Falls and Friends (Ruin/Sakky/Cath)

He reminded himself that immediately demanding answers wouldn’t help any of the involved members; nor would it earn him any sort of respect from the healers for causing their patient undue stress. Still, those were hard words to swallow into the back of his throat as he stalked into the room—a motion which was due more to his two burdens than an actual maliciousness in his spirit. Of course he thought the man had showed himself as particularly dim, but perhaps there was a reason for it—there sharding well better be. As he moved across the stone floor of the infirmary, one hand lodged over his shoulder by the flank of herdbeast that cascaded down his back, he felt an unfamiliar twinge across his ribs—though the sutures from Xiro’el’s knife accident had come out long ago, his scar tissue was still remembering how to bend with his body.

It didn’t help that his other arm was overflowing from shoulder to fingertips with the object of G’dan’s obsession—one that nearly was his death, and probably nearly that of Prith’s. It was amazing to him that they were taught having relations with one another in a sexual fashion would send their dragonets between, but here the little ones proved themselves capable of enduring something much worse. Certainly the sharing of love was not comparable to agony, darkness, and terror—which Sebolaren had been told Prith expressed in the way she broadcast her mind to any of those dragons she knew. Well; that was in the past now, was it not? As he gained ground on the bed he arched a querying brow at the Greenweyrling; placing the contraption on the end of the bed away from his feet where its tattered wings could stretch into open air. ”I rescued this from a tree, and next time you use it, I expect it to be done from flat ground.”

His tone requested no response for words that bordered on command, and, regardless, before he could properly give his attentions to the man he had to hand off his other present—bloody present. He walked over to that curled Green form and released the long flank from his back as if uncurling a bandage from his body, releasing the meathook imbedded in it once it was on the floor: It had given him grip, and leverage, but was not needed now. With a trademark grin he chuckled jovially, ”and for you, dear guardian, but I cannot claim all of the credit—Tigreath brought him down for me. A lovely young bullock and full of blood—or as much would stay in on my trek over here.”

Bidding her eat with a bob of his head, he turned; meathook bouncing off his empty hand as he meandered his way back to the Greenrider’s bedside. Stormy grey eyes locked on that battered and bandaged face and he sighed softly: Pausing long enough to hook one of the nearby chairs with his feet, he then sprawled into it; hands clasping across his chest after placing the hook safely beneath his seat—gaze never faltering. ”I suppose Xiro’el will be along shortly, once Tigs has finished her own meal, and I asked him to bring oil for Prith; though if he forgets the twins can fetch it easily enough. How are you feeling?” Questions must always start with a firm foundation.

He nodded quietly to those spoken words; of course this was why they’d all been kept away; to allow the man to sleep and give time for his brain to heal against whatever damage it had sustained. Still, healing was well underway, if it wasn’t Delilah would have chased him out already—he was sure. So he did his best to maintain a calm expression even though he was quite tempted to demand answers at the top of his lungs—Shaffit but Gess knew better! He cleared his throat deeply and then leaned forward, his clasped hands stretching as his elbows pressed deeply onto the arms of the chair. ”So,” he began and once started did not stop. ”How is it you came to the idea that tossing your inventions off a shale ledge far from the Weyr was more intelligent an idea than using a weyrledge, staircase, friendly dragon, or—shards, even one of the bridges that reside within the safety of the Bowl?”

He leaned back against the chair with a disgruntled set to his mouth, head shaking slightly. ”Any of us would have gladly helped you, Gess, any of us would’ve rather fallen down that incline than you. I would have been a better choice for this exercise in stupidity; if life has proven anything it’s that I’m expendable in many ways—and not likely to send a dragon between when I dash myself senseless on some rocks. On top of which, what good will you be for these creations of yours when your fingers can no longer piece them together, and you’ve rattled every brilliant thought loose in your head?” His eyes had never left G’dan’s while he spoke, though he didn’t strive to capture them within his gaze—his words would do that; at least they would if the Greenweyrling had sense enough to listen.

