Logs:A Flame Extinguished

A Flame Extinguished
Iskiveth never reappears above High Reaches. Iskiveth never appears anywhere. Her flame has been extinguished in the unforgiving cold of between.
RL Date: 3 December, 2014
Who: Azaylia, Cadejoth, Hraedhyth, Ilicaeth, Iskiveth, K'zin, Minara, Miska, Quinlys, Rasavyth, Teris, Vrianth, Zmeyth

Type: Log
What: Teris of Telgar (once of 'Reaches) visits home. Iskiveth is lost. Teris lingers. There's aftermath.
Where: Snowasis, Garden Patio Ledge and Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
When: Day 9, Month 6, Turn 36 (Interval 10)

Mentions: T'volt/Mentions, Telavi/Mentions

OOC Notes: Played on 11/28/14, forward dated.
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There's no ceremony in the way that the fiery, formerly Reachian queen arrives in her Weyr of hatching. Iskiveth circles the bowl lazily to make her presence known because she enjoys the attention. It's a particular ledge that she angles toward, Rasavyth's, before veering away to land in the bowl near the Snowasis' patio instead. (To local dragons from Iskiveth) There's no ceremony in the way that the fiery, formerly Reachian queen arrives in her Weyr of hatching. Iskiveth circles the bowl lazily to make her presence known because she enjoys the attention. Her fire, though, is burning a steady trail toward Rasavyth. So he ought to know she's here before she says, « We've come to visit. Teris would like to know where yours is. » Not, evidently, whether she's welcome or not. (To Rasavyth from Iskiveth) Fire collides with shimmer and it ignites in a reflection of her heat. He's so different now from when he first arrived in Telgar. Can she remember back so far? Not so different from the end. Amusement is the first thing to ooze her way after the heat, his mind roused from a nap as if her presence were only enough to intrude upon his exquisite somnolence once she began to speak. « Welcome Iskiveth, » if it's a false feeling, there's no trace beyond that usual aftertaste of 'wrong' that is just part of the bronze's signature touch. « How pleasant it is to have you here. » Is that not answering her question about K'zin? Surely he's just forgotten as he stretches expansively on his wide ledge. (To Iskiveth from Rasavyth) Ignoring his niceties, feigned or otherwise, Iskiveth demands, « Is he in his weyr? » She even angles toward the ledge where the bronze lounges. Perhaps she'll just allow Teris to look for herself. And if he's not there, maybe whatever Teris wants will be there instead. Iskiveth is probably not incredibly clear on what it is that her rider wants with the bronzerider. (To Rasavyth from Iskiveth) Hm? What? « Oh, » Rasavyth shifts on the ledge to occupy as much space as possible, though he cannot really take up enough room to keep her from landing if that's her desire, though it doesn't seem like that's his intention, just the happenstance effect of his stretching. « No, my K'zin isn't in our weyr. » For a moment it might seem that that's all. But lest she really think to drop Teris off on his ledge where he might accidentally squish her or something equally awful and totally accidental and regrettable, he volunteers, as if he hadn't already been asked, « He's having a drink. » (To Iskiveth from Rasavyth) It does look as though Iskiveth might land on his ledge anyway. But his last comment has her veering away and down toward the bowl with a backdraft of annoyed heat that is definitely not gratitude. (To Rasavyth from Iskiveth) To local dragons, Cadejoth, lingering up at the rim as he is wont to do, draws back on his haunches as the Telgari queen arrives, greeting her with a low rumble. It's clearly not his memory that identifies her as semi-belonging; still, it's there in the way he reaches out for the queen, knowing wrapped about each of those jangling, merry chains. « Iskiveth. » Daughter. Not forgotten. « Welcome. » Late spring sees more temperate weather as the days creep closer and closer to summer. It makes the Garden Patio Ledge more inviting and the Snowasis proper less so, especially as it's still a bit before twilight so the evening chill has yet to set in. There are faces enough though, and one of them happens to be K'zin, settled at a booth, its table taken up by wide pages that are used for designs or other things that need a large than average writeable area. He's pouring over them as if smithing were still his job, despite the very obvious wingrider knot on the shoulder of the jacket hung at the end of the booth. He has a beer, mostly untouched, but something to patronize the establishment while he occupies a