Dragon Infirmary, High Reaches Weyr
The vast cavern has much the same odor of redwort and numbweed as the human infirmary, though here it's seasoned with coppery ichor rather than the iron of blood. It's also laid out similarly though on a much more massive scale, its walls lined with a number of places for patients, in this case large dragon couches recessed into the floor for ease of access; nearby cots provide space for riders. Tucked into the western curve is a huge circulating pool of warm water, by which are kept vats of oil.
The healers' duty station is a counter on the north side of the room, a checkpoint before the storage rooms behind it that are now shared with the human infirmary, hosting supplies that are as neatly labeled and carefully scrubbed as the rest of the infirmary. The senior dragonhealer has an office there as well, and human-sized double doors have recently been built as a direct route to the human infirmary, while opposite a wide winding tunnel leads to the east bowl.
All traditions start off somehow, even if it's just a matter of a weyrling being too literal with his instructions to make sure his wounded dragon gets checked for discomfort come the cooler months. Although Arekoth more or less still resembles the impulsive young dragon he was, H'kon's got enough grey to his beard that, really, he should be over this annual check-up. But traditions are comforting. So the pair enters, Arekoth all but rolling his eyes (so far as dragons can), his rider marching dutifully alongside, only brushing snow off once he's stopped and announced himself with, "When you've finished."
Vrianth, busy turning herself into an olive-colored prune in the heated pool, has watched out for the pair since before they entered. Leova, though, just glances over long enough to pass over a brisk nod. Not that there's much to do: just send a weyrling off with a jar of something-or-other, a weyrling who has big eyes for Arekoth who must look so big compared to his own lifemate, and talk to a fellow who may or may not be balding but certainly has fluffy white eyebrows visible beneath his cap. He's got a question or two more. Leova's patient with him, if more deliberately so than Madilla's natural ease, and it isn't long before she can send him on his way. "How much longer before that's you?" she greets H'kon.
To Vrianth, Arekoth projects « I've heard some fishermen talk about water dragons. We'll have to go back to Tillek and tell them we've seen one. »
H'kon lifts his own, darker eyebrows in response to that, eyes darting after the man, though the brownrider's head does not turn. "Do you not remember? We were weyrlings long ago." There's not even a hint of a smile to go with his words. He does turn to look at Arekoth, who, obligingly, trudges into position, heaving quite the sigh once he's there.
Vrianth keeps regarding him with those intensely colored eyes of hers, right through his... trudging. « Arekoth, » not unamused. Does he limp? She'll see, if he does. They all will. « You would talk to humans, would you. » (To Arekoth from Vrianth)
There's a one-cornered smile from Leova, though. "No," she says. "Reckon you're living life backward, have weyrlinghood left to go." While she's at it, dry, "At least he's not short of breath," or breadth.
To Vrianth, Arekoth doesn't walk as well as he does on the warmer or dryer days. But that's why dragons have wings, isn't it? « Good point. It'd have to be a pretty impressive water dragon for that. But H'kon will do as he's told. » Such bravado is surely like true confidence.
"That is, at times, how it seems," H'kon allows, thoughtfulness making itself comfortable in his voice. "I imagine that weyrlinghood, at least, I'd now be better prepared for." Wry, now, with an appraising look to his dragon, "Hardly."
"If he were, I'd worry," the dragonhealer replies, crossing over to meet Arekoth with only a pause to eye her own dragon along the way. "Show me, hm?" This to Arekoth. Not Vrianth. She is not commenting on Vrianth. "Any diference in achiness, H'kon?"
Arekoth can be dutiful, too. See, how he stretches his long-injured leg forward, spreads his talons, lifts the foot, shifts it in the air (managing at least one snap-crack for his efforts). All this, while he rolls his head away from Leova (who'd at least earned one look) and over to Vrianth. And then at the speck of nothing in the air. Boring. H'kon rubs thoughtfully at his own left wrist, unconsciously. "His comfort varies with the humidity, of course." And there's been some of that of late. "More stiffness some mornings, but that may be age." The dragon snorts, and no doubt also makes a penis joke for H'kon's enjoyment.
