Puppet pals {Sakky!!}

While he wasn't injured except for some minor burns on his hands, arms and shoulders, Xiro'el bore a much heavier emotional burden than most of the wounded. At least, he did when it came to the fire. He had told no one, and had dived into the cleanup work with vigour, helping to carry out charred bodies, scrape ash from the walls and dispose of the debris. While he knew that at least some of his friends (namely Sebol) were likely to be working at the same task, he hadn't seen any of them and had made a point of sticking around drudges who either didn't know him or didn't care about his presence.

He had eventually been driven out by some authority or another who noticed his fatigue, and after feeding Tigreath and sending her to nap in the barracks, had headed down to the stables to make sure Rienne was all right after the dragons had torn the troughs out of the place. She'd been fine, though spooked, and to soothe her nerves he had spent a long while grooming the mare before taking her out for a ride. It was amazing how that had calmed him -- his beloved sorrel's rhythmic movements erased at least a little of his guilt before he had to return her to the stables. Having bade her goodnight -- for it was evening by that point -- the cyanweyrling had gone back to the weyrling barracks, checked on Tigreath (who was still sleeping, unaffected by her bonded's turmoil), and Lakeeti (who was set to guarding his side of the room). He'd left again, and repeated the cycle the next day, without sleeping at all. However, this time he had dropped into the infirmary a few times to check on his injured friends, though they had never been awake enough to notice. The great stone cavern was his destination now, too.

Suspecting that the healers would not allow him to bring a hound into the infirmary, Xiro bid farewell to Lacky and set off once more, hopefully for the final time. Most of his friends were fine, as far as he knew -- but there were a select few people he needed to visit in the infirmary, and the trader was not going to neglect seeing them. Plus, he suspected that he'd get kicked out of the kitchens again if he went back to keep working.

Upon entering the infirmary, Xiro was greeted at once by the moans and cries of the wounded. He gritted his teeth, and though he looked around in an effort to identify the injured, he did not know most of them. It didn't help that it was dark enough to make it difficult to tell who was who. The person he was going to visit, though... he already knew where her bed was. It took little time to find her, even in the midst of his exhaustion, and Xiro slowed as he approached her bed, seeing that she was awake and moving. For a moment his courage faltered, and then he made himself continue, right on up until he came to a stop by her bedside and offered her a wan little smile.

"Fel?" The trader hesitated, looking away for a moment to compose his thoughts before returning his gaze to his sister's face, so much paler than his even in the darkness. "It's me. Xiro. Can I stay? I mean, I'll go if you want me to, but..." He raised his shoulders in a shrug that she probably couldn't even see in the darkness. Without the adrenaline of the fire coursing through him, this was a lot harder than dashing up to her had been previously. Funny, what danger did to alleviate awkwardness.

It was a relief not to have Fel immediately begin to rage at him, and though he didn't precisely relax, Xiro'el at least let a little of the tension fade from his body, and offered a small, faint smile to his younger sister. He had expected a chilly reception at best -- maybe a tiny bit of gratitude for his checking on her during the fire, but that was all. The trader most certainly was not anticipating Fel announcing that she had just had a dream about him, and his eyes widened, smile fading in surprise. "You did?" Hopefully she hadn't been stabbing him in her dream or something. The last thing he needed was for her to unexpectedly draw an all-new rage on him.

The grin was encouraging, though, and Xiro allowed himself a smile in return, issuing a soft, barely audible chuckle. "No, no healers here. Just me." She might very well need a healer, though, what with that pained little gasp she gave. The cyanweyrling frowned, and reflexively put out a hand to gently push his sister back against the pillow. "Don't worry, I can look," he rebuked her, but there was no sting in his tone. He had no right to tell her off, not after having abandoned her that day so long ago.

"I'll get a chair," he assured her hastily, and turned away to hide the sheen of emotion that came to his eyes as she heard her words to Dhanuth. Uncertain whether to be happy or suspicious of this too-easy meeting, the trader moved off and returned shortly with a chair, placing it next to Fel's bed and settling in it. Unconsciously, he angled himself to face the rest of the room, just as if he were expecting some sort of danger to appear and threaten his sister. His brotherly, and traderly, instincts had not been lost.

Leaning on the edge of his sister's cot, Xiro'el smiled a little, and gazed into her face, expression unreadable in the moonlight. "Tell me about this dream," he urged, and for a moment it was just like old times -- Fel would wake up after some dream or another, sometimes good, sometimes bad, and he would be awake to listen. The nostalgia hit him like a sack of firestone, and for a moment Xiro wished for nothing more than those days before he'd left the caravan. Things were so simple, then. There had been no betrayal, no hatred -- only his family, and the adventures he had with his little siblings. He'd been their big brother, nothing more and nothing less. How he wished, for just a moment, that it could be that way again.

Seeing Fel happy with him was an alien feeling for Xiro'el. He didn't actually know how to react to it, except for putting on a soft smile and leaning lightly on the edge of her bed. Any harder, and he was irrationally sure he would break her despite the fact that there was no physical contact between them. That, and he'd just pushed her down not two minutes ago and she'd been fine then. Ah, logic. There was no place for it here, apparently -- Fel wasn't angry with him, and that was baffling enough on its own.

"Of course I remember," the cyanrider responded with a light chuckle. How could he forget? He vividly remembered taking almost all the puppets for himself, partly because Fel's hands were tiny and partly because he wanted to be more important. He'd never told her that second part, but recalling it now made him grin. Of course... he also knew exactly where the puppets had gone. Some were hidden in his trunk at this very Weyr, he having concealed them on his person during the grand escape from the caravan.

Naturally, he pretended he had no idea. "Or we could teach the Weyrbrats to make puppets themselves," he suggested chipperly. "They might like to make up their own stories just like we used to. Remember the one I came up with where a dragon kidnapped the little girl and took her to the Weyr? It was such a magical place in that story." Not so in real life, but Xiro didn't mention that, opting instead to grin down at his sister... at least until she mentioned Osro and Kidanyr. Osro. The boy was dead, probably at least partly because of the stolen buckets. The weyrling's smile faltered, but then he returned it to full strength -- a perfect facade, just like the ones he'd used so many times before. A trader indeed, by the very definition the Holders assigned -- crafty, tricky, false. Snake-oil.

But it was necessary. He could not justify hurting Fel by telling her that Osro hadn't survived, but it wasn't purely out of brotherly love that he decided not to tell her. The weyrling did not want his sister to turn on him again so soon -- it was sweet to hold her affection again. How he had missed his little sister when he was out on the road, and even when they had both arrived at the Weyr and she had hated him. It had been so long since they'd spoken kind words to each other... and now here they were, reminiscing over puppet shows. Funny, the way life worked.

"Me? No, I'm fine. I burnt my hands a little but nothing serious." The trader grinned, and held up his hands so that Fel could see the proof if she wanted. The brown skin was slightly discoloured, but nothing more. True, the burns hurt a little, but he was hardly going to tell her that, and he didn't exactly care. "Tigreath is fine. She stayed out of it like I told her to. I don't know what she did, but she's all right. Dhanuth is okay, right? He stayed outside with you, instead of trying to go in or anything?" Not that the black was likely to run off and try to rescue people -- dragons generally weren't -- but it was always a good idea to make sure.