table. If it were rush time, surely there'd be pressure for him to share the space, but not yet! He didn't say where K'zin was having a drink, but apparently Teris is willing to look for him in the most obvious of places before coming back to the bronze to demand more information. Iskiveth drops her rider off near the patio ledge, mantling her wings in a deliberate display to let people gawk at the now foreign gold while Teris ascends the stairs. When she doesn't find the particular face she's looking for on the patio, she moves inside. It doesn't take her long to find K'zin after that and she shows up to stand at the end of his booth's table. "I need help." She probably meant 'hello.' But look, Rasavyth can make it better; he knows her weakness. « Should you like to go flaming while you visit? » He doesn't mean her flaming, of course, but him, for her. (To Iskiveth from Rasavyth) The fact that K'zin looks genuinely surprised when Teris shows up at the end of his booth means that Rasavyth did not, apparently, deign to tell his rider that the Telgari goldrider was looking for him. "Teris?" almost as if his eyes were playing tricks on him, as if the goldrider couldn't possibly be here, in 'Reaches, where Iskiveth was shelled. "Hi." He meant 'hi.' His brows crinkle in confusion, but a moment later, there's some kind of manners kicking in and he gestures to invite her to join him, hurriedly moving to roll up the pages and tie them with the leather cords there for that purpose. To Rasavyth, Iskiveth wants to be angry with Rasavyth because she vastly prefers minions who answer her questions when she asks them over ones who talk in circles and press her buttons. But... fire. She doesn't hide her enthusiasm very well when she says, « I suppose I would like that, yes. » It means she'll have to leave her audience, but fire is more fun, so Iskiveth is back in the air with a terrible bugle. To local dragons, Rasavyth's amusement is obvious enough as the queen angles toward his ledge and he stretches upon it. His tenor purr of welcome is audible though the rest kept from the interested minds of the Weyr. Shortly, the aristocratic bronze is taking flight from his ledge and circling high in the sky before blinking between, riderless, to appear -- well, who knows. Elsewhere, anyway. Sitting isn't what Teris wants, but since he's clearing space for her, she'll perch on the edge of the booth's seat on the other side of the table. She looks anxious and tired, somewhat gaunt, even. "You know I wouldn't come if it wasn't important, K'zin. But I can't get it anywhere right now and I really need it." She expects him to know precisely what she's talking about. "Do you have any?" To K'zin, Rasavyth isn't surprised. How could he be? What other reason would Teris have for finding him. « No. » Flat. It's not difficult for Rasavyth to take up the small satchel of firestone kept with his things for practice. Not difficult in the least to launch from his ledge with it between his claws and to give the gold an image of a plateau just outside the Weyr or to blink there himself and land. It's not neat, but it's not difficult to slice open the sack and chew the stone and think of his other stomach. They've only done it a hundred thousand times in their five turns together. So Rasavyth shall pass the time delighting Iskiveth with his flame, directed at the unsuspecting budding greenery. (To Iskiveth from Rasavyth) To High Reaches dragons, Iskiveth is enjoying making a display of mantled wings and snapping jaws for the people enjoying their time on the patio where she drops off her rider. It won't distract her from returning her sire's greeting with a smoky, « Cadejoth. » What does distract her is Rasavyth's flight. The small, pointy queen is back in the air as soon as the bronze disappears. « We flame! » is her excuse for abandoning the Weyr again before she's following him between. "I'm surprised to see you." K'zin will confirm, because she wouldn't come if... He's quiet a moment and then reaches for his mostly untouched beer, sipping it. "I don't." Then, of course, "But I can get it." Can't he always? If he wants to? How dare he. « I said no. » The purr this time is harder, dangerous. (Rasavyth to K'zin) « This isn't your choice. » Simple. Direct. Defiant. (K'zin to Rasavyth) Low-lying static from Vrianth. Vrianth, who does not get to flame, not just now. (To High Reaches dragons from Vrianth) To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth's cautious in his observation of Iskiveth - her snapping jaws, seen from above, and that abrupt return to flight. Perhaps he's relieved to see her