Stone Cold Killers [Claire]

This is a bad idea, Mine.

J'en ignored the reproachful comment from his bonded, choosing to concentrate instead on the presently rather challenging task of staying upright. It was far more difficult than it should have been. The burns weren't the problem, really; they were superficial for the most part, and healing as well as could be expected. The shoulder was back in and down to a dull ache, and the constant splitting headache had eased off. The ribs were...getting there. It wasn't as though he'd never broken a rib before, although the racking cough from the smoke provided a new and unpleasant dimension to the experience. But it was bearable. Better at least than when he'd first woken and been aware of nothing but pain. The sharding great hole in his side, however, insisted on causing problems. Faranth, he hadn't even known how much he used those muscles. Every sharding movement hurt.

He could still feel Nim's disapproval at the back of his mind. She chose not to comment, knowing he wouldn't listen. In any case, she could have stopped him if she'd really been of a mind to. But she knew perfectly well how crazy being trapped in the infirmary was making him. Being injured was bad enough without being trapped as well. He hated sitting around idly even when he was healthy and whole; when he was injured it became nothing short of torture. He needed to be up and moving around. No matter how much it hurt, anything was better than sitting aimlessly around. At least when he was on his feet there was something to distract him from the pain.

And no more sharding numbweed and fellis and healers fussing over him either. He hated the dulling of the mind and senses the analgesics brought, and the less said about being mothered the better. That was what he had Nim for; it was acceptable coming from her. No-one else got away with it.

Emerging into the weyr bowl, he took a deep, appreciative breath of open air. Of course that quickly turned into a hacking cough, which in turn became a series of choking gasps as he fought to suppress the convulsive breaths aggravating cracked ribs and the still-healing wound in his side. Faranth he hated being this weak. Injury prone though he was, the last time he'd been anything like this badly hurt he'd been seventeen turns old and receiving an object lesson on the perils of bad tempered hatchlings. At least then there had been Nim's newly-acquired presence to distract him, and her stubborn bravery in the face of her own injuries to live up to.

After a while the coughing fit passed, and he rubbed uncomfortably at his raw throat. Sharding fire. Everything between the fire taking hold and waking up in the infirmary later was a complete blank, but he'd certainly amassed an impressive collection of injuries somehow. He was told he'd been close by - and still conscious - when the explosion happened, but even that was a blur. The healers had explained that a head injury could cause memory loss. It was a disconcerting feeling to have to hear about what had happened to him from other people.

He eyed the weyr bowl speculatively, wondering absently how much time he had before it became clear to the healers that he had no intention of returning. Hopefully by then he would already be back in his own weyr and therefore able to reasonably argue that he was in fact resting like he'd been told to. He felt Nim give the mental equivalent of an eyeroll. I could carry you there in moments, she pointed out with a touch of exasperation. She felt Hers' refusal before it had even reached the stage of conscious thought. She was well acquainted with his stubborn streak in matters such as these.

In passing the commotion in the feeding pens caught J'en's eye and he diverted course slightly to get a closer look. Faranth, what in between was that tan playing at? He leaned on the fence surrounding the feeding pen and watched the unfolding scene in utter bemusement. He'd never seen a dragon so comprehensively fail at something so basic as eating before. In fairness, she did appear to be little more than a hatchling, but...still. Really?

His eyebrows climbed ever higher as the Tan continued her evidently doomed attempt to eat successfully. Faranth. What were they teaching weyrlings these days? Though he'd missed the Hatching, he'd heard rumours that the twin tans were a bit...special. He hadn't realised it was quite this bad though. And really, beside rumours of a male Sub-Queen rider and other oddities, that particular one had slipped his mind a little. Someone needs to teach her how to do that properly, Nimueth commented; he could feel her watching through his eyes in shared shipwreck fascination. He nodded in silent agreement.

Absorbed in the curiosity that was this Tan - and if he was honest, with his wits a little blunted by fellis - he didn't immediately notice the approach of the younger man. The shout had him glancing over though. It took a moment for him to recall where he had seen the vaguely familiar figure before; one of the few candidates who'd had the wit to actually be useful during the assassinations. A weyrling by now, presumably- his eyes flickered sideways to the still floundering Tan as he made the connection. Ah. Well that explained a lot. He would have been similarly unamused at any spectators to Nim embarrassing herself so thoroughly.

In the back of his mind he felt a surge of indignation from his bonded, and grinned fleetingly even as he contemplated the irate weyrling bearing down on him. He hoped this wasn't going to come to blows. He really was in no fit state to defend himself...and in any case, he rather suspected Nimueth would eat anyone who threatened him alive right now.

