Xanadu Weyr - DragonHealer's Annex

An entrance way which would allow admittance to even the greatest of Queen Dragons leads into a chamber which would house half-a-dozen of the same size. To one side is a shallow pool which constantly clears itself of grime and is used is washing wounds. Nearby is a shelf with a generous supply of clean bandages and clean sheets upon stone shelves. The other side of the chamber is taken up by an alcove with multiple banks of computers to house medical records and help to diagnose illness and injury in the Dragons who come for aid. Within this alcove is a small medical laboratory where medicines and herbs can be prepared and experiments can take place. The far wall houses two dozen Dragon couches, each separated above by a rail which supports a thick curtain allowing the patients an option of privacy as they rest and recover.

"It's only a flesh wound. Already patched up, see?," Sigam says, giving a bluerider a level gaze over his shoulder. The man's face is sheet-white, perspiration trickling down his cheeks. "Is it the ichor?" A nod. "You can sit down, you know." A head shake. "Sit down, sir, before I /make/ you sit down." The wide-eyed rider jumps at the suddenly harsh tone of voice, but sits. Sigam sighs, wiping off his forehead with the single clean patch of arm he has left - the rest of it is covered to the elbows in a mixture of redwort, numbweed, and green ichor. "Give me a pad," the Dragonhealer murmurs to a nearby assistant, and she's quick to put one in his hand. The numbweed already spread across the blue's skin serves as its own sealant, keeping green in and holding the wide bandage to the surface of his skin. Sigam waits a moment, then two, and when it seems apparent that more ichor isn't about to come out, he smiles with grim satisfaction. "There." Turning to the girl assisting him, Sigam suggests she write down plain instructions for the obviously shaken bluerider to follow, adding a quiet, "And then see them to a guest weyr. They're not allowed to go back tonight." He's given a nod, and finally, the man leans back on a counter with a low exhale, likely his first reprieve since leaving the beach earlier that day.

Seryth enters the huge annex, pauses inside the door looking curiously about the place, craning her neck to peer this way and that. She chuffs a greeting to the blue, her way of trying to say hi quietly, but of course in this place it echoes anyway. Thea, still dressed in her riding leathers, gloves and goggles dangling from her hands, catches up, enters and pats the golden leg absently, waiting for someone to come forward, since everyone seems busy this evening. She lifts that hand then to rub fatigue from her face – as if such could be accomplished.

Sigam might have missed Seryth's greeting, used to the din of dragons in the annex, but the blue is quick to return the gold's chuff with a low croon. Surprised, the Dragonhealer looks away from the still-sitting rider towards- "Seryth?" Shoving off the counter, and seeming oblivious to the insane melange coating his forearms, Sigam approaches the pair of them, a calculating expression on his face. "What brings you here?" The rough tone of his voice is likely unintentional, but they've caught him by surprise. Worry and tension builds quickly in his shoulders, even though his face remains politely curious. "You look tired." Finally, some emotion slides through his professional facade, and a briefly concerned once-over is given for Thea, then Seryth.

Thea's watching one of the other 'healers at work, her head is quick to turn at the sound of that rough voice, there's a blink of recognition for the face and a slightly puzzled frown at his tone. "I am," she says simply, adding "Seryth." In answer to his question, she gestures to the queen's hindquarters. Unlike the bluerider, she is calm, relaxed, the green of her eyes has lost some of that edginess she's had of late. Eyeing Sigam’s face, the line of his shoulders, back at his face, she observes, "You look tired too. Something wrong?"

Sigam looks as if he's about to inquire further, but stops, brow knitting deeply as he switches his attention back to Seryth. "What about Seryth?," he asks, eyes flicking over the great gold's entire body before settling on the indicated hindquarters. A slash of green ichor can be seen there, and a flash of what can only be termed as anger is in his eyes. "I'll be right back." The nearest washing station is promptly assaulted by the jerkily moving Dragonhealer, who proceeds to scrub his arms to near-cleanliness - the redwort stains will likely take longer to erase, and is the least of his concerns as he proceeds to apply more of it to his skin. Returning to the gold's side, Sigam finally answers Thea's question. "Double-shifted today. Early this morning, and again now. Couldn't sleep in between, so I went for a walk and found M'nol. And you. I'm-" He wants to say exhausted, but that would be unprofessional, so instead he settles for, "A little worn out. He didn't help." A glance is given to the blue, whose rider is being gently led out by the assistant that seems to have been assigned to Sigam. "When she comes back, we'll start. Meantime, tell me about it. I need details - is it it gritty-feeling, have any foreign objects gotten inside the wound, does she feel woozy or dehydrated. That sorta stuff."