go again; perhaps not. Still; there's a rattle and a clank, and some hint of pride. Daughter. Still part of his whole; his pack. Peripherally. To Rasavyth, Iskiveth has tried to flame before. But it wasn't pleasant. No doubt Teris reminds her of it often enough that she can never forget how awful it was. But that just means she has to enjoy the displays that she gets. And she is very much enjoying Rasavyth's private show just for her. Especially when she decides to try ripping some younger foliage out of the ground so she can drop it and for him to try flaming midair. A dark tail hanging from a small ledge high up above the hatching caverns twitches, and Zmeyth, not bothering to interrogate the gold himself, reaches out to his sire with smoky fingers. « Ours? » (To High Reaches dragons from Zmeyth) Of course Teris interprets this 'can' as will. She seems relieved in only the way a strung out addict can seem relieved. "I knew I could count on you, K'zin. What do you want for it? I could share, if you wanted. It would be nice." To Iskiveth, Rasavyth excels in some dragonly areas more than others. Betweening, for example, is what he's best at, but flaming wasn't one of his best things... until he had hours and hours of practice for Iskiveth's entertainment back at Telgar, complete with her particular brand of constant constructive criticism. So now when she drops the saplings, he gets it more often than he misses. Improvement, but not perfection. A pause, from the weyrleader dragon. « Part of us, » he suggests, instead. « Part of our greater whole. » Philosophy is not his strong point, but there's an illustration, nonetheless: a web mesh, with tendrils extending far out over the planet. Iskiveth belongs; so does Honshu's Rielsath. Even - and perhaps with some reluctance - Ierne's Iovniath. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) Only 'can' isn't 'will,' judging by the way that K'zin is sitting back and giving her a considering look. "For old time's sake," he intones as if it's not nice at all. "Are you sure it's a good idea, Teris?" Because it's totally the bronzerider's place to question what's good for the foreign goldrider. "Maybe getting off it would be better." He suggests quietly. « Great. » Zmeyth gets the picture - misses the picture? « You can introduce us. » (To High Reaches dragons from Zmeyth) To Rasavyth, Iskiveth is not exactly the sort of dragon anyone would want in charge of anything. For all Rasavyth gets most of them, it's the ones he doesn't manage that the gold seems to notice more. Which isn't to say that she's not enjoying herself. She just doesn't seem to care if the bronze is doing the same. But that's pretty much business as usual for Iskiveth. Intruder? Not intruder? Though Iskiveth's Cadejoth's daughter, she certain hasn't been part of 'Reaches in long enough to satisfy the security-aware blue. Ms. 'Snappy' out there gets a thorough eyeballing while the dragon's genial baritone rumbles an apparently blithe greeting. (To High Reaches dragons from Ilicaeth) Teris is confused by K'zin's words since she was pretty set on the will. She frowns, eyeing him like she's not sure what's going on. "I'll decide what's a good idea for me, bronzerider. And I'll decide when I think it's time to get off of it." Probably never, admittedly. "I'll give you whatever money you need for it." "I don't need money." That should come as no surprise to Teris. K'zin has never needed money. "And I'm not going to get you any." It's simple enough. The bronzerider even drains his beer and shifts toward the edge of the booth. Teris stares at the bronzerider for a long few moments, brows furrowed deeply. He was just telling her he could get it and now he's telling her he won't? "What do you mean you're not going to? That's not acceptable, K'zin. I need it. You know how it feels. You have to help me." K'zin stops at the end of the booth, standing now, leaning in to reach for his papers with a long-suffering sigh. "I know exactly how it feels. How it felt then, how it feels now." Then a snap to temper, "Don't you think I want to?" Won't he always want to? "But I can't, Teris. I just can't." He straightens. "I'm sorry," because that helps right? « Good. » Rasavyth is approving of K'zin's choice, even if it still chafes that his K'zin defied him, however momentary. The thought is fleeting: Solith's Telavi would be proud. (Rasavyth to K'zin) Introduce them? The thought seems to amuse Cadejoth, who doesn't stir from his post; who doesn't reply. (To High Reaches dragons from Cadejoth) To High Reaches dragons, Iskiveth is busy with fire now. Please leave a message