcrafthall.
Before he could reply, another rider laughed and replied to him, "He's a Craft Master, Spencer. He ranks higher than a green."
A pink flush started to appear across the green rider's cheeks. His lips thinned and his nostrils flared as he sucked in a breath, and then sat back out of Brian's eyeline.
"That'd be great. Thank you, ahh... Spencer." Brian looked over at Pete. His eyes were narrowed as he glared down the table. "Wentz, that all fine with you?"
Pete turned back to him and nodded. They both hated that rank bullshit. Brian hoped that he tore strips off that arrogant dim glow. "I'll go and pay my respects to the Weyrleader and we can be on our way."
~
Brian was used to flying on a larger dragon, but he still loved this; coming out of between and hovering high enough in the air to see the entire Hall laid out below him. When he was a boy, Brian had always wanted to be a dragonrider. It seemed such an exciting life. He'd imagined himself fighting Thread on a flaming dragon, tilting and turning on a wingtip.
He leant to the side, out from behind the shoulder of the young rider seated in front of him, and took the full force of the streaming air onto his face. He breathed in deeply.
The watchwher was greeting the dragon, and a few of the members of the Hall were coming out into the square to welcome him home and get a chance to look at the dragon. The rider, Spencer, grinned at Brian over his shoulder, and then called, "Hold on!" Brian had just enough time to grab the straps before they went into a spectacular spiralling descent.
"Show-off!" Brian yelled. Shells but he loved this. It felt like it was him flying, not the dragon. He loved his Hall, and cared about his Craft; he never resented the time spent in the hot, smoky hearth, but this freedom, and this pure adrenalin rush made him feel acutely alive.
The dragon landed gracefully, and Brian braced himself, less gracefully. Spencer took his arm to steady him as he swung one leg over the neck ridges to slide down to the leg and then onto the ground. He raised his fist in salute and thanks to both Spencer and his dragon.
Spencer grinned and returned the gesture, calling out, "Any time, Master Schechter!" as Brian stepped back to allow them room to turn around.
He was just ushering several apprentices back to the protection of the wall, watching over his shoulder as the dragon took several steps, wings stretched out, working up momentum to spring off from the ground, when a huge explosion blew the shutters off a window across the square. Brian threw himself down, covering the heads of those closest to him.
He heard a dreadful shriek and looked up in time to see Spencer being tossed into the air and the dragon tumbling over, her wing stuck at an unnatural angle beneath her.
~
Title: Ficlet Five: Bob Again
Words: 1370
Summary: Bob talks to a dragon.
Bob Again
~
The sound of the furnace exploding was still ringing in Bob's ears. He clapped his hands over them, trying to shut out the screaming and yelling. He really needed a second to get his thoughts straight. Nothing could block out the distressed call that echoed through his mind.
PENTH!
The dragon was in pain. And panicking.
Fuck.
He ran up the stairs and pushed past a bunch of people jammed in the doorway. They were all just standing there not doing a fucking thing.
Someone pushed Bob out of the way. He turned to complain, but saw that it was the Hall's Healer, so he flattened himself against the wall instead to let her pass.
The noise in his head was almost deafening enough, but it was nothing compared to the actual sound coming out of the dragon lying in the courtyard. For a moment, Bob thought he was going to be sick. He shook his head and squashed his own memories down. Only let himself think about this dragon right now.
He could see that she was injured. Her wing was pulled back and down, something in the joint obviously broken. There was ichor oozing down a hind leg; the bright, liquid green contrasting starkly with the mottled grey/green of her hide. Bob could see the injury that was bleeding. A strut from the shutters had pierced her leg. She was stuck.
She suddenly bellowed even louder, enough so that the remaining shutters rattled in their hinges. Bob ducked just in time to avoid being swiped by her thrashing tail.
LEAVE HIM! NO!
Bob broke into a run. Some dimglow was trying to take her rider away. No one here knew a single bloody thing about dragons. No one but him. Fuck.
"STOP!" Bob yelled. "Stop what you're doing!"
"Calm down, Bryar." Healer Morgan was standing in front of him, one hand to his chest, the other trying to grasp one of his flailing arms. She was a good head shorter than he was, but that didn't stop her holding her ground. "We have to get the rider somewhere to treat his injuries. If we don't move him away from the dragon it's going to hurt him more."
Bob knew that all they could hear was furious bellowing, angry and aggressive, but his head was filled with fear and desperate sadness.
"She's not going to hurt him for fuck's sake! But she has to see him or she will hurt someone."
Morgan hesitated and glanced over at the distraught dragon. Her neck was stretched out towards the makeshift stretcher being carried by two sturdy smiths. "Okay, Bryar," she nodded and let his arm go.
"Worm! Stop!" Bob ran over to the closer of the two men. "The Healer said to keep him out here."
