Difference between revisions of "Logs:Tithe Train Rescue"

It's been a busy morning, what with preparations for the numbweed harvesting. The headwoman's staff have had the candidates active, running here to collect that, or pack this, or bring these empty sacks here. It's probably almost a relief when it's time to go, and everyone's assigned a rider to travel with. As the dragons rise up in unison, it's a grand sight to behold, the array of dragon colors sparkling in the autumn sunlight. Moments before they disappear, there's a bugle from the watchdragon, and then the blackness of between- one, two, three heartbeats later...

...when they emerge, it's not above the bushy areas of Southern as expected, but above the far-more-familiar terrain of Fort Sea Hold- it's off in the distance, to the east, and below them is the main road leading south to Boll, a narrow pass cut through part of the hill itself. The tithe train itself- four long wagons, normally- at first glance only appears to be two. The less generous mind might immediately jump to some conclusions about what /that/ means, however, a close inspection shows the edge of one of the trains visible under... mud. Which may well give an indication about where the rest of the train is located.

It should be a placid morning, wagons crawling along the muddy road beneath admittedly soggy skies, the advantage of height saving even excruciatingly keen dragon senses from the unavoidable creaking of even well-oiled axles. Not that that distance is as great as it has been on earlier days, the clouds' obscurity requiring Vhaeryth to patrol lower in order to see, even as he stays back enough to avoid being spotted. Occasionally he pops ahead and waits for the wagons to catch up for him: their path is known. Often he flies some distance to the side. But it's an odd quivering, a sense of /movement/ that precedes even sight, that has him look back and N'rov, with his three-day-old beard, stare too because... the hills are falling. No, /one hill/ is, muddy earth growling down the slope with pinpricks of reflected light here and there from whence it had come, and that's the sudden vision that Vhaeryth seizes upon, thrusts towards Bijedth sharp enough to /between/ to: danger. And even before there's a response, he swerves /down/. (Vhaeryth to Bijedth and Isyath)

Isyath's never completely comfortable staying in formation over-long, and even as they rise above Fort's skies she's veering slightly left-and-right, though always on Bijedth's left shoulder. Her impatience is palpable, tempered only by Ali's awareness of her passengers possibly less comfortable with the gold's impatience. Eager to /go/, the queen's quick to take their Weyrleader's image, less so to inform her rider that it's /changed/- so, when they appear above the Fortian area, it's Ali who is staring, bemusedly, downwards. "What-?" she twists, looks in N'muir's direction, quizzically. It's one of the younger candidates- one of the former weyrbrats- who squirms around and points to the ground, yelling, "Look at that!" that finally draws her attention /down/.

And if it seems trickier to find empty sacks than usual? Well, no one's saying anything. Selene is excited enough for a trip out of the Weyr that she's not even quite as full of trepidation as usual about the ride on dragonback. Or the betweening. She's done it a few times now, so while it's still nervewracking, she at least is able to accept aid onto Bijedth and get into the air without panic. However, whoever she's sitting behind is like to end up squeezed around the middle before and after they pop in and out of existence. That part is still a little rattling! When a confused chorus begins to arise, she lifts her head enough to look down. After getting over the dizzying height and her eyes tracing to where others speak of, she offers aloud: "Another mudslide?"

The message from Bijedth and N'muir is clear once Fort's familiar hills appear out of the black of /between/: careful - watch where you land. Bijedth leads ahead in a long arch over the area to get a better view of the wreckage, surveying before picking a landing spot a fair distance from the train on a relatively flat meadow. N'muir is tense in his straps, tugging his fogging goggles off and violently ripping loose his hat and scarf, trying to wave down N'rov before swinging out of his straps and abandoning his passengers to Bijedth's mercy. "Bijedth, keep some of them in the sky, would you?" he asks out loud, staring at the wreckage of the tithe train and cursing heavily under his breath.

Ralorin blinks as they come out of between, leaning forward to peer around, "I thought we were supposed to go somewhere else?" Ralorin mumbles absently as he leans over the dragon's side to peer down at the ground. "Shards, look at all that mud." Lips purse as he peers at the people below, and as they land Ralorin unstraps himself and moves to slide down to the ground. He hits the ground a bit too hard and wavers as his balance becomes unsteady though he doesn't quite land on his end. "Are we going to get them out, sir?" Ralorin asks of the bronzerider.

Somewhere in the midst of that pretty formation is a bright spot of turquoise, barely larger than the biggest of greens. Ginanguth holds steady in his place, none of the antics those familiar with his younger days might recall, once so like his dam. A'ryk reaches to give his passenger a reassuring pat right before they all blink into Between. The little blue wobbles a little with the necessary adjustments to the new air currents, but stabilises swiftly. Waiting patiently for instruction before beginning his descent.

The only thing Orialu is going to be seeing is the insides of her eyelids, at least for a while, squinching her eyes shut so that she doesn't have to see the world disappear, even if she can't entirely make herself oblivious to when everyone makes that jump. Not going to pester her chauffeur either, waiting in silence until they're on the ground and then looking around for some of her fellows so as to not be in any dragonriders' way.

Thought Elaruth has refused to leave her clutch in the care of anyone else for even a few hours, she's not demanded that Hattie stay with her all day and has let her leave with the faithful promise of her returning in a couple of hours. There's no agitation on the part of Fort's Senior queen - yet - for she doesn't make any demands of contact on those dragons of her Weyr venturing forth, but Hattie has shaded paler than usual, the distance between gold and rider greater than it has been for turns. As G'dreyn's brown Dakinth makes a tentative, unsettled landing, anger at the elements is all it takes to restore some colour to her features, her scramble from straps and slide to the ground quick, any further footsteps soon arrested by the brown's rider. "/Don't/," G'dreyn insists, low-voiced, one hand wrapped around the Weyrwoman's right arm, preventing her from escaping and exclaiming anything.

Vhaeryth skims over top of the tithe train, bugling in warning to those behind to /stop/, to /not/ slam right into the two mud-swallowed wagons ahead, overshooting just before he swerves back around at BIjedth's summons (to the detriment of the half-eaten and now-falling savory pie that was supposed to have been N'rov's mid-morning snack). The helmeted rider glances back over his shoulder towards that slide's source, even as his bronze veers over to a sudden and rather muddy landing where the senior bronze has directed him. Now he calls out, "Sir! They'll need help, but I want to investigate that upper hill. Thought I saw something!"

If it was N'muir that Selene had been clinging to in her fear, she now has nothing and kind of waves her hands about. Otherwise, whatever candidate is before her, still on the bronze, is finally tentatively released... but not so much. They ARE alone with Bijedth now and the Herder-turned-candidate knows better than some how worrying that might be. "What are we supposed to do?" she hisses to anyone in hearing range.

From the ground, things look dire- the two lead wagons are effectively buried, people are yelling, and the wagoneers desperately trying to dig out their fellows. Several of them yell out after they spot the arrival of the dragons- relief in their voices, waving over anyone who's landed to come and assist them. The footing is treacherous- although it's not raining now, the mud makes for slippery, awkward footing for any attempting to assist.

Very suddenly, Bijedth reaches for his young queen at N'rov's words. « You may be best staying aloft in case... » Whatever thoughts are there, he quickly pushes them under grey cloud cover, but it is still clear there is a Reason behind his suggestion. « Take others with you and sweep the upper hills - if you please? » (Bijedth to Isyath)

Rough, overused, work boots hit the ground as straps fall away; that's when Serah starts, ride ignored, and method of arriving shoved from her mind in a similar way that she shoulders a few gaping candidates out of her way to approach the muddy incident site. Selene might be heard with a twitch of her chin as if to turn there, Orialu noticed -- or not, all falling into line for her to clomp towards the front, and what, to her falling and troubled eyebrows, isn't unfamiliar in its peril. Lower lip curling into her mouth, the second the wagoneers' waving catches her eye, the contingent of riders and outranking 'Leaders means squat to her picking her way towards the first troubled grouping she can, eyes wide in focus and legs tense to pick the //right// path, even as it slows her with a noise of frustration.

...in case of what? But /Isyath/ doesn't ask that- even if her rider might- she doesn't seem inclined to question Bijedth, when she'd much prefer to stay up in the air, anyway. « We will look. » A faint tinkling of stars that peeks out behind the grey clouds of his thoughts, as she stretches her thoughts outwards. (Isyath to Bijedth)

"Down, Issy- we have to-" Ali starts to exclaim, however contrary to her wishes, the youngest gold does the exact /opposite/, rising higher and circling out over the area. "No-" the junior starts to exclaim, then goes silent, rigid. If there's a tightening of jaw, well, only the two candidates are there to see it, and whatever they make of it, they're not about to question. Over her shoulder, she yells, "Look- look for anything unusual. And /hold tight/." Because she knows her queen well, and Isyath banks hard as she circles.