with Cadejoth, comes the sentiment to all who care to hear it. He can tell her all the unimportant things she's not missing when she's done watching the world burn. "No. You are going to help me." Teris is shifting out of the booth so she can look down at him with narrowed eyes, which is a feat considering she's considerably shorter than he is. "I got your boyfriend his knot. And I will have it taken from him." If he doesn't help her, presumably. That arrests K'zin in his tracks away from the table. He turns back toward the Telgari goldrider. His look isn't quite a glare but it's not really all that friendly either. His consideration isn't short. « Don't! » Rasavyth's anger hisses to life as K'zin wavers in his resolve. « You won't. » He tries. (Rasavyth to K'zin) « Can I not? » T'volt. K'zin's heart aches. (K'zin to Rasavyth) « He doesn't matter. » This cold, cruel judgment borders on painful as it bores into the bronzerider, then seeps back and way when Rasavyth feels his K'zin give in. Then that cold, cruel judgment and that hissing anger is turned on another target, though she may never know it. She'll always be a threat. (Rasavyth to K'zin) Then, finally. "Fine. I should never have asked to begin with. He'd've gotten it on his own in time." And now K'zin's fucked it all up, hasn't he? But that's still a no for Teris and her thirst. Frustration that borders on anger hisses to life from an unlikely source. Rasavyth just missed that sapling that Iskiveth dropped for him to flame. He shouldn't be so angry, but he is, and the whole Weyr can know it, however briefly, before the wall goes up. (To High Reaches dragons from Rasavyth) Hraedhyth's drums thunder even louder now, impossible to miss and obviously a territorial display-- as much as her bulk sitting on the rim of the Weyr is. But fire, especially in fun, is something the gold can and does find joy in. Her own flame burns hot, crackling with encouragement and fiendish laughter from her ominous ranks as she encourages the dragons as they leave. Go on, you crazy pups! (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) Teris' anger is palpable. She's so angry she doesn't even know what to do for a few moments. But this isn't the anger of a rational person. This is the desperation of an unwell woman who doesn't think she has anywhere else to turn. "He'll never have anything again," she doesn't quite scream at the bronzerider before she's turning to storm her way out toward the patio. Static. The rangy green prowls, silent. (To High Reaches dragons from Vrianth) Lack of spoken answer from Cadejoth is sufficient enough for the brown. Zmeyth'll wait his turn. He returns to quietly observing from his niche in the Weyr wall, unobtrusive. (To High Reaches dragons from Zmeyth) Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. K'zin probably can't help himself. What can he say that would make any of this better? "Teris," it's pleading, like a scorned lover. He doesn't seem to know what else to say beyond that as he trails the obviously pissed Telgari goldrider. "You need help, Teris." That'll make it better, right? Out on the patio, Quinlys has her feet up on the seat, a glass on the table in front of her. She's off-duty, plainly, and probably out here to avoid inconvenient weyrlings-and-others; lost in her thoughts she may be, but raised and pleading voices do rather draw her attention, blue eyes narrowing in upon the gold- and bronzerider pair. To High Reaches dragons, Iskiveth isn't angry, exactly. Not like the brief glimpse into Rasavyth. But she's frustrated. With the bronze, with her rider, with his rider. « If yours is going to fight, make him do it properly. » Whatever that means. « Teris needs me. » The rush of air fans her temperamental fire as she rises higher into the sky, preparing to return to High Reaches for her rider. Talk of Teris' arrival moves slower than dragon gossip, the only kind Azaylia is vaguely aware of. By the time Azaylia arrives to the Snowasis, however, the visiting goldrider and K'zin are heading out to the patio. High Reaches' Weyrwoman wears a faint look of concern when she catches a few plaintive notes from the bronzerider. Oh dear. Rather than interrupt right away, she slows her steps, not to be sly, but waiting for an appropriate time to introduce herself. Teris storms a path toward the bowl with K'zin on her heels. His words, though, make her stop and round back on him with her hands lifted up to shove at his chest. Her voice breaks as she yells back at him, "I was asking you to help me. But you won't!" As Iskiveth makes the choice to return, Hraedhyth draws back up