Once More, With Feeling [Sakky, Rii, Cath]

He was a man content; happy to let the trio do their hunting while he relaxed with Agnith and contemplated, well…everything. Soon to be hatching, and thread to fall; whether Daymar would ever find out that flight lust was real—and if it would be long after they had parted ways as room-mates. All the while his hands stroked that soft pink head that lay in his lap; his face a mixture of stupid and happiness while he remained worry free. Worry free for all of thirty seconds after asking if he had spied a shipfish in the ocean; because that question had been followed by dreaded words—at least when he was partially naked.

It was a compulsive action at this point. He was in the water before he had even known that water was the plan. Twisting away from the Pink he slipped in on the far side; the air driven from his lungs by the sudden change in temperature around his chest cavity. He snorted into the water as he tread it with all four of his limbs. At least he could swim. He was probably going to die due to some freak animal attack—but he could keep his head above water. What would he do if this new person stayed, try to swim his way around the island and wander into the Weyr wrapped in leaves.

Amazing job, Sebol—you’ve done it yet again. Then Delilah answered the question which had only been asked moments before. Gess? The Herder didn’t know whether to laugh or curse; nor could he choose between courage and fear. So he stayed there; his eyes throwing querying daggers at Xiro’el in the hopes that the man might have some greater plan than he—hopefully one that wouldn’t result in him losing a friend, teacher, and future fellow Dragonrider.

He hadn’t expected Agnith to fall in with him and his large powerful arms were trying to bring her back to the surface and to the rock with a grim determination that never wavered even when he felt her claws slashing across his arms and torso. Coldcoldcold the words pounded against him painfully, those words were even more painful than her claws—driving him to a greater effort. Almost, almost he was certain that he could have the Pink back on dry land—but then Tigreath arrived; driving Delilah before her in sprays of water that left both two-legger’s sputtering.

He found himself grateful for his constant distraction of swimming—moreso that he did it within the depths of night; the fact that he was in the ocean left his mind when he saw Delilah go under. The world was a mess of wingsails, tails, and claws. And Sebolaren was furious. Every single time he stepped foot outside any building disaster seemed to follow him; and usually involved his tattoos—he was a danger to his friends even when they only meant to relax. He would not lose Delilah or Agnith or any of these wherry-brained dimglows.

TIGREATH, YOU’VE ALLOWED YOUR XIRO’EL TO ESCAPE, HE HAS DISTRACTED YOU

That stream of thought was all his mind shouted at the top of his mental lungs directly at the Cyan filling it with as much excitement, and conspiracy, and danger as he could muster while also half underwater reaching for Delilah—he didn’t even stop to see if it had worked. He reached the Pinkrider just as Agnith realized she could be of great help by nearly drowning the woman again. With an exasperated sigh Sebol pulled Delilah close to him; disregarding the Pink’s tail, and then he drove his back into the dragon’s hind legs. Finding rock beneath his feet he braced himself and pushed upward without a thought that Agnith might gouge his back using him as a stepping-ledge to the rock. The only thing that really mattered was that neither of them was currently drowning.

Slowly chaos became controlled. Tigreath flailed off to whatever ending his words would leave her; and Agnith calmed. The woman in his arms was sputtering out water and it was all he could do to keep her head up between his arms and her Pink’s tail. Scrabble of claws and splashes of water. He helped lever her up and ensured she would not slip as she dragged herself onto the rock. The selfless caregiver she turned immediately to help him, hands fit to brand his tattooed arm—if he had taken the time to recognize what she was doing for the first time.

He dragged himself up onto the rock with help from the Pinkpair, and though his wounds stung of salt and ran his arms and torso red; it was Delilah he focused on. He watched her glance down to where their arms met, but paid that no heed; his large hands moving to her face. He cupped her chin and cheek with one while the other worked to push away the strangling mass of soaked golden locks. “Are you okay? His stormy grey eyes met her deep-water blue; refusing to hear any lie she might speak to cover the absolute mess they had just been in.

At this point the thought of G’dan and Prith were last on his mind, and he tried to give Delilah a token grin. “We can dry off on shore; once you’re ready I’ll help you there.”

“Delilah,” he spoke her name gently, and then again. Her eyes were roving around like a mad-touched beast, and she seemed to be thinking on several trailing thoughts at one time. “Delilah,” he tried again, his voice firmer. His eyes didn’t even move from her face when Tigreath screamed—wasn’t that a sound he’d grown accustomed to? She, on the other hand, looked as if she’d lost her own Agnith between the fear and anguish were potent. “Shards, woman,” he growled at her and shook her slight frame firmly; yet reining in his worry enough to do so far more gently than he would a grown man or someone far more gone than she.

“We’re all fine here, now. These cuts are superficial; the swim to shore will clean them thoroughly and you can tend to them there, but it won’t do us a lick of good you trying to care for me on this rock when we still have to cross this water.” He gave her a bright smile, far more cheerful than he felt inside; but confident enough for the both of them. “I can carry you; all will be well; I promise.”

He meant it. Regardless of the fact that G’dan would see him working his way across the rocks like some effigy of the red star; what with his various bloody scratches and somewhat deeper cuts—but the man would also see the inky black markings on his shoulder. For the first time. Then there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was a catalyst: Thought typically rarely good as it would seem. With that thought; Green Prith settled beside them and Sebol damn near threw up his hands. Women.

When his shaking was met with a spark of fire Sebolaren had to contain the brilliant smile that wanted to split his face. So this woman did have a potent power in her; deep inside—something that would drag her out of the crippling inability to process stressful situations and leave her angry and ready to work. Fantastic. Wonderful. Yet not at all constructive. She started off strong, with her anger warning him to never touch her in such a way again: To which he simply replied, “I am sorry, Delilah,”—and then she threw it all out with her worry about his blood tainting the water.

For all of his nervousness with the depths; his blood drawing beasts wasn’t a concern. What was a concern was getting the woman to shore—them both to shore; where everything could be so much simpler. Not only was she worried about him drawing some preyfish; but she also was declining any help from him and seeming entirely stubbourn. He refused any words and simply went back to watching everything else; Tigreath—completely oblivious—was cavorting about madly alternating between wild cries and acting like a sea monster herself—only to wildly cry more.

His thoughts returned to Delilah as she began ripping what could only be her own dry tunic—delivered by Prith. He stood stock still in front of her and waited; withholding the dramatic sigh that wanted to issue from his throat. Women. Even worse a Healer Woman. What a disaster. She began worrying at his cuts with that torn cloth and he tightened his jaw, eyes pointing toward shore where he happened to catch Agnith—in flight? With his tunic. And now crashing. Into the water. With his tunic.

His mouth flattened. Women. “That was well dusted, wasn’t it.” Then, with no preamble, he picked Delilah up and laid her across his tattooed shoulder before sliding off the side of the rock facing the shore. Which he immediately set out to reach. Ignoring her indignant shouts of rage he swam powerfully until his feet touched ground ; from there simply striding toward the pair on the beach, blood dripping from him more profusely for the water. Upon reaching his one and only destination—dry ground—he placed Delilah on her feet. Waiting for the axe to fall in so many ways.