Logs:Saluth
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| RL Date: 1 February, 2012 |
| Who: Esten, Norov |
| Involves: Fort Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Assigned to elder care, Norov takes a rider with a different sort of problem to see dragonhealer Esten. |
| Where: Infirmary, Fort Weyr |
| When: Day 9, Month 12, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
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| Mid-morning finds most already ensconced in their duties while the living caverns prepare for lunch. Still, there's always klah and that's exactly what remains handy nearby within arm's reach to Esten as he reviews notes. More and more notes, in lieu of having too many dragons to examine. That would be a bad thing, if what he reads is true. Without adding his own notes to an empty pad, finding the information that engrossing. In the midst of reviewing those notes, there's a thump from one of the heretofore empty ground weyrs. Make that, a thump-thump, and then another, too blunt to be a tap. A decrepit rider emerges, his skin lined and blotched with age and his eyes clouded with cataracts, clutching a young man with a candidate's knot with one gnarled hand and, with the other, jabbing his cane against the stone. "She'll see to it, see if she doesn't," he tells the younger man, who replies with a would-be calm, "As you say, sir. As you say." Spotting Esten, the younger man seeks to catch his eye, and direct a sharp nod towards the uncle he's escorting. It was the sound of the cane that caught Esten's attention initially, a lighter gaze lifting from the books and halfway to standing fully by the time both arrive in the entryway. "Good morning. How can I be of assistance today," he remarks, taking in both under an observing eye as he gestures to an empty chair. "Who're you, boy?" quizzes the old rider instead, squinting at the murky shadows in the direction of Esten's voice. "I want to talk to Beaulah!" Beaulah, who worked here three decades ago, unless he not only mixed up the times but mixed her up with someone else. "Sir," Norov repeats, more firmly by now. He doesn't sit either, but takes up a more stable stance, in case the rider starts lurching in one direction or other. He mouths past the old man's shoulder, 'Memory problems,' in a way that hopefully Esten can see. Says the rider, "That's wingsecond to you, boy. I need to take care of Saluth," this last more urgently, and surely real enough. "My name is Esten and I can probably assist with whatever is troubling Saluth." To a degree. That goes unspoken as he looks to Norov in time to catch the mouthed words with the scarcest dip of his chin in return. Message received. "If it's something serious, I can have the Weyrwoman bespeak her for more information." Dragonless and a dragonhealer? Who would have thought! Still, he does fall into some semblance seriousness without amusement as he steps closer to be seen. "I want Beaulah," the rider repeats, but more weakly: maybe it's Esten's apparent self-assurance that causes him to give way. Or maybe it's the mention of the Weyrwoman. "We shouldn't bother her," he mumbles, letting go of Norov's arm to reach out for Esten's face. Perhaps the candidate should stop him, but he's watching with a half-clinical fascination that breaks only with the low, throbbing warble from the ground weyr and the grayed muzzle that's poking through into this inner chamber. "She hasn't been here for quite some time," Esten replies slowly, considering the rider's reaction as he quickly shoots his gaze towards Norov before he waits to see if he they'll step further into the infirmary. "Where is Saluth and what's bothering her?" He may need the Weyrwoman after all or another rider to play as intermediary. "Can't you see her? She's right there," and the elderly rider leaves off reaching towards Esten in favor of clutching Norov's arm again, quick and strong enough in this one motion that Norov mutters something under his breath. "He says her skin is dry," Norov begins, as they make their thumping way across the infirmary and towards the ground weyr, but the rider interrupts partway along. "It's her hide, boy! Her Threadscore. Her stitches just came out," he tells Esten. "Give us a hand." "I can bring what tools I have..." Esten has no other recourse but to signal Norov over with one hand to seemingly assist as he turns to gather what appears to be a pail meant for larger dragons. Or dragons in general. It's only when or if he other lad is able to make his way over that he'll quickly whisper a handful of questions. A quick nod for Esten's signal, and Norov gets the rider all the way to his dragon, whose voice changes to a deeper croon at her rider's touch. Once they're settled, and it looks like the rider won't fall over, he hurries over to help with the pail