onto her haunches from where she was laying. She would do nothing to keep a dragon from her rider, but it's obvious her drums pick up with faint agitation at the thought. Though born of 'Reaches the senior queen 'knows' she's from Telgar. Beneath her drums there are hushed growls and murmurs, smoke curling with curiosity. A fight? (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) « Of course, » the 'Reaches bronze is ever obliging of the foreign queen. Whatever anger there was seem to have fled away from Rasavyth with the falling of the unscorched sapling. His wings lift, he flies higher. If she is not here on this plateau, there's no reason he ought to stay either. Home, they'll go. His home. Once hers. His oozy charm is all that meets his Weyrleader's bronze. They're just coming home. Teris needs her! (To High Reaches dragons from Rasavyth) To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth waits, then. Settles back, the pair of dragons yet to arrive, but bound to be within his sight any moment. That eyes are on them can't be unknown to K'zin, but he's busy being shoved, albeit by Teris, so he doesn't do more than obligingly rock back on his heels when it happens. "Teris," because saying her name pleadingly is going to work the second time even if it had no effect on her the first time. "I can't." He's said it before and he'll say it again. "Come to the infirmary," he tries, "Maybe someone there can help you." Quinlys' attention is caught by Teris and K'zin, yes, but she's eyes - draconic eyes - in the bowl, and Azaylia's presence does not go unnoticed. The bluerider rises, feet drawn back to the ground as her glass is set down. "K'zin?" she ventures. And, "Teris? Is everything--?" It's twilight, but the glows are out; she can see well enough. The shove prompts Azaylia to cross the distance between her and the pair, but it's 'infirmary' that has her eyes flicking to Teris. Manners and duties are forgone as she frowns, "You're not hurt, are you? Did something happen?" Though she glances at K'zin when she asks, there's no accusation in her gaze. Just concern. Minara comes out to the patio from the direction of the Snowasis, drink in hand. Her footsteps slow to a stop as she takes in the scene, questioning looks given the riders. Min moves again, but slowly, heading toward one of the tables at the edge, though not sitting just yet. Everything is fine. Except for the parts that aren't. The only response from Iskiveth to her sire, to the Weyr at large, though, is a blast of searing, agitated heat. Her rider is upset, she's upset. It's time to go home. The small queen's heat subsides when she blinks between. But it doesn't come back. Iskiveth never reappears above High Reaches. Iskiveth never appears anywhere. Her flame has been extinguished in the unforgiving cold of between. (To High Reaches dragons from Iskiveth) To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth is one of the first to react; to note, first, the way that heat subsides, and then, so quickly, the abrupt realisation... she's gone. « ISKIVETH! » No. Nononononono. It's only the usual number heartbeats before Rasavyth appears in the familiar sky above the bowl. When he does, she isn't anywhere. There's a flash of confusion before he's burying it, along with everything else save for the keening. The keening that comes for Iskiveth. The keening that must be happening right now, at Telgar. The keening for the gold that was once, of Reaches. (To High Reaches dragons from Rasavyth) Hraedhyth may not have been pleased by Iskiveth's presence, but it's nothing compared to the sudden longing for that agitation once those rival flames are snuffed out. « Iskiveth. » Her fire roars, the queen launching into the air where the older gold should have arrived. Searching. She narrowly misses Rasavyth, spinning in the air to avoid a collision, « Iskiveth! » An order. A demand. And then, as she falls to find Cadejoth, a savage keen is ripped from her throat. (To High Reaches dragons from Hraedhyth) Vrianth may not be flaming, but she very much can... and some flames should never be put out. She keens, clear and cold between every ragged reach for breath. (To High Reaches dragons from Vrianth) "I don't want to go the infirmary. I want to go home," says the goldrider from Telgar, distracted only briefly by her name coming from Quinlys, by Azaylia's presence. And then by something else. Teris goes still. She even stops breathing. It takes a few moments for it to sink in before she's sucking in a breath and whispering, "Iskiveth." But it doesn't stay a whisper for very long. "ISKIVETH," screams Teris