That snap-crack makes Leova wince, which only makes Vrianth that much more entertained; the gazing-at-nothingness doesn't hurt in the least, either. The green reclines deeper in the pool, flattening herself out enough to near-submerge. "Of course." No joke anywhere in sight, so far as Leova's concerned. She manipulates the paw if Arekoth will let her, if he'll keep holding it in the air, testing flexibility and range of motion. "Ever thought about helping out with the weyrlings? For a clutch, anyhow."
H'kon just flattens his mouth into that straight line, that's either disapproval, or an attempt to hide amusement. Maybe that's all the Face really is, and really H'kon is a comedic genius. Maybe. Arekoth is almost chivalrous when it comes to letting Leova test his foot, and has even got quite good at holding it up at the shoulder and relaxing the bottom of the leg. "I'm certain Quinlys would welcome our involvement with enthusiasm, after Arekoth's attempts with his own clutch."
"Yes. Well." Flex the paw, flex the talons, check for grit between them... "If she were, would you? Be interested. Or just as glad to stick with your new wing." While he's got it. While she's at it, Leova pats the paw by way of thanks and moves on to examining the second forepaw by way of comparison. « You are so well-behaved, » Vrianth remarks. It might even be a compliment. Might.
Those talons twitch just once when being checked over, a half-snort, marking Arekoth's finding control once again. Maybe that tickled. It's likely more instinct than full-out need that has him shifting more of his weight to his back legs, when it's the more pristine (right) front one that needs lifting. « Miscalculation. I've only just realised I'd have your rider rubbing my feet longer if I moved around more. » Toe twitch, this one deliberate. "Hmm," says H'kon. A moment later, "Perhaps."
"Always appreciate how you like to commit," Leova says dryly, even as she taps down each talon to check for irregularities. « Only just now? Slow, Arekoth. Slow. » But she does glance at H'kon and, with Tillek in common, asks, "Any news from home?"
"I have given some thought to," a thumb and finger reach up to rub at either side of his jaw, along the stubble there, "similar roles. Would you prefer a decision made without reflection?" Mention of home finds H'kon crossing his arms over his chest. "Still no sea dragons." More interested, "And you?" Arekoth turns his neck for a better attempt at Vrianth-watching. « Wouldn't want to take away your time. I'm sure she'd much rather be painting your toes or something, than prodding mine. »
Painting. Her toes. Dubiousness wafts from Vrianth. « What color would you like your toes painted. » His. "Would prefer it not sound like 'might just be saying it to get you to shut up,'" Leova says mildly. Her pool-dragon blows a stream of water in an arch like a fountain, and here she is, still not looking. She's checking Arekoth's hamstrings now, searching for tightness, close to done. "Nothing new out of Tillek," very slight emphasis on that last. "Then again. Winter. Who's going to be doing much of anything."
Some tightness, and more so on the injured side. Arekoth, at least, does not seem overly perturbed, though his wings shift and his tail twitches. Almost done. "I'd not meant it to sound that way," is as near to apology as H'kon comes. He doesn't reiterate. He does lift his chin faintly, nod, and watch the dragonhealer carefully when asking, "And what of this home?"
"Noted." Leova doesn't look up at that, doesn't when she mentions, "Could do some more stretching. Reckon that'd help him." Does when she looks back at H'kon at that other question, amber eyes quick, thoughtful, steady. "Not new here either," she says. "Easier'n some Turns. Though... restless." There's a slight pause. "You?"
"I will see to it," is said with all that deep seriousness that means, no really, H'kon will see to it. Probably daily, starting immediately. "Hm," hides behind a set face, quite unreadable. H'kon turns his own eyes pointedly to his dragon's limbs. And that dragon, after long inspection of Vrianth: « Are you offering to do them? » "Different," decides the rider at length.