and whatever else Esten has in mind. His voice is low: "What do you need?" "Tell me why he thinks his green is in threadfall. Any why shouldn't I have the Weyrwoman bespeak his dragon to keep him calm." Asked firmly as he gets the pail for appearances, Esten doesn't pause in handing such things over to the poor lad as he reaches for the case filled with other items. Not to use. But to appear useful. "Doesn't he know that thread hasn't fallen in Turns??" Norov lifts his hand like he's going to tap his head, but then, after a look back at man and dragon, turns it into an awkward scratch of his head and then into accepting the items Esten gives him. "It's his memory," he says in a low voice. "They told me when they sent me off that it's just like back home, we go along with the uncles and aunties as best we can, and that helps them. But is it different after all? Do you need to do something different? I'm assuming that's a dragonhealer's knot, since I don't understand it, but tell me if it's not." The rider, meanwhile, is running his hand along his dragon's neck and just to one side of the long-healed scar there, singing softly to her. For all that his voice too has aged, it's on pitch despite its roughened timbre, and gentle. "Let's see if the dragon is in any pain," Esten suggests, gear slung over one shoulder in a satchel as he gestures for Norov to lead the way. "It's not much different, except there's a large draconic counterpart, I'd say. And we can introduce ourselves to her. For all of not being a rider, they understand me quite well. None have taken the time to nibble, snack or outright bite me," he notes with amusement before something does remind him as an afterthought. "This is a dragonhealer's knot. Trainee, as I said." "Then I'll follow your cue on the introducing," Norov says plainly, for all that his steps don't falter when he approaches the green. Saluth's eyes whirl a little more quickly at their approach, but for all that they aren't as bright as they once were, neither do they show the yellows of distress. Her wings shift, making a little more room for them to approach with the gear. "Forgive me for not being convinced that understanding and... nibbling... necessarily exclude each other. Or perhaps the Weyrleader's dragon simply wanted to spook me, at which I don't mind saying he succeeded." After a second look at Esten's knot, "Have you encountered Bijedth?" Upon getting closer, it's easier for a trained eye to glimpse that the green's hide has gotten somewhat dry in the most difficult-to-reach cracks and crannies, though the rest of her is glossy with care. "I actually meant the Weyrwoman's dragon," comes the reply with droll amusement laced in Esten's voice as he makes his way to the draconic pair. "But I have seen Bijedth from afar and met Elauruth. She's quite nice once you get to know her. I've been told that it wouldn't be a hinderance to have her bespeak any dragon. If necessary, though I'd rather like the direct approach," he says, offering the green a courtious bow in greeting. "Which, is why I'm introducing myself to you Saluth. My name is Esten. Trainee Dragonhealer, but if we need to bring in one of the more senior healers? We can." Speaking more fully after such a bow, he turns to Norov to follow him with a wave of his hand. "What we'll do make sure your hide is in good condition and well oiled. We'll be careful." That, spoken for both dragon and rider alike. "Oh." Norov can laugh at himself, and does, though there's not a little wryness to it. "All right, then." He bows too, since Esten does: "Norov. Candi..." and here's where her rider turns and interrupts, "He's my helper-boy, lass. Come let them see what's what. Trainee, hm? Now, if Beaulah..." Indeed, Saluth sniffs at both young men as her rider keeps talking, though she doesn't come close, waiting instead for her to approach them. She'll stay still for their attentions, and she'll be careful as well, gentle especially around her brittle-boned rider. Norov's an obedient student, just now at least, watching what Esten does and mimicking it... though he does go quiet when one of those senior dragonhealers does show up: coincidence, timing, or called by Saluth? Perhaps, a well placed note. Tucked out of the way in case any of the senior dragonhealers came looking for him, there would be no doubt were Esten was to be found in case of emergency or errand. So when the more seasoned rider appears, there's nothing but a respectful step backwards for the man. Though once the pleasantries are out of the way and an explanation of what had been done so far, the ending is quite likely an observe and assist with ample amounts of oiling where the hide is not touched by attentive care before both are dismissed for other duties. Or.. at least one of them. |
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