as she fights with legs that are trying to give out so she can run toward the stairs, toward the bowl. "ISKIVETH!" Screaming at the sky will surely bring her back. Zmeyth has been quiet - perhaps mulling over that impending, or lack of, introduction - but the disappearance of Iskiveth rips a keen from the brown like he would mourn any other dragon he knows, like he mourned Iesaryth months before. He does stay on his ledge, preferring to wallow in his own sadness than join the open-air search of the gold. (To High Reaches dragons from Zmeyth) Does K'zin react faster than he should? It must just be good reflexes as he reaches for Teris and her not quite wholly buckling knees. Strong arms catch her up even as his wide eyes move fleetingly across Azaylia to Quinlys. The keening says before he can that everything is far from alright. His look at Quinlys begs without words, what should he do? A ragged breath later all he can manage is a half-choked, "She's gone, Teris. Teris, she's gone." Quinlys' own knees threaten to buckle as that keen rises up through the Weyr; is there anything worse that a rider could possibly imagine? She struggles to stay on her feet, though, and to hurry forward, to reach the group of riders she'd been, thus far, staying back from. "Infirmary," she suggests, though it's dubious; her gaze is already sliding to her own dragon, and surely she can't imagine-- "They'll know what to do," is an attempt at certainty. To High Reaches dragons, Cadejoth, high up on the rim, waits for Hraedhyth to join him. He mourns; his keen is long and deep and heartwrenching. His daughter is gone. (Another of his daughters.) Azaylia's breath catches in her throat, but not before a strangled sound can leave, one that has her hands slapping over her mouth. She looks to the skies, reassured by her own gold's bulky physique as it barrels toward the rim. "I..." Quinlys has the right of it, and the goldrider nods, trying to escort the now dragonless woman. "They'll have fellis. And just..." What can she possibly say? Nothing. But she's there, as hands on as her own strength needs to be should K'zin's muscles falter. Minara jumps as everything in the riders' area goes haywire. Min's face goes blank one moment, then shocked the next. Cue an exit back into the Snowasis, drink left somewhere along the way to do whatever it is non-riders do in a situation like this. "No!" Teris doesn't want to accept what's happened. What dragonrider would? "No," she says again, this time more pleading, more like a sob. "She can't be gone. You have to find her. Somebody has to find her! Please!" But it won't be Teris with the way she's sinking against the bronzerider, body giving up at being self sufficient in any way as far as standing goes. She's so outside of herself that she doesn't even hear what Azaylia says. "No!" K'zin's own blurt is a practical echo of Teris, but it's to Azaylia when she makes the suggestion of fellis, his cheeks darkening in a dusky flush. But whatever he means by that will have to wait because he has to focus on the goldrider collapsing into him. He shifts so he can sweep her into the cradle of his arms, keeping her gently against his chest. "You'll come?" He asks pleadingly of Quinlys though he almost certainly means Azaylia too. It sounds much like a plea that he should not have to be alone with this. He looks a little numb, but each step toward the infirmary is steady enough and taken in grim silence. Quinlys will leave the actual physical moving to the two taller riders, but K'zin's desperate plea prompts an immediate nod. She'll even lead the way, clearing the path of the confused and the gawking. Teris' cry is expected, but it's K'zin's that has Azaylia's steps faltering. She recovers quickly enough, although there's a stern set in her brow, "If she needs it, yes." He might catch her hushed whimper of, "Better than a knife." But she's there at the bronzerider's side, a hand on the back of his upper arm as Quinlys clears the way. Her gaze flicks between watching where they're going and the once goldrider in K'zin's arms. Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr Two sets of double doors, one from the the inner caverns and a recently built set from the dragon infirmary, lead into the unnaturally hushed human infirmary. Despite fastidious cleaning, the scent of redwort and numbweed has long since soaked into every smooth-carved surface, along with other, subtler medicinal smells. Pristinely made cots are lined up against the walls; most of them are left open to view, but some in the back are surrounded by curtains for delicate procedures or critical patients. About halfway between the two entrances is the counter for the healers on duty; it guards the entrance to the storage rooms just beyond, their shelves and cabinets lined with meticulously labeled bottles, boxes, jars, and even vats of supplies. The Weyrhealer's office is also here, along with another side room for mixing up medicines and the like. They can't be unexpected. Twilight is settling on the Weyr still, and the keens no longer echo, but it would only take one rider in the vicinity to know what spreads through the Weyr like wildfire: Iskiveth gone, and Teris lingering. Quinlys leads the way, followed by K'zin carrying the Telgari goldrider and Azaylia spotting him lest his own knees give out, and by the time they get to the infirmary, despite the former smith's strength, they seem like they just might. He must wish to go to his own dragon in the bowl, but instead, he's here. To say they are expecting the Telgari goldrider is an understatement. High Reaches' interim infirmary leader is standing near the entrance, thumbing through paperwork with a calm-and-collected look him. Another Journeyman stands at his elbow, clearly fretting, and worse off is the apprentice standing on his other side, wiping her sweaty palms over and over again on the front of her apron. Miska looks up when the dragonriders appear and gestures for them to follow, past the seats for those waiting to be seen, past the curtained off cots for the regular patients, and directly to the hallway with its private rooms that the blonde healer much prefers to wide-open care. He doesn't appear to have any sympathy for the beleaguered bronzerider or any of his followers, though both Weyrlingmaster and Weyrwoman get deep nods of appreciation for their part in things. Quinlys may be the first to arrive, but she's also the first to step back out of the way; "Look after her," she instructs Miska, gaze flicking from him to the other healers, then towards Azaylia and K'zin. "I need to check on the weyrlings." And perhaps there's such a thing as too many cooks. "Look-- after her. Just--- just that." That's when she backs away; that's when she hurries off before she can say anything else. She might even be crying. In K'zin's arms, Teris is conscious, presumably, but silent. She's pale and unresponsive, looking very much like she's in shock even though nothing, physically, has happened to her. Probably just her brain's way of coping right now. Enjoy the calm while it lasts, healers. It's best to stand back and let the healers do what they can, and to demand otherwise would be an insult to the staff. As Quinlys turns to leave, "Have Olveraeth let Hraedhyth know, if... if we're needed." If it's too much for the weyrlings. Miska is given a rushed nod of return, and it's now that the Weyrwoman begins to fidget. She can't do anything. "Teris..." She may not know the woman that well, but she plans on staying through it all. K'zin follows where he is led, despite an almost desperate look back at Quinlys. Otherwise his expression largely blank, if occasionally betraying worry and pain. He follows her and he's careful when he deposits Teris on the bed in the private room, taking a knee beside it as though, perhaps, he needs a moment to gather himself before he can safely find his own feet. In that moment his deep brown eyes find Azaylia, and there is guilt. Then he's putting his forehead down against the edge of the mattress and he waits. He probably couldn't say for what, but he waits. Once they're shuffled into the room and the Weyrlingmaster takes her leave, someone closes the door with a silent 'snick' sound. Miska's apprentice immediately goes to the sideboards and starts moving things around, a touch loudly. That leaves the two journeymen to stare, unmoving, at the bronzerider's antics at the bedside and the Weyrwoman's anxious fidgeting. They don't appear to be amused, but neither do they seem to have much patience for sentiment. It's Miska who breaks the silence first. "We appreciate your resolve," he pauses for emphasis, "but she needs to rest." And that's where he leaves it, looking to each of the two remaining dragonriders in turn. Teris doesn't protest being put down. It's hard to tell if she even notices until she starts to wrap her arms around herself. If she could curl into a proper ball, though, she probably would. She tries what she can, back to K'zin. "Fellis," is the only word she finally says. If ever there was a time for it, it's right now. Azaylia holds K'zin's gaze, confusion visible behind the sheen of unshed tears. She's there, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving a tight squeeze, looking toward Teris' prone figure. She remains silent until Miska speaks, recovering from her surprise to utter quietly, "How are we disturbing her rest?" There's a glance for that noisy apprentice, broad shoulders tense as she makes no move to leave. Teris snaps her out of her protective lean, her demand rather expected from the goldrider. There's an expectant look toward Miska, though silent. She won't be disruptive, but the Weyrwoman isn't going anywhere. If ever there were a time... K'zin looks torn as he looks up again. He takes a breath and says-- nothing. He leans his forehead back on the bed. Apparently, he's not leaving just yet either. A lid to a jar rattles in the silence following the Weyrwoman's question, and the second journeyman shifts uncomfortably, folding his arms. Miska's mouth tightens just slightly, a change that is likely to go unnoticed. He lifts his gaze from the kneeling dragonrider and the goldrider squeezing his shoulder, in favor of setting the weight of his unfazed green eyes on Teris. "By all means, if you feel the need to spend time with her, you are welcome." The apprentice's hands still, wide blue eyes flying to the blonde healer. Something of import seems to pass between the three of them - the healers - just before Miska grants the Weyrwoman a small smile. "But we cannot do our jobs until you leave." Just seems to be an admission that they cannot - will not? - help ease any of the goldrider's pain until the room of cleared of unnecessary personnel. The healer can stare at Teris all he likes. She's not looking at him. She's not looking at anyone. She's staring at nothing, and it's difficult to tell whether she's actually aware of the conversation going on around her. "Fellis," she repeats. "Please." It's quiet, oddly polite. Very different from the screaming of not so very long ago. "Why can't you?" Now Azaylia leaves K'zin, pulling away to approach the healers with a confused gaze that is swiftly hardening at the sight of Miska's smile. To make her point she shifts, doing what she can to make plenty of room for the journeymen. "Can't you hear her? Do you even care?" Now her hands are curling into fists, stare leveled at Miska. "Teris," K'zin's word is quiet, looking at the foreign goldrider a long moment and then to the healers. "If she needs anything..." Get him. "I'll be outside." He tells the woman, apparently surrendering to the push of those who will help her, his jaw set as he looks at Miska one more considering moment before pushing to his feet and leaving the room. Both healers take the necessary steps to make way for the exiting bronzerider. Miska speaks again, leaving his companion to his silence. "It is hard to see beyond our limited scope, Weyrwoman. I would ask that for the young woman's sake, and that of our political entanglements with Telgar, you let us do what we have to without interruption. There are things of a nature that could," he drops his eyes to Teris, "ruin an already broken woman. I hope you understand." His piece spoken, he stands back and awaits the goldrider's response. Azaylia's fists relax, hackles lowering as she leans back and looks down at Teris with a torn expression. She needs to be here, to protect-- "Right." Her inner heat subdued, she blinks back the threat of tears, "I... yes. Of course. I'm sorry. Just..." She's already lingering, lifting a hand to silence herself. "I want to kept up to date on everything. It doesn't matter what time of day." She backs out of the room, eyes lingering on Teris before she is forced to turn and leave, shutting the door behind her. Three sighs of relief echo in the small space when the Weyrwoman leaves, and three sets of eyes come to rest on the newly dragonless Teris. "It's going to be a long night," Miska murmurs, his earlier indifferent demeanor dissolving. He does not heed the woman's plea for the pain-absolving fellis, but fluffs a pillow that he sets under her head. His apprentice comes forth with a blanket that she tucks around Teris, a worried frown making her looks turns older than she truly is. Both journeyman are watching the former goldrider with tense expression, and both are heedless of the stretching silence until Miska wipes the back of his hand against his mouth. "Keep the first watch. No one comes in this door. I don't care if Telgar's Weyrwoman herself tries to get in. No one comes in here." Then, he leaves Teris to the calm ministrations of his fellow journeyman and the apprentice girl. Whatever they can do to make her comfortable they will, just short of drugging her - she will detox, one way or another.