An eyebrow quirked skyward once more, though, at the abrupt derailment of said irate weyrling. "Me," he agreed, at something of a loss as to how and why this was significant. The continuation of the conversation didn't really do anything to enlighten him - more the reverse, in fact - but with a mental shrug he gamely went along with it. "Well, they're the ones who'll have to fix whatever they do to me, so I suppose I'll just have to hope they have more sense than to make more work for themselves."

J'en just shrugged. He'd passed enough candlemarks in the infirmary in his time to have heard every threat and plea in the healers' arsenal, and no matter how much sense some of them may have made, they were always trumped by the simple fact that if he spent any longer confined to a bed in the infirmary he was going to crack up. And no-one wanted to have to deal with a crazy Greenrider. He got in quite enough trouble while in full possession of his faculties. In any case, he'd be fine; if the sharding fire hadn't managed to finish him off then he doubted a little chill in the air would.

He gave a faint grimace of wry understanding in response to the shrug. None of them were really on top form right now, even those who'd been fortunate enough to evade the attentions of the healers. "J'en of Green Nimueth," he introduced himself in reply to the query, extending a hand. Only after the automatic motion was already underway did it occur to him that the hand in question was swathed in bandages hiding half-healed burns, and hence shaking hands with someone who looked like he could lift a bull burdenbeast was likely to be painful. As quickly as the thought occurred it was dismissed; his hand did not waver.

His gaze had also drifted over toward the Tan's fumbling attempts to feed herself. He had lived and worked around dragons for the most of his life, near thirty turns now, and still he couldn't call to mind an occasion where he'd seen one fail so fundamentally at something as simple as feeding itself. Her rider seemed to be taking it in stride; no doubt used to it by now. But even with that thought in mind his eyes flickered sideways at the question. It was unexpected in its bluntness, and the young Tanrider went up a notch in his estimation. Plenty of new riders - shards, plenty of older ones who should have known better - would have let pride prevent them from asking for help. "She was thinking something similar herself."

Nim? Coming?
Of course

At the back of his mind he was aware of her rising to her feet and limping to the ledge of their weyr. Even as he turned his attention back to the present, the joyful rush of flight still underpinned his thoughts. "They say I should be back in one piece in a season or two, provided I manage not to do anything especially stupid in the meantime," he said with a one-shouldered shrug. The other shoulder was held carefully still; it was the same one which had suffered after Nim's crash with Tuthleth, and though the sling had come off a few days previously, it still ached abominably. That was the trouble with joints. The sharding things never healed properly; once they'd been out once they were always going to be weaker. "I take it you got out more or less unscathed," he added. More or less, since any fool could hear the roughness of smoke in his voice, but he would have remembered seeing the younger man in the infirmary. There'd been precious little else to do but people-watch.

A few moments later Nimueth was gliding down toward the feeding pens, her movements easy and elegant through the air. She flared her wings as she approached and landed lightly close by her rider. Her crippled foreleg remained tucked carefully up against her chest as she folded her wings neatly against her flanks. Though the pained caution in her movements mirrored her rider's, unlike his injuries hers were clearly old; of an age, in fact, with the faded slashes of scar tissue extending part J'en's collar and partway up the side of his neck. Well met, Unath's, she said, inclining her head to the Tanrider.

The touch hurt - of course it did, how could it not when so much as a light brush of fabric was enough to have abused skin screaming? - but it wasn't as though he'd ever let that stop him from doing anything. "Occasionally the healers are good for something other than attempting to mother you," he commented, his eyes also drifting over toward the continuing hunt. He shrugged. "Alive and recovering is better than some got out with. I'll take it." Annoying as it was in the short term, at least he would recover. He was uncomfortably aware of how very close he had come to joining the rows of charred corpses that had lain on the grass of the weyr bowl. He wasn't normally given to introspection and what-ifs, but even to him, that was a highly disconcerting thought.

Nimueth extended her snout toward the younger dragon but stopped short of making any physical contact. She sniffed, tilted her head inquisitively, and turned back to her rider with what could only be described as a questioning look. J'en glanced from her to Q'sis and back before giving another cautious half shrug. "Your call," he said, maintaining eye contact with his bonded. She paused consideringly for a long moment, and then turned and hopped over the fence.

The difference between the elegance of her flight and the limping movements she was limited to on the ground was like night and day. Nevertheless, there was an odd sort of stilted ease even in this that spoke of long familiarity with her limitations, and long experience with compensating for them. It was sheer muscle memory, something even a dragon's limited mental faculties could not lose; moving on three legs with the fourth drawn up to her chest and her wings half spread for balance.

She hesitated a short distance from the herd - close enough that they shifted uncomfortably, but far enough that they were not yet at the stage of bolting - and once again looked back at her rider. It had been a very long time since she had last hunted on the ground; long enough that she knew of it more from Hers' memories than any of her own. But instinct could always be relied upon, and after a glance at Unath to make sure the Tan was still watching, she began to move again.