To all Fort dragons, Isyath's thoughts stretch out to those dragons still in the skies, engaging, endearing: « Come. We will search. » For what, she's not exactly specifying, but a reflection of a reflection shows a glint, glints in the hills somewhere. Though her mental landscape is usually a clear, night sky, today it is cloudy, brooding, only flickers of stars visible here and there.

Don't think that Vhaeryth doesn't notice: /she/ goes up while he's called down, even if it's in the service of his wing. Those /glints/. Things to see, to chase, to catch. (Mere rivulets of water? Maybe. He'll have to /find out/.) (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

That beckoning, of course, includes Vhaeryth, whether he's in the air or not. Isyath knows he enjoys the hunt: why would not /not/ join in? (Isyath to Vhaeryth)

Orialu picks her way carefully over the ground toward Bijedth, his visibility meaning those he carried are the easiest for her to locate. "Stay put, probably. At least until they tell us what they want us to do," she says, having gotten close enough to hear Selene's question. "We shouldn't be here at all." Obviously. Hugging her arms against her stomach, she worries at her lower lip with her teeth. "I hope no one got hurt...."

Ralorin makes his way through the people and he frowns as he makes his way over towards the other candidates, "It's a good thing we're here. I hope we can help them out. I wonder why we're here and not at Southern." Ralorin says as he considers the people, his lips pursing tightly, "If they're hurt, we could probably get them to the weyr in order to assist them right?"

Thank Faranth Selene is not on Isyath this trip. She already experienced that once before. The teen gives a small shake of her head to Orialu and starts trying to scramble down the bronze's side. Unless someone reaches in to help, it's a fairly rough going and she may even fall on her bum a bit. Fortunately she's been cleared for full duty as of a day or two prior, her head-wound having closed up well-enough. She'll have a scar on her scalp for sure and temporarily, a small patch of hair missing where the Healers had to cut it away. She wears it braided specially to cover that though. "Ali brought myself and a, ah, Smith? Yeah, I think so... to help with a mudslide a few sevenday back," she's explaining in the process, brushing herself off as she gets back up. "I... I learned a bit of how to help free wagons, so maybe I can help here. They're gonna need more hands than they have."

N'muir frowns at the distant wagons and instinctively looks over at Hattie before nodding at his wingmate. "Fine. Go. Don't land unless you absolutely need to," he instructs quickly, and turns to address the group closest. "You heard Isyath, we're dividing up!" N'muir calls, for the benefit of those without lifemates. "Those with Isyath, be soft on the ground. We don't want to make this worse and it's obviously unstable. Those on the ground, let's move in and work with caution. A'ryk, we might need lots of that rope we use to tie in cargo if you've got." His eyes slide to Hattie and G'dreyn. "Something tells me I won't be able to convince you to go home..."

N'rov hasn't any mind for the candidates, though Vhaeryth angles his head toward them for a mere moment before surveying the rest of the scene, snorting, taking deep flaring breaths and so impatient to be back in the air and /hunting/. When the Weyrleader releases them, N'rov's got a sharp nod and Vhaeryth's just got wings, up in one lunging, skyward movement.

And then he /does/. (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

The frightened baying of the animals still hitched to the wagons at the rear echoes around the pass, the other wagoneers more focused on trying to rescue their fellows than calming the animals down. Some of them are using their hands to dig through the mud, though it's a thick enough layer that that might take some time without proper digging tools.

There's a handful of dragons in the skies above, now- under Isyath's direction, doing circling sweeps outwards from the rescuers below. From below, it would look pretty, if one had a chance to stop and view them for a moment, like a choreographed dance high above in the skies. Ali's practically leaning over the edge of the queen's side, the straps the only thing holding her in place- gaze intent on the ground, as is her passengers.

G'dreyn still has his hand wrapped tightly around Hattie's upper arm, holding his niece in place with ease, though she doesn't fight against him and only stands tensed as if she /might/ try to wrench free and escape at any moment. "Are you asking me to go home?" she questions of N'muir. The brownrider takes it as a sign of possible acquiescence and lets up his grip a little, opportunity to free herself taken by the Weyrwoman the moment she notices, arm snatched back. "I don't think everything's fine anymore," she says dryly. "Help them. I'll get the beasts before they make everything worse." Already she's marching off, gesturing at the Candidates as she goes. "You," she calls (is that Selene, Orialu or Ralorin? ) "Help me with the animals."

To N'rov: As Vhaeryth lunges upwards, you think you see a glint out of the corner of your eye, high on the edge of the pass, under cover of the sparse bushes. (Or maybe you just /want/ to see it?) Still...

Asking A'ryk if he's got rope handy is like asking a goose if it has feathers. /Of course/ he's got a supply coiled up and tied to Ginanguth's straps. Score one for the Pernese version of a Boy Scout. "I'll bring what I have, sir," comes the reply, even as he's moving to unhook and settle it over his shoulders and chest for easy carrying. The little blue rumbles, 'causing the rider to pause for a moment, almost but not quite looking over his shoulder, before he just shakes his head and keeps to task. The moment he's got the rope free, Ginan shifts forward, slinking carefully over the ground towards the wagons, aiming for a spot those still hale haven't reached yet to dig his talons into the mud. Carefully, intent on scooping it away.

Animals. That's something Selene knows. Something she can feel like she's got some sense of knowledge and responsibility around. As Hattie makes that call, the teen is moving to action to follow the Weyrwoman. "Some of that rope might be good," she saying to the goldrider, or perhaps the riders at large. She's not going to directly request any, no. But trying to suggest it, sure. "We have nowhere to keep them out of the way if they decide to bolt, so tying them to a tree might be a good idea. Especially if dragons have to land close by." With a focus in a sphere of knowledge she has, she's a bit more comfortable. And better able to put the flight here out of her head.

Orialu's not much help when it comes to assisting people off dragons; she's too unfamiliar with the act herself and any move she makes to aid in Selene's descent is as likely to result in some of that bum-landing as it is to see her journey made easy. "It's not obvious why we're here instead of there?" with an incredulous blink at Ralorin. "Oh, I didn't mean do nothing at all," she says hastily in reply to Selene. "I just meant, if we ran in without knowing where we were wanted or needed--" helpless wave of her hand as she clicks her teeth shut on the rest of that explanation. Never mind. And a moot point now anyway. Without bothering to identify which of them -- or if it was all of them -- Hattie meant by that 'you,' she moves to follow the Weyrwoman towards the animals.

Having made her path to the imperiled wagoneers, Serah's hands get dirty quickly in the literal sense, mud sticking everywhere it sees fit. Baying animals are cause for hurried glances over her shoulder, lip never having recovered from its determined place caught against her upper teeth. A couple of steps might've gone to them, but she's already thrown her hand in with the men and won't pull out now. Having experience with the troubles of wagon travel lends her the discipline to obey the wagoneers' orders, what with her being the new arrival, and understand their purpose enough to make her weight worthwhile, even if it doesn't equal some of the stronger hands. "Hey!" Is that A'ryk with rope? Enough with the loitering; she flaps a muddied hand, but is just as soon dragged back into concentrating on the task.

As Vhaeryth speeds up, his rider's head turns as though pulled on a string, eyes narrowed behind the amber goggles. Unencumbered with anyone likely to scream or pass water, not that that might have stopped him anyway, the bronze swerves a moment later into a sharp turn: angling for the edge of the pass, those /bushes/. Maybe he shouldn't land just yet, but he can /roar/ at them as he passes overhead with gusting, wind-spilling wingbeats, the better to try and see just what might scurry out.

"Yes ma'am." Ralorin tells the weyrwoman, glancing over at Orialu and Selene, "Come help me out?" He asks the two of them with a grin before he's following after the weyrwoman, towards the animals. Ral lifts up a hand to try and grab one of the runner's leads, "It's alright, you're okay." Ralorin says softly to the beast as he lifts up a hand to the runner, "Sel, you're good with beasts right? How can we calm them down?" He glances over at Orialu, "Well, obviously it's a good thing we're here to help these people out. Maybe we could even save a life."

As gentle as Ginanguth might be trying to be, the mud is soft enough that he sinks into it, every scoop of his talon clearing away a patch, only for more to come sliding in from above. While Serah might be particularly muddied by now, the fact that she's weighed in so quickly appears to have been of some benefit- she can hear, muffled, someone calling for help. The wagoneer with her grunts, and renews his efforts, and moments later, Serah's hand brushes against what feels like an arm.