"Different." Leova. « No. » Vrianth. Though hers has a flicker of electricity to go with it.
"Do you not find?" H'kon lifts his head, but not for looking at Leova. Maybe he's pointing his ear more squarely at her. Arekoth stretches. « Pity. I'm sure you've got all sorts of skills. »
Laughter from Vrianth, a flow of current below the visible spectrum, and she gives the image of his stretching right back to him. « Do you have other skills? Arekoth. » Leova: "Generally they are. Different. Specifics would help."
« All sorts, » Arekoth promises the green. Agrees. "You seemed to be questioning it." H'kon, a bit more aloof in voice, though he looks squarely at Leova with those words. "Perhaps it is simply my own situation... Yours has been more stable."
« All sorts. » He might tell her more, if he dares. Or not. The flick of her long tail splashes, lightly. "Mm." Leova shakes her head, abruptly. "More: it's always different. Question is, how much, in what ways. What does it take to matter." Which doesn't dispute that their situations are different from each other, too.
"If it matters, what does it then require," H'kon muses, and still offers up nothing in the way of specifics. "It's a thing few can agree on." Arekoth might dare. Although at the time, he looks more to be sizing up that pool.
The pool just sits there, minus the odd possibly-suspicious ripple, encircling the rangy green: large, though not as large as the hot springs further from the Weyr. Deep, but not as deep either. It's unlikely to have fish. "Don't know about that." But Leova steps back, then. Says, "Along with the stretches: if his liniment isn't doing enough, we can change that up too. Don't have as much in the way of resources just now, but we do what we can."
Arekoth's wingtips give a little shiver, and he moves to be closer to that pool. Closer, not crawling in. Just shuffling about. "No, he does well enough." The offer is turned away with a wave. "You've weyrling dragons now, soon to be more." Save it for others who fail during their weyrlinghood. It seems H'kon should be making ready to go, too. But instead, he asks, "Have you spoken with any of these Nabolese?"
Just coincidence, surely. Vrianth doesn't move much except, perhaps, under the water. Perhaps the way her lean body lowers signifies a crouch. Perhaps she's just warming up further. "They'll go through it, all right." Then, "Some. In passing. Don't expect them to stay."
"Do you expect the hold will sort itself out on its own?" Arekoth stares beneath the surface, and reaches one foot forward, forward, dip.
"Yes." Beat. "Fast or well, that I doubt." Vrianth leans. A ripple rolls towards that paw.
"On that there seems at least to be consensus." Arekoth dips up to his ankle, and breathes at the ripples, watching carefully. "Some think it matters, to no small extent." And now H'kon does take a step after Arekoth, posture that of a man preparing to leave.
The ripples slow beneath the weight of that breath, irregularly so, in one place halted altogether. « When you do that, they warm you less, » Vrianth remarks without sending more. As for Leova, "Why do you tell me this." Simple.
Arekoth keeps on breathing. "Our situations are different. Perhaps those who think as much are limited to mine."
Nor does Vrianth stop. Breathing. "Perhaps it's those that speak as much."
H'kon awards Leova a heavy frown. "A wing is more easily dealt with than a Weyr." He adjusts the jacket on his shoulders. "I appreciate your checking him over."
"And a Hold?" But it might as well be rhetorical. "Glad to do it," Leova says with brief weight. She steps back. "Next time."
"I had thought there was no 'Hold' as a unity, at this time." Arekoth stirs the water in Vrianth's direction, as H'kon takes a few more steps, and finally turns.
With that comes a low, quiet sound not far off from a croon. But as for Leova, "Some'd say that there is. Just don't know what it is, yet."
H'kon pauses, his head tilting off to one side, consideration for her last, perhaps acceptance. And then he's off on his way. Arekoth will join him soon enough, and leave Vrianth to her pruning.
As for Leova, she has work to do. But pruned or unpruned, Vrianth can oversee that too.
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