From the air she would have simply swooped down and snatched up one of the beasts before the herd could react. Hunting on the ground, however, required a more subtle approach. She moved slowly closer; the herd moved away, never quite startled enough by her proximity to stampede. Only when their movements left them penned into a corner of the corral did it become apparent what her intention had been. This time she abandoned all pretense as she moved in for the kill and the herdbeasts, suddenly panicked, bolted. The herd streamed past on either side of her. She was still, picking her moment; with no warning her neck uncoiled like a striking tunnelsnake, and with strong, sure jaws she snapped the neck of ones of the fleeing beasts. As the rest of the herd continued to flee she bent her head to eat.

Her jaws were flecked with blood when she looked up again, the herdbeast reduced to gory scraps on the ground. Would you like to try? she asked Unath.

J'en's expression was unreadable as he watched his bonded hunt; though he gave no outward indication of the direction his thoughts had taken, he was also thinking of the incident that had given her those scars. He held no bitterness over it on his own behalf, and I'ben was something approaching a friend these days. But he knew Nimueth would never forgive her clutchsister. Usually a dragon's memory wouldn't allow them to hold grudges even if they were so inclined, but it was a different matter entirely when Nim was painfully reminded every time she took a step. To say nothing of the momentary flicker of guilt and associated rush of memories that ran through her rider's mind every time.

She watched the younger dragon's progress with encouraging interest, pleased that Unath seemed to be catching on. The collision, however, had her eyes flaring shades of surprise and pain; J'en winced ever so slightly in sympathy. She took a moment to recover her balance before edging cautiously away. Once at what she judged to be a safe distance she went back to watching the hunt, settling back on her haunches and folding her wings again as she wrapped her tail neatly around herself. J'en felt a warm glow of satisfaction from her when Unath finally successfully caught one of the herdbeasts.

"It certainly doesn't seem like life would be boring, bonded to her," he replied, watching the gory scene with all the desensitised indifference of a long time rider. The wound in his side was throbbing dully even through the haze of fellis. He ignored it. "Can't quite imagine being bonded to a ranker," he added with a thoughtful note to his tone. Privately he thought that riding a clutching dragon would be awful. Being on this particular end of flightlust was nothing he was unused to, but being stuck in Lower Flight would quickly drive him to distraction.

"Least of all," he agreed absently, looking the Green in question over. Much as Nim might try to play the sensible one after things had already gone horribly wrong in one way or another, she was every bit as talented at finding trouble as he was. They were just as bad as each other. Uniquely draconic troubles notwithstanding...shards, she was about due a Flight, wasn't she? Faranth, let it be delayed a little. In his current state that might just finish him off.

In the departing Tan's wake Nimueth had gathered her hind legs under her, poised to take to the air. You're very welcome, she replied, and bowed her head in acknowledgement before taking to the air. The moment her weight was taken by her wings rather than her legs, everything about her movements was transformed. In flight she was all grace and elegance, characterised by the economy of movement that spoke of many, many long turns of flight experience. J'en watched her go with a smile on his face. In moments like this he understood her lack of any real bitterness. What was a little discomfort on the ground, really, when flight was still so easy?

His gaze turned away from his bonded as Q'sis spoke again, and his smile broadened into a grin. "What a choice," he said in a tone of amusement. He folded his hands behind his back and looked innocently skywards, a chill breeze plucking at his clothes and ruffing his hair. "Of course, I wouldn't want to put you to any great inconvenience. So perhaps if you were feeling especially generous you might simply inform any healers who inquire as to my whereabouts that I was on my way back to my weyr." Naturally that was the last place he had any intention of going; his real plans involved a well hidden little den of iniquity and a painkiller a little more fiery than fellis. H'cup or F'reki could probably be relied upon to keep him and the still company.

"Well who doesn't?" he replied airily. It was a terrible thing, inconvenience, and coincidentally enough it also happened to be precisely what being stuck in the infirmary at the mercy of the healers was. And inconvenience now in the past thankfully. The younger rider turned away without a farewell; thinking it a little odd but not worthy of comment, he gave a mental shrug and turned away himself. He had taken a few weary steps in the direction of the path when an unexpected comment from the tanweyrling had him turning back again.

The grin remained on his face as Q'sis began to speak, but over the next few sentences it faded swiftly. For what felt like an age but couldn't have been more than a couple of seconds, he could only stare. Had he really just heard that? Really? The thought occurred that at some point in the last few moments the direction that day was taking had diverged sharply from how he had expected it to. It was unusual in his experience that a casual conversation with a passing acquaintance ended with being mothered unnecessarily.

His gaze traveled incredulously from the weyrling's extended arm to his deadly serious expression; after a moment he snorted, turned again, and continued walking. The direction of travel was towards neither his own weyr nor the infirmary. 'Have to accept' his arse.