Vhaeryth's roar echoes down through the pass, making the animals whimper and attempt to bolt- difficult with a hitched wagon in place and mud underfoot, but they try. A quick hand (or several, on both of the unburied wagons) will be needed to stop them.

It's not only the animals that the bronze's roar causes to flee- far below, N'rov can see two figures bolting away, one north, higher up the hill, and one more north-east.

"I'll draw you a picture about it later," N'muir replies quickly on Hattie's heels, the urgency of the situation lending a crispness to his voice, and as she moves on so does he. "Someone go back to the Weyr for shovels! Anyone not digging should be helping the injured!" N'muir undoes Bijedth's cargo tarps and ropes, and heads into the scene, Bijedth his towering shadow. "Should we try pulling out the wagons or are there people trapped?"

Amongst all the other calls being bandied about, with no name attached to it Serah's call might have gone unnoticed if it weren't for Ginanguth's hyper-awareness even when engaged in a task. A study of the problem before him, displeased growl likely not doing a single thing for the state of the animals trapped in their harnesses. If the mud is going to keep falling from the top of the buried wagon, he'll just switch his efforts to trying to swipe that away first. It's not until Aryk's passed out the spare coils of rope for others to put to use that he can slip and slog his way over to the once-roustabout. "What do you need?" he asks her, not caring about such trivialities as taking orders from a Candidate. Helping out and not causing any more damage is the only important thing.

Distracted by the sight of Serah digging in the mud, the first thing that Hattie winds up telling the distressed beasts is a curse word muttered under her breath. She bends down to retrieve a short knife from her boot (which does nothing to calm the animals either), taken not to Candidates or beasts-or anything else, in the end, for the runner that she reaches panics following Vhaeryth's roar and strains against its ties, leaving her to try and avoid earning herself a kick and attempt to prevent it from dragging any of its fellows or the wagon off. She can't exactly haul it back herself and so opts to sever the harness that ties it to the wagon, reaching desperately after trailing ends to stop it. If it has to run free, then so be it.

"Try to keep their eyes focused on things other than the dragons," Selene says, frowning a bit before her features smooth over and eyes widen a bit. "Ral, go get the sacks we had for numbweed. We can get them over their heads like hoods for now." She's trying to undo other leads, trying to keep them as intact as possible to keep the beasts in order. "Ma'am," she says towards Hattie, haltingly, "I think we can handle this if you're needed elsewhere?" Keeping focused on what she /knows/, Sel is able to retain a calm she wouldn't otherwise have. Dragons bellowing and cries for help from those trapped can be put into the back of her mind. "Get one or two untethered and we'll take them further away from the mud and dragons," she offers, "get sacks over their heads for hoods if they seem like they might be a danger to anyone." No need to have someone get kicked!

Feels like -- is -- the definition matters so little when there's even a //chance//, vigorously renewing Serah's efforts as she scrambles with her feeling hand to grapple on. The other palm mashes onto the man next to her, cupping his shoulder to steady herself, to dig her toes in a little deeper, and lever her weight towards the mud trap, "Hold on!" is indistinguishable between a reassurance for the buried and a command to her fellow helper. "Is there any-- is there any wood t'put down?" Interrupted by the grunts of her unrestrained fervor of effort, and almost instantly forgotten, tossed away by a tunneled focus on the task -- getting her hand on something further, solid, pulling. Boots dragging on scarce solid ground as she weighs her footing, determined as much to stay safe as to /hurry/. A'ryk's approach almost skates right by her but a snapping double-take of her head finally notices, "S-Somebody's in'ere! Don't let me slide in!"

Validation! Vhaeryth spikes a thrilled glimpse of the fleeing pair towards Isyath, towards wingmate Oryth and secondarily toward the other still-flying dragons nearby (he's found two fugitives, but there also could be more for the catching!), and then abruptly he slows: not /slow/, but slowly enough to try and herd the northeast would-be escapee towards the northern person. Uphill should slow them down, after all. As long as there doesn't seem to be a haven for them to reach and potentially escape, he'll make himself wait. (A little.)

To Vhaeryth and Isyath, Bijedth reaches for his airborne kin, lightning flashing brightly in all the ruckus: « Do you need more aid? »

Vhaeryth's all exhilarated negation, amidst the equally excited anticipation of predicting and altering their quarry's paths: they've /got/ it. (Or think they do.) (Vhaeryth to Bijedth and Isyath)

Orialu had soothing murmurs and gentle hands to be stroked along the neck of the trembling runner she'd first approached. Which was all well and good, the creature spooked but not flailing. Until that roar sends the poor animal into worse state, trying to rear and thrashing, sinking itself deeper into the mud. "Oh-- ahh!" A particularly forceful sideways toss of the runner's head collides with the Candidate's torso, hard enough to make her lose her footing and wind up flat on her back in the mud. Scrabbling and slipping immediately, a good thing only in that the landing was soft enough that she didn't get the wind knocked out of her and could fight her way back to her feet immediately. "I don't know what to do!" Clearly. She hasn't even a knife to attempt to cut the animal free in mimicry of Hattie. "Hey, easy baby, easy. Please, calm," trying to make her voice soothing again, and reaching up, grasping at air in her effort to grab the runner's halter so that she can get control of its head. "Easy, easy." Mindless repetition of utter nonsense.

"Right, no problem, I'll go get the sacks." Ralorin tells Selene as he heads over towards the dragons and starts to pull the sacks out of their storage and gathers them within his arms. He heads back over towards the other candidates and offers a sack to Selene and then another to Orialu. Ralorin grabs a sack for himself to try and throw it over the runner. "There you go, It's okay, you're okay, we'll get you away from the scary dragons."

"Two more!" the lead wagoneer yells towards N'muir- the man practically coated in mud, barely stopping his digging motions. Meanwhile, the wagoneer helping Serah dig grunts- with surprise more than anything- renewing his digging from the other side while grunting- "Careful, girl." It's definitely an arm, and fingers that stretch and try to cling weakly to Serah's, a shoulder... maybe even a head, though hard to tell under that cover of mud.

The runners, already spooked, only slowly respond to soothing words- Hattie's freeing of one of the runners seems the best approach, since the creature skitters away- slipping once or twice in the mud, then finally slows and stops further back down the pass near some of the trees.

To Bijedth and Vhaeryth, Isyath agrees immediately with Vhaeryth: they have it. Hunting they can do, the impatient-excited mental tones of the young queen aside.

Fortunately, Selene does carry a beltknife. Good for eating and whatever you might come across in your day! She's unable to get things untied easily, so she starts cutting away leads. She gets at Orialu's for her and the same for Ralorin if he needs it. "Let's get 'em out of the way," she says, glancing towards those working in the mud. "Maybe the dragons can grab the wagons, I dunno." That's totally /not/ her area of expertise. Hopefully the hoods can calm the runners a bit... provided there's no more dragon bellowing. "Come on," she murmurs to one of the beasts, making to lead it away. Perhaps nearer to the one that Hattie freed.

The easiest way for A'ryk to comply with Serah's instruction is to get a grip on her, and the easiest way to do /that/ without also getting in her way is to swiftly loop an end of his rope about her waist and tie it. He wraps the rest of it harness-like around his torso, backing up a few paces to find slightly more solid footing. "I've got you," he tells her. "Tell me when you've got a grip." So he can help with the pulling.

Isyath's circling, higher above the other dragons- watching. Vhaeryth's roar, combined with the weyrbrat-turned-candidate tugging on Ali's sleeve and pointing in that direction, has the queen winging that way. With Vhaeryth coming in from the north-east, /she/ goes north. It's just like when they hunt at southern, herding the creatures the way they want- except for the tasty meal at the end.

The figure on the hills, the faster of the pair, quickly spots Vhaeryth's approach, and turns and bolts, as expected, more northward after his partner. They're coming out into open ground now, though if they reach the bottom of the slope, there's enough woodland there that they could very easily hide long enough to get away.

Vhaeryth's brilliant excitement glitters back to her like so much metallic confetti. Or shrapnel. Herd them. Yes. Like /that/. (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

Curses are muttered under N'muir's breath as he rushes to join the efforts of those digging, his bronze shadow Bijedth on his heels. Bijedth is cautious of all the people underfoot, wading into the mud with all too careful hands and feet that join the effort of searching for the other two missing people. Not only are his hands bigger but they can reach deeper, and he tries to use this to his advantage without jostling so much earth that a second mudslide should start. "Anyone know where the other two people might've been caught up? We've got to narrow our search or-" N'muir bites off the rest of his remark and digs faster, sinking into the earth near the wagon wheel.

