When we're called [Cath]

[lee]

F'dren was drinking.

By himself.

He sat morosely in a corner of the quiet Dining Hall, mug held grimly in one hand as he glowered most sullenly at the wall in front of him, the shadow of a day or two's poorly trimmed beard covering his chin and dark circles under his eyes. The combination was enough that the few other occupants steered clear, save for a drudge that scurried with general regularity to refill the pot of klah the bluerider had commandeered as his own for the evening. That he was on his third—pot, not mug—of klah, was not particularly apparent, as he still looked half-asleep and unhappy.

Disastrous.

The hatching had been disastrous. True, they had not lost only one hatchling, and in a wher hatching...well, that wasn't so unusual, no matter how sweet the little one had seemed. It was the candidate that weighed heavily and sorrowfully on F'dren's mind, though he had not known her. Scowling, he gulped down the last of his mug and poured another, scowling ferociously at the pot when it offered only mere drips. How many was he on? Did it matter? He turned to bellow for more but the drudge had already reappeared with a fresh pot, and a small tray of klah cakes. He knew their aroma instantly and thought of the pretty woman from the kitchens who had no doubt made them, and it softened his melancholy a bit, though not long enough.

Thinking of all those horror-filled faces, torn and shredded, doused in red...F'dren felt old. So terribly old. Orkia's face faded into another, a little blonde like she had been, not yet eighteen and gone now...twelve turns was it? Twelve turns since Shasri and green Tajuth had been threadscored, gone between and never returned. O'ves and brown Yaruth—F'dren had been 14, a weyrling, and thought O'ves so old but looking back, he realized the man, at 25, had barely begun his life at all...too young, so young—A'vek and blue Haduraniath, Kyrillion and blue Ripariath, Olddandanoni and cyan Zaldith, K'lay and pink Invidiath, little D'ren and Datwith more and more. All of their faces kept circling back to the petite blonde and her torn throat, and Mifth, rarely, was silent, offering only his sorrow-touched presence as comfort to the man who felt old, old and tired and entirely too responsible.

He thought of the terror-touched Nightnamers and their scars-to-be, still fresh and slick with red but with, for now, rainbows in their eyes. The Blizzardbaiters, growing so quickly. Of the Rainracers, soon to graduate...shards but they were so young! To fly Thread. F'dren's head dropped and his heart ached, and Harpsiklahd nuzzles his head against the man's cheek and Mifth at last spoke, gentle croon like an embrace to the bluerider's mind. We were younger, Mine.

F'dren almost chuckled.

So they had been.

But still.

[Cathaline]

By and large, Delilah had seen to her own wounds, biting a leather strap against the pain of cleansing Jafask's bite marks and stitching them up. Far from her best work, but she could not, would not pull another healer's attention away from the children who needed it - and from A'bar. She knew him, knew him well, Agnith was dear friends with Ablath.

What would happen to the little wherling and his innocent handler if A'bar died? The thought had crossed her mind, after seeing the wreckage made of his body. There was a possibility he'd survive, though in what condition, it was impossible to say. They couldn't put the wher down now and devastate the handler. Would it all depend on how they performed in wherlinghood, or...

Pointless to think about. She had work to do, and decisions to make, and so, on this of all nights when she wanted to be in the infirmary more than anything, she had to leave. Exhausted but determined, she trekked down toward the dining hall to fetch herself some klah and said, Can you contact Mifth and tell him that I'm coming to see - oh. Never mind.[/i]

Agnith hummed gently in her mind, still tense, still on edge from the unexpected pain and outrage. Delilah fetched herself a mug and went to sit in front of F'dren, giving him a weary smile, and said frankly, not in the mood to beat around the bush, "Are you sober enough to have a serious conversation with me? I'm Delilah; I am not sure we've been properly introduced. But I know who you are. They tell me they've been looking at you as a possible Weyrlingmaster, if one should ever be needed."

She took a sip of klah and toyed with the sharp, not-yet-fraying edge of her bandages. "Apparently I am the person one goes to when one has a devastated and traumatised class in need of a teacher. Which is fine; I am always happy to serve my Weyr." Teaching was not her first love, healing was - but teaching had earned her a promotion that would otherwise have taken turns for her to deserve, and the Rainracers needed someone right now. Despite her youth, Delilah did have experience. "But jumping in with a large class I do not know, so close to their graduation and so hurt - and if we lose A'bar after all..." She cringed, half-expecting the pained cries of bereft dragons at any second, if Ablath went between. "Well, I'd be happier if I had a partner. You don't have to decide now, but I couldn't waste time not asking."

[lee]

So engrossed was F’dren in his own musings that Delilah's approach went entirely unnoticed until she spoke, and then it startled him so that he jumped, sloshing hot klah over his hands and the table. So inured was the bluerider to burning himself though that he hardly noticed though the skin turned red, and he mournfully mopped up the spilt liquid, regarding its loss with solemn contemplation. It was lucky, perhaps, that only Mifth could hear his thoughts, because he regarded the loss of liquid with the same heartache as he had the lives he’d been thinking of a moment ago.

He blinked up at Delilah in surprise, and her question baffled him for a moment, then startled a single, hoarse bark of a laugh, for all that his face folded quickly back into a solemn expression. He tilted his mug so she could see what remained of it, and shook his head before answering simply, "Yes." He hadn’t had so much as a drop of Benden’s best since his own Impression, though he wouldn’t blame anyone turning to bottle or wineskin after this. He didn’t answer as to whether he knew her or not, merely nodded. He did, and he did not envy her the jobs he knew she had taken. A healer and a weyrlingmaster, in this Weyr…He wasn’t a chatty person, so he simply listened, and frowned quite abruptly as she brought up the Rainracers, startled, because she had quite seemed to read his thoughts. He reached out to Mifth, who snickered, and silently denied sharing them, urging the rider to Listen! which he did, with a wince of sympathy as she announced her new role.

And his, apparently.

He choked a bit on his sip of klah, but hit his chestg once and it subsisided as he glowered up at her suspiciously, but the suspicion faded into the same, tired, sad expression and his fingers rose to rub the bridge of his nose. He didn’t answer her immediately, but he could feel Mifth vibrating, tapping his toes and urging him to finish, to make the decision that Mifth wanted, and F’dren wondered if he could.

What could an old tired man on a bouncy blue offer these kids?

He raised his eyes to the healer’s dark blue ones, expression calm and thoughtful. He saw her cringe and wished he could offer her some sympathy, or hope, but he no more wanted to make promises onthings he couldn’t control than he wanted to be drunk. He stood and offered his hand, and a blissful, bellowing bugle with a shouted YES. YES YES. We will help the babies! beat him to the punch. F’dren sighed at his dragon, but nevertheless felt obligated to speak for himself. "A’bar is in the best care that can be provided. If you think I could be any help…I," How did he say this?

He had ridden Mifth for nearly seventeen turns. Any and every mistake that could be made in Weyrlinghood…well, through either Mifth’s spacy overeagerness, or F’dren’s errors, they’d made them. Every maneuver, They could help them navigate those. He was boring, he was by the book…but he knew the book, inside and out. He could give them that. It didn’t seem like enough. But Delilah would be there. She’d said herself she was the choice for the traumatized. Maybe he could learn from her to handle the hearts as well as the heads.

After a moment of quiet thought, the bluerider finally finished. It was a selfish statement, but honest. "I would like the be helpful."