Difference between revisions of "Logs:A Fortian Disaster"

That was not how it was meant to go. Why had he let him fly? Why hadn't he reined him back more forcefully? How in fucking Faranth's name had things got this bad up there?!

Questions raced through R'co's mind as he stood by Deveriteauxth's side, palm to his dragon's foreleg in an attempt to soothe him as the dragonhealer checked over the gashes on the brown's chest, slathering more numbweed across the angry-looking marks. Ichor was an ugly stain against his papyrus-pale hide and the darker tones of his foreleg, where gravity drew it in a thick trickle downwards.

Deveriteauxth's eyes whirled yellow-white; he let out a long, low creel, lowering his head until his chin touched the ground.

"You're hurting him," R'co hissed at the 'healer, stepping forward to shoulder him aside. His anger was piqued by his lifemate's pain, by the disaster that the greenflight had been, by being stuck in Fort Weyr until they were given the all-clear to go between. In all their turns of chasing greens and golds, none had ever ended this badly for them.

The dragonhealer glowered at R'co, scooping up more numbweed in preparation for the stitches that the injury called for. "You're going to have to let me work," he said with strained patience, "if he's going to get better."

Of course he made sense. R'co knew he made sense. Even without his years spent at the Healer Hall, he knew he was acting unreasonable, but Deveriteauxth was in pain. That made it all different. With a sharp, apologetic nod, he stepped back and out of the way to let the man work.

He moved to curl his arms around his dragon's dusty rose muzzle, leaning against his ink-smeared forehead, reaching up to stroke the coffee-kissed curve of his headknobs, soothing and soft. R'co could feel the presence of Fort's Elaruth in Deveriteauxth's mind, calming and easing his pain, and he tried to focus on the same. « It'll be ok. You'll be ok. »

Gradually, with the Fortian queen's influence and as the numbweed began to take hold, the Istan-hatched, 'Reaches-bound brown's pain eased. Still, R'co couldn't let go; he'd never felt so much hurt in the six, nearly seven turns since he'd first felt that cool, ice aniseed mind slip into his on the black sands of Ista's hatching ground.

« It'll be ok. »

Those three words were on repeat in his mind, a continual reassurance to both him and his lifemate. It would be ok.