Smoke was pouring out of the gap in the building and there were hunks of stone scattered across the courtyard. There were so many people shouting alongside the sound of distress echoing around his mind. He felt like his head was going to explode. Where the fuck was Schechter? He'd listen to Bob.
Scanning the courtyard, he could see Brian helping move some of the people who had been hurt when the wall near the windows had collapsed. He kept looking over at the injured dragon and then around, as though he was looking for something. Or someone. His eyes landed on Bob and widened.
Bob couldn't hear him over the chaos, but he could see his lips move as he said firmly, The dragon! Help the dragon!
Bob nodded. What else could he do?
He took a deep breath and walked past the bystanders as close as he could get to the swaying head of the dragon and projected as firmly as he could, "Hey. It's going to be all right. Listen to me. He's okay. Calm down."
They are taking him! He cannot hear me!
Bob tried to stand where she could see him. Her eyes were whirling with the yellow and grey of fear and pain.
"They are trying to help him. They really need you to keep still, so they can bring him closer. They are worried that you will hurt him."
The dragon's head reared back, giving Bob a chance to step in closer, close enough to rest a hesitant hand on her front leg. The feeling of the hide under his palm was so familiar he felt dizzy.
I will not hurt him! He is mine! I am his!
"I know. I know. I told them that. They are trying to help."
He is hurting and he cannot hear me...
Bob closed his eyes against the pain that soaked the tone of the voice in his head.
He could hear Brian giving orders behind him, clearing away unnecessary gawkers; urging the healer and her assistants closer to the dragon. "She's not going to hurt you, dammit, just get him over there!"
Bob concentrated on thoughts of hope and comfort and started to rub her leg joint. She stilled her head and seemed to lean slightly towards Bob.
They put the stretcher down close enough for her to touch the crumpled figure with her nose. She nudged at his arm, his hair moving with her breath. Her head dwarfed them all. Bob could feel the tumble of emotion she was emitting; confusion and loneliness and worry. He kept reassuring and consoling her, projecting confidence that everything was going to be all right. Her tail gradually stopped thrashing.
Brian crouched next to Healer Morgan. "His name is Spencer. Smith I think."
He then turned to Bob. "How are you doing? Bryar? You okay? Fuck, this must be so... I can't even imagine... "
Brian was rubbing his forehead with the fingers of one hand. He gripped Bob's shoulder with his other one. "It's good you're here. We would have no idea what to do without you."
Bob gave a stiff nod of his head. He knew that was true.
Morgan was leaning forward and cataloguing Smith's injuries. "He's not as bad as he looks, I'd say. Left wrist appears to be broken; there are some abrasions here," she lifted the torn jacket and shirt aside, prodding gently at his torso, "Looks like that strap got caught on his arm and then rubbed along here, burning the skin. The main problem is this contusion on his temple. I think he's concussed. Pulse and colour are fine."
She smiled at Brian, who huffed in relief, and turned to face the gigantic green dragon head. "He's going to be fine," she said clearly, eyes shifting from one enormous eye to the other. "Bob, can she hear me? Does she understand?"
"She can hear you. I don't know if she'll believe you until he wakes up, though."
He is hurt. And still sleeps. Why does he not speak to me?
"Now we need to see what we can do for her. I am no Dragon Healer." Morgan stood next to Bob. She smiled a reassuring 'healer smile'. "Where is your pain...?" She hesitated and turned from Bob to Brian. "What is her name?"
Brian rubbed over his face. "The dragon? Shells. I have no idea. Bob?"
They both turned to Bob. He stared back at them.
I am Miloth. I am glad that you can hear me. You have no dragon.
Bob swallowed against the lump in his chest. He swallowed again and took a deeper breath, trying to steady his voice before he spoke.
"I... I'm glad I can hear you, too, Miloth."
She moved her head until her eye was level with his head. The whirling was slowing down, the grey tinged still with some yellow.
The healer helps Penth?
Penth? Ah, Spence. Of course.
"Yes. Healer Morgan... Greta. She is helping him. And she'll help you, too."
She is kind. She will help him to heal and to wake up.
"She is. She will."
All around them the chaos continued. The journeymen healers were lining up the injured. Brian had been called away to check that there would be no further explosions, and Greta was asking for numbweed, lots of it.
And Bob was speaking with a dragon.
It is good that you are here.
Bob took another deep breath. He could smell the weyr on Miloth's hide and it was all he could do not to bury his face in it.
"Yeah. I know. It's good."
next
~
Thankyou to maple_mahogany and miss_diverse for the read throughs and to barmy_bunk for the beta.
Disclaimer: The Pern universe and the world, creatures and customs that belong to it remain the intellectual property of Anne McCaffrey, and the characters referenced in this piece are fictional representations of real people. No offense or infringement is intended, and no profit is being made.