Serah's torso tenses at the stretch of rope braced against her and it flares out of her nostrils in a thick breath but, trusting the jerk of the knot tightening, she waits -- just barely -- for A'ryk's assurance before throwing herself deeper, better, into the mud. Hesitation at her own skidding boots keeps her toes from completely abandoning their buried bracing, and her whole frame is a tense coil, but she, inhaling strongly, pushes off from her hold on the wagoneer and drives her other hand straight into the mud, following the curve of her arm to the buried one's, till she can heft and pull and lean her way into as good a grab, near wrap, as she can guess through layers of muddiness. "Pull!" And she does. Trying to identify the head becomes a secondary matter, to pull a face above the thick.

Vhaeryth's thrown himself into tactics, his rider narrow-eyed strategy, the two closer-paired than they have been for months. A gloved hand sliding along the bronze's neck leads to his veering into a descending turn, the better to attempt to catch the pair pincer-fashion between himself and Isyath and cut them off at the... well, they've left the pass. Anywhere will do.

Watching the progress of the freed runner as its trailing harness slips through her fingers, Hattie absently taps the knife against her hip. Once she's sure that the beast isn't freaking out and dashing all over the place, she turns back to its partner and frees that one too, darting back to try and keep out of the way of hooves kicked up in its haste to get away. Whether it's the mud underfoot or a hoof does make contact with her, it happens too quickly to see, but she crumples and ends up on her side on the ground, one arm clutched across her. A curse, then another (and another), then she hauls her mud-covered self up and tells Selene, "Keep them together," the runners, "and /don't/ let them near the wagons." Or dragons, but that goes without saying. She doesn't look back as she turns to the wagons themselves, then beyond, to any dragons on the ground, weighing up whether it's worth the risk of moving anything.

"Thanks," comes out as a gasp from Orialu as assistance is rendered and the runner she'd been trying without success to calm bolts free of its braces. A little weaving and lots of slipping, but the herd mentality makes it seek out the company of its fellows down the road. Useless in almost all ways here, the young woman does her best, and while others cut, she moves to snag and hold halters so that eyes can be covered for long enough to get the animals safely freed.

It probably isn't too difficult to estimate where the lead wagon would be, and N'muir's digging soon unearths the fact that this wagon appears to be upside down- likely the force of the slide having toppled it completely over. Sharp hearing on his part might well hear faint noises beneath. Meanwhile, Serah and A'ryk's efforts with the other wagoneer appear to have proved fruitful- with effort, they pull the wagoneer free of the mud, the man gasping and choking, blinking dazedly at the sky.

Ralorin reaches into his boot and pulls out a dagger, since that appears to be the best way to calm the runners down. Straps are cut and the runner that Ralorin's working with quickly bolts to join the others. "Maybe we could make a circle." Ralorin suggests, "Around the runners so that they don't bolt and they stay in one place, and that way we can collect them later." And as the runner goes to join the others of it's herd, Ralorin attempts to do his best to lend assistance.

While the runners still appear particularly skittish, the fact that they're all together (and away from the activity and digging dragons) appear to have eased their anxiety somewhat, though they're still nervously shifting, edging this way and that.

At Serah's call A'ryk digs his feet in deeper and hauls against the rope, keeping up a steady, constant pressure. Looping the rope about one arm in the same manner as a person skeining yarn, whenever there's slack enough to do so. Nor is he about to waste any time gawking when Candidate and wagoneer are loosed from mud's sucking grip. Following that line back into the deeper muck, he's firing off questions without giving the poor man a chance to appreciate those breaths, "Can you move? Did you break anything?" And too Serah, probably unnecessary, "We have to pull him all the way clear and then come back. I heard there are more buried." Seeming too, to take it as a given that Serah's going to be his partner in this.

"Yes, m'am," Selene says to Hattie. She's somewhat distracted, but not so much so to forget to acknowledge the Weyrwoman. "I'm not sure how we can make a circle, but if we get our hands on a rope, we can run it through their harnesses and tie it to a tree a ways away. That way they don't lose their runners," expensive things to have for some, "and they won't be in the way." She frees one of the last, letting it go towards the rest. The front of the wagons above the mud should now be freed and available should some hauling be done. "Then... I guess we can try to help dig things free?" That part she's not looking forward to so much.

While Isyath has the advantage in being able to get /ahead/ of the two trying to escape, her bulk makes it difficult to turn quickly and land lightly- talons scrabble against the ground, trying to get footing on the not-quite-even ground, her attention more fixed on the two running than her footing. Her passengers are clinging desperately to the straps as the queen spreads her wings, a pleased thrum in the back of her throat that could, by someone not used to dragons, be taken as particularly menacing. In reaction, the pair skitter to a stop, then turn to run back- except that Vhaeryth is there. Back to back, they confer hastily, and one reaches to his belt, a glint of something visible.

Nothing slackens in Serah when the man's head breaks out of the mud, boots kicking and scrambling as she's half-dragged and half crawls herself back out -- and then more. Silently in-tune with A'ryk's words, she wrestles a grip that continues to improve along the man's body, hauling him for the long one until there's good solid measurable feet between him and ground even slightly questionable. Muddied hands are hardly an improvement to help clean off his face, her thumb rubbing off on her back, being the cleanest part of her, then swiping to clear room in front of nostrils. "Say somethin' so I know y'can," she orders, beyond her age. He's kept and arranged on his side, incase he can't move, or has anything to hack up from his trip down under, but Serah is quick to make sure there's another hand to help him -- and that he's answered questions appropriately -- before she's hop-skipping back towards the mud pile. A wrong step has her fumbling to not tumble backwards at a jolt from her waist when she briefly forgets that she's been tethered. "Wh- ere else?" She asks, panting, but raising her voice, "An' was there wood f'the wagons wheels?" Eyes snap to N'muir; she sees wagon bits. That way!

The newly rescued man can do little more than a groan, silent as Serah manhandles him onto his side. If he has any responses for A'ryk's questions, it's little more than incoherent mumbling. Thankfully, a couple of the weyrfolk with healing knowledge come rushing up to help tend to the man, as the rescue pair head over to help the Weyrleader, who is digging frantically at the edges of the wagon to try and free it enough that it can be tipped.

Perhaps it's his rider who thinks of it, perhaps it's how he's noticed /her/, probably it's the two of them working together, but... (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

"Don't even /think/ about it," N'rov yells down, for all that their not-quite-captured pair clearly /is/. Vhaeryth stays airborne for the moment, though it takes considerable effort to stay more or less in one place, the wind of his wings gusting and gusting. Only then N'rov looks over his shoulder, and when Oryth gets close enough to take over the air patrol, the bronze rather unwillingly lands as well... and given that he's uphill, if clawed paws' scrabbling can send some of that slippery shale down towards the men, so much the better.

The runners are edgy enough that there's a shying away, but gentle coaxing will eventually enable the candidates to safely tie all the runners to a line, though the whites of the creatures eyes are showing the entire time- looking as if they're ready to bolt again at a moment's notice.

Watching with approval for her efficiency, A'ryk allows Serah to retain the lead in caring for the no-longer-buried wagoneer until they can foist him off on someone else. "Easy there, Sureshot," is as much of an 'apology' as she'll get from the bluerider as she bounces off the end of that line. His eyes unfocus, and Ginanguth at his spot further along swings his head around for a moment. "There are others who've been gathering planks. We've got people to worry about right now," as focus returns, the dragonrider finally falling in beside the roustabout to head over and assist their -- his -- Weyrleader. "We need something more than planks for this...." Poles. What they need is poles. "I'm sending Ginan," so that he can just muscle down and get with the mud clearing. Though how the little blue can be expected to fetch what they need, who knows. Regardless, he's backing away from his digging, turning to slink back to his landing spot as its clear enough to take off from. Like as not, he's going to return with some bitten off saplings in his maw.

The chance of the wagons rolling back to make matters worse with those that are buried has outweighed the chance that trying to move them for that purpose might well result in what she's trying to avoid, for Hattie has one of the bigger greens and a mid-sized blue soon to be involved in inching the first of the wagons away and to safer ground, one of the blue's flanks pressed against the back of the wagon, ready to throw his weight against it, should it start to slip the wrong way. Meanwhile, Hattie and the dragons' riders are busy disassembling (kicking at, breaking and otherwise getting rid of) the harness assembly at the wagon's front to keep anything from tangling or getting beneath wheels and dragon paws.

