Logs:Theoretical Application
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| RL Date: 24 February, 2016 |
| Who: Jocelyn, Leova, Aidavanth, Dathath, Vrianth |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: A dragon injury interrupts an otherwise quiet afternoon. |
| Where: Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 2, Turn 40 (Interval 10) |
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| It was supposed to be a quiet afternoon, the snow falling softly, becoming a slush so easily tracked into aerial and ground caverns by paws and boots alike. Dragons come and dragons go. Now and again the watchdragon bells out a call to a visitor. Then, abruptly, there's a different cry: sharp pain, soon overlaid by... confusion. Dathath. Old Dathath. But for those who sense or see, he's also circling, up there above the Bowl. Aware, by and large, of most of the presences within High Reaches, Aidavanth both senses and sees before her human counterpart, presence honing in on Dathath with a sweep of hazel-hued concern as she takes flight from her ledge to glide, low, just under the other. « Dathath, » is purposefully kept gently modulated in her warm, clear alto, both a greeting wrapped in comfort and a careful, testing touch: where does it hurt? Is it him, or his rider? Below, Jocelyn's abruptly extricating herself from a meeting in the lower caverns to hurry outdoors, a hand lifting to shade her eyes as she takes in the circling dragons, lips pressing thin. Pain and confusion and worry, one of his queens flying under him like that. The burly brown tilts midair and catches himself in the next wingbeat, but that spikes perceptible pain down his left hindleg, the one he's started to hold so awkwardly. From that angle, it's harder to see his rider who's indeed astride his neck, but there's no barrier to the brown's, « Aidavanth! » It overlies what aren't quite words: he can't land. He's not supposed to land. Is he? It hurts. « Easy, » Aidavanth cautions at that tilt, and presses reassurances through their connection, touch steady. « I'm going to help you down so someone can look at where it hurts, » which explains why she's careful to keep pace with him as best she can. Falling would certainly make what isn't good worse. « We'll go slowly. You can lean on me once we're close and I'll land us both. » Her rider, meanwhile, is striking a grim path for the infirmary while the queen takes a moment to apprise Vrianth of what's happening above; if Leova's free and nearby once she gets inside, Jocelyn doesn't waste time on repeating a verbal report, but starts double-checking that there's space and the appropriate resources available for the impending patient, preparation methodical. Dathath's distress begins to ease indeed, though still it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. The very weight of his leg, as powerfully muscled as it needs to be to launch skyward, makes it harder. His rider is making noises from his neck but he's listening to his queen and descending with her, slowly. Slowly. Slowly. Vrianth, though, Vrianth's swift to wake but still she has to wake. Her rider's broken into a run, cutting through the human infirmary in her very much off-duty dress, explaining after her dragon whether it's a duplicate or not: they have to keep him up, to find a broad high ledge he can land on, that they can afterward reach him on. One that's not too covered with snow. « Find one. » That's not Vrianth's, for all it once belonged to a bronze. "Pick one." Aidavanth's presence is solidly here and working to focus the brown away from his pain as best she can; fortunately, their descent is slow enough that it's not yet difficult to change their course. « We'll go no faster than this, » she says encouragingly. It's good that he's still moving, still able to keep his rider safely aloft. Moments later, still steadily: « There, let's get you and your rider to that ledge. » Jutting out of the caldera wall and broad enough for two, it features an overhang that, if nothing else, ensures that the entire surface doesn't end up covered in snow. "One of the unoccupied ones, about big enough for them both, " Jocelyn relays quickly, eyes briefly unfocusing. "I cleaned it once, I think. Not too high up, but not too low, either." « No faster, » Dathath agrees fretfully. Never wordy, his expressive images and sensations have abandoned him. But under Aidavanth's influence, his breathing evens out again every time it's jostled by change in direction or gust of wind. Vrianth's watching, listening in as she descends towards their infirmary, an electric flow of near-subliminal awareness. It's purposely audible, should Aidavanth wish to listen, how she warns other dragons away: stay clear, stay well clear, with here and there a well-placed zap for the laggards. "Good," her rider says. "Guide them down. She's holding him well, take another turn 'round if you need a straighter landing. I'll get the gear." The pre-packed satchel with implements, several of which they can hope not to need. Extra bandages. The strong, costly metal rods. The ladders. The junior dragonhealer who had been on duty can help with that, at the very least. There's an undercurrent of approval somewhere beneath the sense of Aidavanth's support; he's doing well, so well. Help is on the way. « Carefully, now, » and the orange-gold shifts so that she's more directly beneath Dathath, the better to physically support him on his way down or catch him if he should falter. Gently, gently. There's gratitude for Vrianth's traffic control, particularly with her focus set on the injured brown. Jocelyn, educated guesses for best courses of action pushed aside in favor of Leova's expertise, has a tight nod for the other woman, fingers curling at her sides to dig into her palms as the dragons descend. He's a mature dragon, an experienced dragon, but even such as he responds instinctively to such praise from one of his queens. Dathath can't help looking down at Aidavanth, worried despite himself that she might crash into the very ledge he's taken her guidance to descend toward. Vrianth talks to him too in that rough voice of hers, reminding him to land with three paws instead of four, warning him that it will not be comfortable but that Aidavanth has him. He will be well. Or else. Between the dragons and what might have been his rider's nudging, at least he's there, he's getting there... and at last lands, skidding with his awkward focus on his paws, stumbling with a terrible groan of pain that at least relinquishes into solid stone. His rider barely manages to lean over the side of his dragon before he throws up. Leova mutters as she gets her other helper aboard and aloft, Jocelyn too if she chooses, "At least we won't have to import ice." Once Dathath's securely on the ledge, Aidavanth lands next to him - hopefully on the side where his rider isn't leaving his last meal - presence still warm, still clear with the gentle, if firm grasp she has on his focus. « You're both going to be fine, » she assures. « I'll stay here with you until there's some relief for your pain. » "Better tell the rest of my class that there are advantages to not living in Ista, " Jocelyn says drily, scrambling aboard in the wake of Leova's assistant. She doesn't quite stumble in her mount, but it's less fluid than executing a similar maneuver with her own lifemate; after growing accustomed to Aidavanth's size, it's easy to almost overreach for handholds and footholds. "Next time I hear 'em complain," is a promise. Leova sees them all situated and then they're up in a whirlwind while C'thoun hangs from his own straps, affected both by Dathath's residual hurt and by Aidavanth's hold. Along the way, "Talk to them. Keep it up with Aidavanth. Don't want him distressed again, especially when I poke at him, don't want to be kicked. He'll have to feel it, though, enough so's he'll be careful. Remind them not to move around 'less I say so. You got it?" Vrianth is likewise careful not to land in the mess, though there's not now as much distance as the rangy green might prefer. It's going to be a job: the unloading, the assessing, the bandaging and splinting, the instructions and aftercare and let's not forget getting people up here to make the place habitable. They're going to be here awhile. Broken Legs Hurt In the afternoon of day 9, month 2, there was an outburst of pain from old Dathath, who with Aidavanth's help managed to get his way from the sky to a large vacant ledge before the dragonhealers showed up. Seems the poor brown broke his leg in an icy would-be landing, and his hind leg at that. No, he didn't break it off, and no, there weren't even bones poking out of his leg, and it isn't true that he had to be sedated for three sevens... but he did have to land on the ledge that used to be Cadejoth's between weyrleaderships, so if you want to see what a then-ex-weyrleader's digs are like, go ahead and visit C'thoun! (Or, you know, just commiserate.) |
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