Thea may have been puzzled before, but that flash of anger has her confused and surprised. The way Sigam is moving and talking has her perhaps more alert than she normally would be. As he washes, she watches, her eyes keenly assessing his movements. Hmm. He turns back and her expression immediately reverts to her normal casual one. She nods an understanding to his long workday, murmuring softly, "I know how that goes." There's a wealth of understanding therein the timbre of her voice. As he walks back, she murmurs, "I- I'm sorry, Sigam. She - she didn't tell me and I was so preoccupied I didn't notice." She has a guilt-ridden expression, mixed with something else as she turns to walk towards the back of Seryth's form. "Here…" Her hand hovers over a split about a handspan in length along the leading edge of the young queen's lower thigh, where the hide covers bone. The split is deep, some of the fascia can be seen split as well, the ichor has dried and re-split, now oozing a little. "She favored it when we landed in the Clearing on our return trip. Gritty? I dunno, I haven't touched it. We came right here." She pauses, "She says it hurts but otherwise is feeling alright."

"Yeah," is the only answer Sigam seems capable of supplying in the face of her compassion, jaw tightening as if to ward off tears. Wait, what? "It's just… one of those weeks." This seems to be just as much of a reassuring rationalization for himself as it is an explanation for Thea's benefit. "Huh?" The Dragonhealer's own bewilderment is evident, but only for a moment. Then his dark eyes are downcast, head shaking. "Don't be sorry for that, Thea. There was nothing you could do about it, no way you could have known." A cautious look at her face catches the guilty expression, and the man winces. "I'm sorry too. For leaving so abruptly earlier. Time just has a funny way of sneaking up on me lately." The words are mumbled, but that's only because something far more natural and interesting has been presented to the 'healer. "Return trip? You went somewhere with her leg cut?" There isn't an ounce of accusation in there; it's a purely investigative question to allow him to better understand the situation. As he ponders the wound, a young girl returns, keeping her distance until Sigam finally notices her. "Ah. This is my assistant, Pol. She's a Grade Two, very skilled, but not old enough to advance yet. Pol, this is Thea." A bashful nod is given, and the girl seems almost relieved when Sigam tells her to fetch his needle kit. Dragging a wide bench over for himself, Sigam hops onto it. "This from the flight? Looks like dragon claw marks." There's something hard back in Sigam's voice.

Thea's eyes flicker over that jaw muscle as she listens, nodding slightly to his explanation, dryly agreeing, "Hit in the face with a bottle, caught in the middle of a Flight. Couldn't have been a great week." He's trying to reassure her then and she shakes her head, "I should have given her a once-over after that Flight. It totally slipped my mind." His apology draws another look of confusion, "Why are you apologizing for running off? I didn't take offense. I know you're a busy man." His question about a trip with an injury has her wincing visibly, "Yeees." As if the answer was forced out of her, "Seryth wanted to go to Landing. She's been at me to go. And I didn't check her first. I didn't know." Pol arrives and the weyrwoman nods to her with a warm smile, one that she allows to reach her eyes, lighting them with friendly reassurance and crinkling the corners a bit. That hard tone in Sigam's voice has her doing a quick-indrawn breath, has her giving him a quick side-glance searchingly. "It does?" She kneels slowly, moving carefully and wincing once again with an involuntary flicker of a grimace as she does so, to peek at the wound more closely.