Perhaps it's the shale that Vhaeryth sends towards them, or maybe it was their plan all along- but the pair on the hill suddenly separate, one going left and one going right, clearly aiming to go /around/ Isyath, if they can. The bulky one, though a little slower, heads eastwards, perhaps misjudging the ability (or willingness) of the queen to pounce forward and block his path, even as Ali undoes her straps and drops to the ground in his wake. The taller of the pair runs towards the tail end, though tripped by one of the bits of shale, he scrambles upwards and starts to limp at a slower pace, casting a hasty look over his shoulder at the bronze.

Seeing her rider's descent, there's a sharp slice of /Careful/ from the bronze: the man (the men?) has a knife. (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

One of the smiths, has, indeed, taken charge of a small group that is starting to dig in planks they've prised from the least buried of the wagons to use as a makeshift wall, to try and prevent more of the mud leaking down over the rescue efforts at the lead wagon.

Now that the runners are free, Ralorin helps the other candidates calm them down, "You're okay, c'mon, there's some nice yummy grass over here that you can nibble on." He mumbles under his breath as he leads the runners to the line to line to keep them from bolting. He looks over his shoulders as he watches the people work on the wagons. "Maybe we should go help them get the wagon out, they're going to need all the muscle power they can get to pull them out of this mud."

All he gets from her is a sharp sense of anticipation. /Hers/ to capture. Caution isn't really a part of her thoughts. (Isyath to Vhaeryth)

"Try t'keep up, old man," is the friendliest A'ryk's ever gotten, and it's nearly tromped into the ambient noise of struggles and shouting by the swift march of Serah's boots. When she feels her handler is near, she breaks into a jog that slows again as unstable ground wells up in front of her, bringing the Weyrleader's attempts into her range. "Poles t'turn it, but planks t'give the wheels somethin' to grab an' ride out," nevermind if there's a better procedure with dragons; their assistance as far from her mind. Without so much as an 'excuse me' for the illustrious leader, she throws a look over her shoulder to mark A'ryk's steadiness then begins to wade out into the mud, grasping onto the edge of the overturned wagon, thinking to get her shoulder against it as she tries, lip jammed back between her teeth, to listen in the muck as it squelches around and suctions to her figure. Quick, scurrying looks around. "Is there somebody innit?"

Selene busies herself with a moment making sure the harnesses still on the runners are secure enough. The rope is just looped through, since there's no time to be intricate with knots or setup right now. They're just trying to keep the beasts somewhat contained. She knots the end around a tree and turns to Ralorin and Orialu, blinking at the former. "Probably. Hopefully someone went to the Weyr to get pullies and all... that's what we used when I helped Ali that one time. Those and planks." She looks to the runners again before pulling away and heading towards the wagons. If someone summons her to help, she'll just follow their lead. She's done knowing what to do and is ready to just assist.

"I'm glad you're with us," Orialu remarks to Selene, somewhere in the midst of all that runner wrangling. The Beastcrafter's calm and knowledge likely having spared some broken limbs; human /and/ runner. It's not back to the buried wagons that this mud-covered Candidate turns once the creatures are safely tethered. She slogs her way determinedly back towards where people are being tended, calling out, "Have we got any buckets? Is there a stream nearby?" Water to clean wounds /and/ drink will surely be needed. And that's where she's going to be, tending to people, because even though she's got no formal training, tending bumps and wrapping cuts is at least something she's familiar with and can handle better than her last task.

N'rov doesn't look skyward, /Vhaeryth/ doesn't, but all of a sudden Y'ral's hollering, "You'll owe me, N'rov!" and from above, their wingmate's begun to try and pelt the limping man with whatever potentially bothersome possessions he's got handy: a redfruit, another of those meat pies (where's a bag of firestone when you want it?), a wrenched-off boot, and possibly eventually a flask though he's clutching /that/ as though he never wants to let it go. Hope Isyath's tail isn't in the way! N'rov's meanwhile sliding to the ground himself, a growl of disfavor from encroaching Vhaeryth in his wake, with an eye toward assessing the situation and heading for whichever man needs running down. (Hope Y'ral doesn't clonk him too!)

Ralorin lifts a finger as he points towards the wagons, "I'm going to go help them dig out, I'm better at manual labor than I am at healing cuts and stuff. Maybe I could help them figure out something to get those wagons out." The candidate frowns as he heads over towards the wagons and looks over at the people gathered around, observing and trying to decide how to help out. "DO you guys need help digging? Or should I grab some rope?"

If the situation weren't so serious, that 'old man' comment might've earned Serah at least a scoffing grin, if not a laugh. As it is A'ryk just aimed a swat -- meant to miss by a mile -- at the back of her head. "We've got people coming with planks," he assures, though there was no verbal communication. Ah, the benefits of dragons. "Careful -- I don't want to be rescuing /you/," he warns as she starts to wedge herself in place, checking the rope keeping them connected despite knowing that it's sound. "/Damn/ I wish Isyath hadn't gone off; we could use a gold down here!" For those extra senses that would help them locate people trapped beneath.

One wagon shifted, Hattie and her companions walk back to get started on the next, only the Weyrwoman is effectively stopped in her tracks by an unseen force. When she reanimates a few moments later, she's rather uncharitably muttering curses again as she weaves through the mess to locate G'dreyn. The pair head back towards Dakinth after a brief exchange of murmured words, and it's not long before both are buckled into straps, Hattie's right arm slung low around her waist, and the brown is aloft, vanishing high over the pass. Clearly Elaruth has tolerated about all she can for one day. Absence is one thing; absence and chaos and pain? Enough is enough.

The bigger man is in a lot of trouble, it seems- although Isyath's demeanor is not borne of anger, it could be easily mistaken as otherwise, her paws hitting the ground behind him, barely missing. With a frightened yelp, he spins to head into the trees, Ali close behind him, calling - to the weyrbrats, or N'rov, hard to say: "Here!" even as she makes a tackling effort, managing to grab hold of his left leg for a moment. On the ground now, he kicks his free heel at her hands, earning a painful yelp from the junior, and is up again bolting into the forest. "N'rov! This way!" Meanwhile, one of the items (the grudgingly tossed flask) knocks the taller man on the side of the head, and he stumbles to his knees, one hand covering his head in a futile effort to protect him from any further projectiles lobbed from Y'ral's direction.

The touch is so gentle that it might at first be lost amongst the chaos, but soon the tendrils of bright mist bring with them the coolness of shallow water and a shadowy, brittle quality to reeds, tension betrayed. « Be safe, » Elaruth imparts to her daughter, concern and affection all wrapped up together. Come home safe; bring Ali home safe; make sure everyone gets /home/. (Elaruth to Isyath)

Watching Orialu go one way and Ralorin another, Selene looks a little lost for a moment. She had learned some basics when she helped with another mudslide, but not enough to take the lead on anything. Waiting for tools from the Weyr may be best, so for the time being she works on the fringes. Bracing someone here, helping wedge planks in there.

The lead wagoneer's there, too, looking flushed and red with effort under the layer of mud. "Gotta get the sides dug out first, before we can tip it," he says to Serah, leaning to try and scoop mud out from the edges of the wagon. As Ralorin approaches, he points the candidate to a corner of the wagon, apparently in silent order for him to dig.

And... /is/ that a noise, under the wagon? If so, it's faint.

To Elaruth, Isyath's mental tones are cloudy, stars barely visible through the light of her mental tones. There's something anticipatory, particularly incautious in her thoughts- though they steady as she feels the touch from her dam, fuelled by that flood of affection. While wordless, she acknowledges: they will come home safe. /With/ their prize.

Ralorin moves over towards the wagon and pushes his sleeves up onto his elbows. There. He kneels down into the ground and starts to shovel the mud away from the wagon, scooping up as much mud as he possibly can. "Shards, we've had a lot of mudslides this turn," Ralorin mutters as the mud is pushed away from the wagon. "Serah, I'll work on this side, maybe you work on the middle, that way we can cover more ground."

Adiulth had been far too eager and sensible to see the purpose of going back to the Weyr for help. It's just that everyone else is involved in various things - from rescuing people to the chase. Winking back into airspace above the caravan, the bronze is already backwinging into the nearest and clear spot to deposit his passengers and the tools brought. Two healers. Ropes. Shovels. Although the items are secured on either side, it takes E'ten time to assist the people before moving to the inanimate objects. "There's people up the way with the first wagon. I'm not sure if anything else has changed."