”I don’t want you going and thinking I’m saying the idea you had was stupid, personally I find it brilliant: I was the one who nearly died rescuing it from the top of a tree—though why you’d want something that flies on its own when we have dragons is beyond me. I suppose you can give flight to Holderfolk. Regardless, I expect you to continue bringing these ideas you have to life; my only demand is that you don’t remain so closed off from your friends regarding them; and for the love of Faranth let us help you!” He didn’t bother to hide the ironic mirth that seeped into his eyes washing away that concern and gentle reproach; the situation was rather funny—aside from the damage sustained and the very real danger to Prith: Neither of which deserved blatant chiding.

”Your Prith performed admirably, I’m not sure if you’ve been awake enough for any to tell you. She set up a call that echoed across the Weyr: It even managed to touch me in the form of the twins through Xiro’el. She kept her head, and informed the Healers of your wounds bravely, and she never abandoned you to give in to her fear—you two will be the envy of any Wing.” Not only that, but should Thread manage to score them; he had no doubt that they would be a pair prepared—though G’dan had yet to experience the trauma of Prith being wounded, he was certain they would manage admirably.

He watched the man squirm, and really his heart did go out to the Greenrider; there was certainly no malice in his heart, and hopefully Gess would understand that. Still, the words had to be spoken between them; he had been genuinely concerned—worried even—for the Rider’s safety. This habit would not be one which Sebolaren allowed him to grow accustom. He had friends now damnit, he wasn’t slaving away in some Crafthall in competition with everyone else, and what’s more he had dangerous friends: Or at least friends with danger-loving dragons. Certainly any of them would have been better suited for this task.

Considering Prith had not lept across the room to disembowel him like a herdbeast, he assumed that even if his words stung they were understood to be meaningfully affectionate; probably as affectionate as Sebol would manage when such a mixture of absolute concern and confusion. Yet the Greenrider seemed completely willing to explain himself, which pleased Sebol above all else; he wasn’t going to be chased from the room by a protective dragon or summarily ignored by a headstrong Rider. When those eyes finally came to rest within his, he fed them with warmth and strength, and he slipped easily from the chair to the bedside.

Carefully scooping up one of those Smithcraft hands, so close in size to his own, and gave a gentle squeeze; his smile echoing the encouragement and affection he felt for his dear—if somewhat infuriating—friend.

He chuckled softly and nodded, though all at once he became serious again. ”Fine. I will agree that I am not expendable, but only because you know I’m not going to trample your dreams like an overgrown herdbeast.” A smile crooked at the corners of his lips as he tapped the glider that lay across the bed behind him with his fingers. Of course the vehemence of G’dan’s words had caught him off guard, but he appreciated the emotion behind them.

”None of us become what our parents expect, and now you are a Dragonrider. Surrounded by individuals who will rise with you against Thread, and bonded to a creature who loves you more deeply than words can express. I understand, of course, the hard reality of overcoming years of doubt, but all challenges are best met head on. Now you know that there people willing here. Besides; I’ve some marks to burn, and I’ve heard whispers of a Gather in the future.” Of course there had to be a Gather at some point, but he’d use anything to help cheer the Greenrider even a bit.

”We can see you mended, and then we can return to testing your inventions safely, and you never know,” his words trailed in a quiet contemplation as his fingertips again lifted up one large winged side of the glider. ”One day perhaps you’ll make aerial rescues a thing of certainty.” He was right though; many people did not take kindly to change, but the coming moons would show enormous change—Thread would once again fall from the skies. "So why not dream? Even dragon’s wings are more fragile than the thoughts of a man."

Sebol was a good guy, and he’d be very careful with Prith and her mouth—no reason to ruin the delicious food she’d been brought. So he started at her tail first and began his work. For the duration of his task he would be entirely focused on her green hide; he would only hear the Weyrlings speaking as an automatic response to process information around him—everything else was ensuring he missed not a square inch of Prith’s hide in his work. Fork and ever ridged spine, every curve of her tail and rippling muscle; when she helped by coiling it around him he laughed and worked all the harder.

He worked beneath her wings first, her ribs, her legs, her clawed toes, the webbing between. Even the exposed flank and belly as she laid half-cocked to the side like a ship listing in the sea. He would do one half, and then the other half and he would make a project of it as he did with all of Requias’ care. For now, he treated her as if she was his—he could not hear her, but he didn’t need to: Only care for her. When he began work on the underside of her wing membranes she complied by stretching them open; even at a half-grown state her expanse of wing was Impressive. This, for now, was how he amused and entertained himself, and how he helped his recovering friend.