Above, Y'ral pumps his fist in triumph, bellowing, "Don't move! Don't even breathe!" and then reaches to remove his other boot in case that man gets any bright ideas. He'll hold off on actually tossing it down, though. For now. There are others coming on foot who might take custody of the man, after all, though it'll take them a little while to get here. As for Vhaeryth, he might be crouched where he can keep half an eye on the grounded man, but more important are the woods where N'rov's hightailed it at Ali's outcry, the bronze's growl escalating in intensity to a rolling boil for all that it's dropped in volume: where is his rider /going/. Without /him/. N'rov? Hurries.

"M'not-- " Tipping? Concentration sucks up the end of Serah's correction, like the mud eagerly eats her arms up to the elbow-- past-- up to the shoulder, as she notches it harder against the stuck wagon in order to try and reach-- down. Anywhere. Ralorin's instruction receives a grunt, questionable if it's effort or answer. Deeper she does go, slopping up more mud for the churn of her boots, moving sluggishly but conviction of adrenaline, and the one hand that she uses to dig then brace while sliding her shoulder down along the wagon more, extending a hand, a foot, an anything to try and make contact -- is there contact to make? Ears strain, but more people are showing up and she grimaces with frustration, mired in with base concentration. "Make sure-- " oh, so she does know the other candidate is there, "y'are shovelin', not just pushin' it-- around-- slidin' back on y'other side..."

The arrival of Adiulth with supplies catches Selene's attention. Helping unload and hand out equipment? /That/ she can do. The teen moves quickly over towards the dragon and starts helping the other weyrfolk unload things. She grabs a few shovels and makes her way back towards the wagons, doing her best to keep her footing while moving quickly. One is held out towards Ralorin, "This might help." And she shifts to another spot on that side of the wagon to help dig things out.

Apparently the other boot is mightier, since the tall man cowers, peering upward at Y'ral and definitely /not/ moving. Isyath, too, is unhappy- as much from the fact that the man got past her as for the fact that her rider's gone in after him. Tail lashing, the queen begins pushing in past the smaller trees, trying to /force/ her way in. "Issy, no. It's okay, we've-" Ali's scrambling back to her feet even as she spots N'rov, "Quick- there-" she points a finger at the retreating man's back, even as she resumes running, albeit with her left hand held low against her body.

Ralorin pratically beams as he's handled the shovel, "Thanks Sel!" Ral says as he drives the shovel into the ground and starts to settle into the rythem of shoveling mud away from the wagon. At least this is something that he's good at. "Yeah, got it, Serah, we'll have them out of there in a jiffy!" The candidate offers a cheerful smile dispite all the tension in the air, that's just his way of dealing with things.

Playing anchor still, A'ryk watches Serah through narrowed eyes. "Careful, Candidate. If that wagon shifts now...." Ah, crap. Candidate. She comes to hard, it's going to be his head on the chopping block for allowing it. The realisation comes rather late. "No, pull back and switch with me. We can't risk you getting squashed and being unable to Stand," he orders, giving a firm pull on the rope connecting them. Not yanking, nor trying to force her to move. Just hoping that with the added physical sensation she'll listen.

While the mud continues to seep back in, the combined efforts of the group appear to be helping, as the sides of the wagon start to be exposed. Getting enough traction and weight to tip it might be the hardest part, though.

It's too /fast/ for details: it's Ali's gesture, her words, that register and then N'rov's running past, his head tucked low (that helmet can't be doing him any favors when it comes to vision, except when it comes to not getting his eyes slashed by whipping branches): maybe just a little easier to follow than to lead the way, a little easier to pick up speed, easier to lurch over a fallen log that's nearly tripped the leader. Not that riding boots were ever meant for /this/. It's something of a chase, not to try and tackle the man while he's running but to... into a tiny, muddy, boots-skidding glen, out of it... through sticker bushes... /there/: to try and grab a firm hold of the man's jacket and wrench him to the side and slam him into stopping. Into a tree? Onto the ground? Wherever. Knife or no knife.

Quickly assisting the healers, it's only once the rope is slung over one shoulder that he looks over one shoulder and tilts his head to one side addressing Adiulth. "I'm going to see what we can do with the wagons. See if you can find out what else is going on up the ways," E'ten says to the bronze who leans back before taking a few careful steps back.

N'rov's grab at the man's jacket is successful, lurching him backwards, his shoulder slamming into a tree with a grunt of pain. While he may be overweight, the big man is no slouch when it comes to fighting- though probably nothing compared to a fit rider. Quick enough to make a slashing motion at N'rov, more to make him let go than with any real intention to hurt him.

There's a few low curses from Selene as they fight against what seems impossible. Mud, seeping in from all sides. It's a good thing that it's finally starting to seem to be working. Fortunately for her reputation, Ralorin might be the only one hearing the colorful strings of words as the candidate works.

Ralorin looks over at Selene cheerfully, "It helps if you think of a song, y'know? That way you keep your rythem nice and steady and you're not over-exerting yourself." Ral laughs quietly as she curses under her breath, but Rat isn't about to comment on that. "Look we're starting to make a dent, how we're gonna drag this thing out though is going to be fun."

That's what leather jackets are for, not to mention a whole lot of adrenaline: training's reflex kicks N'rov into striking at the man's incoming wrist with the side of his forearm, to disarm if he can and deflect if he can't. And if he can't do either... reinforcements are coming, and he's got to hang on, and never mind his dragon's increasing disturbance in the back of his head.

Tugged from behind, Serah's boot slips, giving her a harder jolt than A'ryk did as her ear bumps into the side of the wagon. Now the grimace streaking across her mud-splattered face isn't for the rescue attempt. Watching the others gather shovels, she keeps up moving the mud from the center towards them or towards backwards, wherever it will pile and can be hauled off best, arms swinging as if she heard absolutely nothing -- and her ear /wasn't/ a nice shade of red under the muck. "Was'tha?" Tossed in a shout towards her anchor, "Mud in m'ear-- y'say the poles are here? Oy," now tossed over her other shoulder -- is Ralorin over there? People anyway, runnertail flying and smacking herself in the cheek for a new pattern of speckled mud on the drying bits already there, "Get a'coupla hands an-- th' wood, an'... umm. Want t'tip it onto something with-- with-- " now /she/ curses, "something not mud!"

Ginanguth's quest was successful, small blue returning as predicted: with some slender saplings that were ungently bashed and quite possible sat on until they broke, a dragon's strength managing despite a springy sturdiness to the young wood. The lift of his wings, half unfurled but sticking almost straight up from his back, easy to interpret by those savvy to draconic body language as grumpy as he makes his way back down to the wagons, to drop the 'poles' near those digging out the wagon. Leafless, twiggy branches still attached. "I /said/--" A'ryk raises his voice, before shaking his head with a grimace. "A sharditall, never mind, just be careful would you?" If he realises it was his tug that caused her bump, he's going to wait and feel guilty about it later. "And yes, the poles are here," echoing his dragon's grumpiness a little. And after a split-second, unfocused pause, "Planks almost here, as well. How're we going to need to go about bracing everything?" Eyes to the wagoneer, though the question up to be answered by anyone with the correct knowledge.

The strike from N'rov hits successfully, and the man's knife thunks against the ground. He isn't quite done, though, following up with a lifted fist- however, N'rov's right. Reinforcements are arriving, though Ali's probably not exactly the most reassuring thereof- but she /does/ have a mind to pick up a fallen branch, using the hefty weight of it as a makeshift club that strikes against the man's upper shoulders, driving him down to his knees with a surprised exhale of breath. The branch falls from her fingers moments later, and she leans, panting, against the tree.

The smith moves down from shoring up some of the area to the tipped wagon, pointing and directing candidates, weyrfolk, and riders with equal impunity, exactly where to place the planks. The first hint of relief washes over the wagoneer as A'ryk's words draws his attention to the poles. "Insert the poles here, here, and there," the wagoneer points to equidistant points along the wagon's length. "Two men to each. Think we can rock it enough to get it tipped back up- but may need the dragons, if we can't. Dangerous, that, though, if there's still someone underneath. We need to hurry." He points to A'ryk and Serah, since they're already partnered, then Selene and Ralorin, then finally himself and one of his own crew. "Find a good steady spot, make sure you aren't going to slip."

"Can't think of a bloody song right now," Selene mutters to Ralorin, weariness and the work making her grouchy. Or perhaps it's remnants of her injury- maybe a mild headache? Either way, at least she isn't stopping. Ginanguth dropping the makeshift poles brings about a started yelp and she slips a bit in the mud, getting more of it on her. The poles are eyed warily, but she's going to wait for the planks. "When, ah, we helped with that other mudslide... We got planks under one side, then used ropes and pullies to get the wagons out. But I'm sure poles can serve the same purpose?" Fortunately, however, the Smith is there to help direct matters and she once again is allowed to just focus on work. The shovel is tossed out of the way -- but still within reach -- as she goes to grab one of the poles.

Already taking one step towards the wagon, it's as if Adiulth's relayed message overrides anything E'ten might have done. He's even mid-stride when the relayed information of the man found by Y'ral has been keeping under watch. But he's lacking rope. Something that this bronzerider has in ample supply as his stride picks up with a comment already spoken - more for the dragon. "I'm heading that way. Relay it to him."

There's time for a slanting glance Ali's way that, in other circumstances, could be a grin. Now, it's more a matter of registering the switch in circumstances and getting the big guy in a wrist lock: a solid one that's going to have to last them, stumbling, back to the edge of the forest. But first: "You okay?" N'rov asks, and he isn't asking the man. "Can you get his knife. Check for another." And this time it's to the man with a shake, "What were you /thinking/."

"I dunno if the poles'll help." Ralorin mumbles as he peers at the polls, "They might break once the weight is distributed onto them, maybe if we get the rope under the wagon and throw the rope over a branch and pull it up that way?" Ralorin asks as he considers the wagon.

"Fine," Ali lies, breathlessly, pushing away from the tree with her right hand, left still held close against her. She scoops to collect the knife, tucking it into her belt, before she warily approaches the man. Check /him/, for another? She kind of looks, mostly, checking waistline and around his boots, but doesn't go so far as to reach down. The man's grunting, his expression glowering at N'rov, apparently not in a particularly talkative mood. Catching her breath enough, the junior adds: "Question him later- we have to get back, before Issy and Vhaeryth try to shake the whole forest down."

In the thick of it, Serah waits for A'ryk's reach to extend the end of one of the lengths of wood to her. Getting a good grip, she unrelentingly buries herself up to the wagon to make sure it's in there good with proper leverage, not about to slip out or snap with the tiniest weight applied. Twigs and broken bark rub against her mud-slicked skin, earning a firming of the corner of her mouth as she diligently ignores it. Digging herself in as braced as she can be, her head pops up to wait on a voice to call for the unified heave, before applying to it.

The wagoneer doesn't seem to hear Ralorin's response, setting up his own pole with the help of his fellow wagoneer, trying to get the best footing, before he looks at A'ryk and Serah- then Ralorin and Selene, to make sure they're ready.

And as that's a real possibility, N'rov doesn't argue with Ali, though /this/ time there's an increasingly sharp look at the way she's careful with that arm that suggests he'll attempt to collar her later. For now, it's a matter of glancing at the surrounding area in case anything got stashed and then getting the man back out of the woods without risking anyone further. If E'ten's up for roping up this fugitive too, so N'rov can give him a more thorough search? So much the better. And if he can do it without Vhaeryth glowering over him and nudging him and generally getting pushy... well, that's a lost cause.

The wagoneer knows what he's on about, and just because a twenty-five foot dragon with all the muscle strength that comes with it could snap those poles doesn't mean the weight of the wagon will have a shot at doing the same. With the taller of each pair directed to brace the 'back' end of each pole to get the required lift, A'ryk fits himself in below the pokey branches, twitches as one of the lower ones keeps trying to stab a dangling twig into the side of his head. Finally, while waiting for the others to get set, he just reaches up and snaps the annoying thing in half. Not completely, just enough to make it bend at a different angle. Giving a nod to indicate their readiness, and throwing his weight in when that order comes from the wagoneer to "Lift!" Slick mud isn't going to make it easy, feet scrabbling to find purchase as pushing against the poles sends the force /down/ as much as it does /up/. "We might--" gritted out between the bluerider's clenched teeth "--need a dragon in here--" grunt "--to lean. Ginan!" Alert, the blue stands ready to move in, while the wagoneer orders them all to, "Ease it back, ease it back! We're not getting anywhere, just running in place." Disgusted.

It takes some wiggling and shoving of the makeshift pole, spare branches and twigs scraping at face and arms, but Selene gets it in there. "We can try that if this doesn't work," she says to Ralorin, trying to be helpful, but the words are largely distracted. She's watching the wagoneer for the go-ahead before helping to try to wedge things up. There's slipping, sliding, and she's pretty much just mud with a bit of candidate thrown in by the time the wagoneer calls for them to stop.

"Well, it was just a thought," Ralorin mumbles as he takes a hold of his own pole and pushes his weight on it when A'ryk calls out to lift the poles. "So long as this works, that's really the onl thing that matters, after all." And then he's pushing with all his weight to pull the wagon out.

"The Weyrleader's still down there, helping with the wagon. We should get them back down there, let him- sort them out." If Ali's noticed that /look/, from N'rov she's pretending hard to ignore it- she sounds a little distracted, anyway, perhaps with Isyath, given the dragon's backing- albeit slowly and reluctantly- away from the edge of the forest line as they reach the edge of the rocky hill.

E'ten would be more than willing to help - when it comes to tying up the men, prisoners that they've been able to obtain. Tying one by the wrists securely and the idea of the feet strongly has him considering the other end to the nearby tree. More so, once he looks to he wagons and the progress made there. In the meantime between 'tyings', there's nothing to say that the bronzerider doesn't get a preliminary search done of the man. Considering what he's wearing, any strange marks and if he's going to have to fend off anything else from struggles to words. So, when N'rov and Ali do return within view, there's still ample amounts of rope to tie and prepare the men for transport.

Whatever N'rov might have said, it's bitten off, with a glance at the burlier man and his friend. "We'll get them there," he says instead, silently assisting E'ten with the tying up, pocketing for later perusal any items that don't seem as though they should be left with the men... and if he has his way, he'll keep the men barefoot and hobbled but still able to make it towards N'muir under their own steam.

Vhaeryth suddenly has words, possibly his rider's but with the steely edge that's /his/: « We want to know of them, now. » Not later. Not waiting to see what will be doled out to them by even their wingleader. Directly. (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

With Ginanguth moving into position, the wagoneer starts trying to figure out how to position everyone best, and safest. "We'll still need to lift to get these high enough for him to fit his shoulder under. Once he's there though, clear out! Move around to the sides and be ready to steady the wagon as it tips. Once you feel it start to fall back right way up, just let it go. Got that?" He'll wait from nods all around before the whole thing is going to start again. This time with more muscle added. Hup, two, three....

Selene starts to rub at her forehead, but stops realizing it won't have any affect. It might even worsen matters. The teen exhales in a small huff, and moves in again, to help leverage the wagon for the blue to get himself under. She's wary, mind you, eying Ginanguth a bit more than the wagon. Hopefully she doesn't need to be paying close attention and can get things done by feel.

So far into the mud certainly is no aid to pushing, finding Serah far less helpful at this with her slipping and gliding boots. Pushing down brings the mud rising up around her where it's been displaced, and the lack of progress severely frustrates her, even as the others gain ground. Weaseling her foot up against the pole ground in there gets her standing at such a lean that she's nearly reclining in the mud. But the wagon-- shifts-- and as it does, Serah casts ever more frequent looks over her shoulder, tunnel focus widening then narrowing back in on a hunkering blue frame looming in towards her as space begins to allow. And allow, and-- "/Move/!" A note of frantic not evident in her before commands Selene, Ralorin-- anyone propping too close to the dragon's intention-- to /clear out/ for the dragon. Boots constantly shifting, constantly on the edge of sliding, or turning for escape, Serah bolts down till the last second and the dragon's shoulder is definitely holding the top of the weight. To watching eyes, the candidate seems to vanish entirely in mud and blue dragon-- till she appears, wrestling her way out from the slimmest possible crack, going for the side they'll need to catch.

There's a tired, welcoming smile from Ali as she sees E'ten, but it fades by measures as she glances to Isyath, then towards Vhaeryth with thin press of lips. With a touch of fingers briefly to N'rov's shoulder, as if to get his attention, she says: "It's not our- /they/ belong to the Weyrleader." With another look towards Isyath, a bit more shaded, she says, "Come on. Let's see if we're needed down with the wagons."

Though there's a possessivess sense of achievement, (/their/ prize, their catch), the intensity of her mentaltones is swayed by another, more gentle overtone of warmth- external to her. « We must return them safely. » Their riders, not their prey. Later, there'll be time for questions. (Isyath to Vhaeryth)

Between E'ten and N'rov, getting the men to N'muir isn't going to be much of a problem. Not with dragons also keeping an eye on the progress. Adiulth's joining the attentive group as it were, even if it's his rider that offers a dip of his head towards Ali and the barest hints of a flashed, subdued smile. To his wingmate, he adds, "We'll have to keep a hold of them until handing them over if those with the wagons still need any help. There should be healers already there from the Weyr."

As the dragon comes barreling towards the wagon, Ralorin abandons his pole and is sent scampering away from the dragon. At least all that jogging has done some good for the candidate. "Shards that was close." He mutters under his breath as he looks over towards Serah and then the riders. He goes to try and help out as he can, doing whatever needs to be done to get the wagons out of the muck.

A'ryk's got rather more trust in his lifemate than the rest, Keeping himself under that pole even when the blue's shoulder is mere inches away from his back. Stepping forward and 'walking' his hands down the pole as he pushes, pushes, trying to get it ever higher until Ginan is near enough that he's fully supporting all three poles. Although the dragon, too, is sinking, and a slip of his own foot drops his shoulder suddenly, slamming the pole down to catch on his rider's shoulder. What A'ryk yells is foul enough to peel paint, as he goes pale, but grinds out, "Keep bloody pushing you idiot!" as he too, scrambles to get clear now. The idiot being Ginanguth, who gets his feet back under himself completely and leeeaaaaans, the wagon creaking, squelching, /sucking/ up out of the mud with horrendous gloppy sounds. "Hold it steady, hold it steady," the wagoneer chimes in, safely off to the side but trying to peer underneath as well. "Stop-stop-stop-stop!" Can't have the blue pushing too far, and whether he's actually listening to the other human, or a mental command from Arry, Ginan freezes in place while the wagon starts to sway in the other direction.

N'rov glances back at the touch, his own expression obscured by the helmet he's still wearing. And if his nod has more to do with concession than true agreement, at least it's there, and he gets the men situated without outward complaint. Only after that does he say to E'ten as he accompanies his wingmate, "Useful things, healers." His tone is neutral, and then less so. "Hope there wasn't anyone who... didn't need a healer's help, not any longer."

With a squeak that almost becomes a squeal, Selene is scrambling perhaps a bit earlier than need be to flee the bulk of the blue that goes in to help with the wagon. She scrambles through the mud to the end of the wagon to help balance it. At least at the end, helping keep things steady, she's at less risk for squishing. Still, her feet are slipping into the mud as well. Oof.

Neither is Vhaeryth entirely willing, nor convinced, though neither does he fight it. « They may not be safe. » Not their quarry, a dim haziness of /rumor/ far more concrete in human minds: others captured, and the bruises that came after, different somehow in quality from the one that hides all but beneath his rider's days-old beard. Not their riders: « She is not well, is she, Isyath, » and there's something of a questioning note, something of a /sense/. She should be seen to. Shouldn't she? When is the plan for that? (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

It's a memory that, Ali, at least, had attempted to bury, and so Vhaeryth's images evoke surprise and then caution within the queen's mind. An acknowledgement, as quiet and reluctant as it may be: « Then yours should stay with them. Watch them. » As to the latter question, well- « No more so than yours, » comes the intense-brightened light of her response. (Isyath to Vhaeryth)

"Hopefully." It's not with any of his normal cheer that E'ten replies with but it's certainly a one worded response as catches an update from Adiulth about the status of the wagons. "Sounds like Ginanguth is helping," he reports with a brief unfocused gaze as he glances in that direction. "We'll hear about the healers once they deem it safe and everyone's accounted for." It's the optimist for now, while there's still hope to be had.

It's disturbing, and something that Vhaeryth keeps close to himself and yet distinct, as though a thin foiled sheet would keep it from /touching/ him. Assent, true assent this time, and then a sort of half-startlement of his own beneath that light: well, yes. Except, « Does she bleed? He does not. » Will not. (Because in this, if nothing else, the bronze must have his way.) (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

"Safe." Abruptly N'rov nods to nothingness (or is it E'ten?) and then breaks off, heading back to the captives to keep track of them: so others won't have to? He leaves his helmet /on/.

There's a low shudder through Ali, and she goes stiff, wary all of a sudden. "Get them back to the Weyr. Now." she says, sharply, her tone oddly strained, barely looking at the other riders as she hurries back to Isyath's side.

And in between those straining to hold the wagon up- and Ginanguth's efforts, a couple of the more brave healers dart in, carefully pulling out the trapped man from underneath. At least, over the mud, he slides easily enough, even if every jolt earns a groan of pain from the man's lips. Finally, they manage to pull him clear of the half-turned wagon, and quickly go to work.

With that wagon cleared of the mud and the trapped man freed, Selene starts slogging away to retrieve her shovel. There's a terrible slurping, sucking sound, and when her foot comes free... it's without a boot. The teen begins swearing again. Something about her only pair.

There's a coolness that blows through her mental tones - not at his words, so much as the memories he evokes. It's a shuddering, uneasy sensation, and she hasn't the benefit of his ability to keep it distinct. Her touch fades, wavers, then returns. « She will tend to herself, later. » Which may be assent, in a round about way. (Isyath to Vhaeryth)

Vhaeryth's the visibly reluctant one, N'rov's demeanor holding something more like dogged distaste, following the weyrwoman's order without further acknowledgment: recruiting another man to join the prisoner he'd helped capture astride his shifting dragon, signaling E'ten to take on the second with yet another helper if his wingmate's willing. No hostages to be taken mid-flight. Not allowed. And if E'ten or, more importantly to the bronze, /Adiulth/ is unwilling... they'll have to hunt down someone who is before making their collective way to the Weyr.

As far as Ginanguth is concerned, their part is done, and someone else can take care of the rest. Hovering over the still-pale and obviously in-pain A'ryk, eyes picking up colours of distress. Using his good hand, the bluerider unsheaths his dagger and slices through the rope connecting him to Serah, before practically growling, "Someone help me mount; I can't move my arm. Climb up first, I'll catch hold and you can pull me up." Whoever it is that assists him, will get a curt thank you, and they'll have to move quick if they don't want to be carried to the Weyr along with, because Ginanguth's barely waiting long enough for straps to be fastened before moving to launch into the air and vanish.

Vhaeryth holds for it, distinctly unwilling though he is, and it's like a fine sheet of metal blanketed him and his and even the helper-man, so that none of those prisoners might /truly/ touch him. (Though they might, somehow, still: a shifty sense of slime.) (Vhaeryth to Isyath and Adiulth)

The abrupt statement from Ali doesn't do anything except but draw his focus sharply, his gaze looking to N'rov and Vhaeryth before nodding with a hand already looking towards one of the non-riders to assist getting the bound man atop the bronze. He's willing, if cautious about that one. It's not before long that he does have an assistant and both are working towards getting to this final step between them and the Weyr. And the cells, all the same. [E'ten]

He slips an extension of that fine metal, more like a film, now, where she might reach it if she knows how to employ it... but along with it comes the assurance that may not be /re/assurance, « He will make certain. » (Vhaeryth to Isyath)

The injured wagoneer is surrounded by his folk, and several more weyrfolk arrive to assist with the clean-up. One of the riders bustles up to the candidates, and points at the dragons waiting further down the road. "All right, you candidates, back to your riders, and back to the Weyr. Get cleaned up. We'll make sure there's a hot meal waiting for you, after."

Pushing off as the wagon gets righted, but her hand roaming it afterward to instinctively inspect the make, Serah's caught off-guard by the slackening-- when her wandering isn't a sharp tug against her ribs. Glancing, the other end of the rope has come to a short, sheared end, and she reels it in with only one haphazard foot stomping on it and giving her an unpleasant lack of air briefly. Though smothered in mud, that's easy to ignore-- less so the general wear of her muscles as the adrenaline drops off. Trying to dodge the candidate round-up by engaging a wagoner in shop-talk proves ineffectual, and the muck-logged candidate is rousted along with her peers towards a ride to the Weyr. Not home.

Mope. Selene is unable to recover her boot- it'd take at least as much digging as for some of the rescues and she's /tired/. Someone tugs at her arm as she tries digging it free and the teen slouches along towards the dragons, all squishy and boot-less.

If Ali takes longer than normal mounting up, it could be attributed to her sudden change of mood. She's a mind enough to wait for the other riders, though, Isyath preparing to shadow them closely as she launches upwards- touching their minds with hers, the coldness of her thoughts enough to chill, at least until the cold of between, and the trip home takes them.