"Things aren't so great at home, either, apparently. Parents took in some of the newly holdless, but they were sick, and passed it on. Everyone's going okay but Esiae, my littlest sister. She never had a good immune system to begin with." Sigam's words are quiet with worry. "I visited her the other day. Remember, when L'sel called me off the beach? I… It…" With a sharp exhale, the man finally silences himself. "Just felt bad for going so abruptly, in the middle of plan making and that," he says after a moment, snorting at her use of the words 'busy man.' "Landing, okay. Breathe, memsahib, I'm not persecuting you, I just wanted to know," the Dragonhealer says, using an old Terran word his father had often used on his mother. "It does, unless she claims she fell down the stairs." A vaguely amused grin tugs up one cheek as he turns to look at Thea, catching each of her uncomfortable facial expressions. "Are you okay?" Concern etches lines across his face even as he turns to accept a bottle of oil from the returning Pol. Both hands are coated before he takes up a jar of numbweed. "I'm going to clean and numb it first so it doesn't hurt, and then I'm going to inspect it by touch, Seryth." He follows his own explaination, cleaning the wound with more redwort before applying a light layer of the numbing gel. Gentle fingers are then run around the laceration, even as he speaks to his assistant. "Definitely going to need sutures. Luckily, though, the bleeding wasn't arterial. Moderate ichoring at peak, at worst. Might be a little ugly of a scar, since it isn't fresh, but we'll make do. Needle and the waxed thread, Pol. Better make it long, so we can use running stitches. They'll cut down on the heavy scar tissue," he aims that last bit towards Thea. "You might not want to watch the rest."

"Ah the 'quake." Thea nods understandingly, admitting very quietly after a glance around that no one is close enough to hear, "I've been in there several times this week with the Healers." Might explain some of her fatigue. She starts to speak, hesitates, then asks, "Can your sister be taken to Healer Hall for a bit? They might be able to help…" She actually smiles at his next words, adding in a rush of half-laugh, half-wry acknowledgement, "I see. Not persecuting. Check. This is my fault, though." More soberly the last part. Then her brow quirks, "Memsa-whaddy?" She cants her head, pale eyes seeking his as she concentrates on understanding should he decide to enlighten her. She hesitates before sharing, "Seryth says it happened last night. Things got…rough up there." Her checks tinge slightly pink, she lowers her eyes to the gash then, choosing to focus on that while answering him on whether she is alright, "I'm- I will be." Her throat tightens, her next words come out strained as she stubbornly shakes her head, "Seen this growing up on a farm. I'll watch." This as he prepares to stitch Seryth.

Sigam's eyes flash with interest, finally, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Is that so. I'm sure the Healers appreciate your aid, even if no one else does." The words are loaded with exhasperation, but also something that borders on pleasant, as if he's considered her in some new light. "If she doesn't improve in the next couple of days, I'm going to ask L'sel to drop her at the Hall. My mother is rather… stalwart… concerning home remedies, but they obviously aren't working." The growl is back in his voice, but it seems less all-encompassing than before, at least. "Thea, dear, get over yourself," the Dragonhealer eventually chides, shooting a teasing glance her way. "Everything can't be your fault." With a wink, he explains, "Memsahib. It was an old Terran term used when talking to a respectable lady. My father used to use it all the time…" He pauses, meeting her gaze fully as he quirks one eyebrow. "For my mother." He seems grandly amused by this, but her blushing admittance has him nodding. "Same reason that blue's in here, except you don't see it on the females quite as often. I don't like it, but… it happens. Sort of like biting and scratching with humans; a reflex, they just happen to be predators, so the damage is worse." He's speaking clinically, but that /might/ be a patch of pink high on his cheekbones, too. "If you're sure." He drops the conversation, but when he sits the jar of numbweed down, he scoots it towards her with his boot in an offer she could choose to accept or ignore as she pleased. "Fair enough. It's not that different." Taking the needle and thread, the Dragonhealer makes room for Pol. The girl reaches to gently press the edges of the wound together, giving Sigam room to work around her as he pushes the needle through the gold's hide, knots it, and then continues along, using the same thread, careful to keep enough tension to keep the wound from staying open to infection, but also loose enough to prevent eventual puckering of scar tissue. It isn't a complicated thing, but Sigam takes his time running the stitch until, finally, he seems to be done. The end of the thread is looped twice, knotted, and cut close. "Does that feel okay?," Sigam asks of them before putting anything away.

With anyone else, Thea might be stung at the words 'get over yourself'. Instead, she just snorts softly as Sigam, "Just keeping it real. V'dim would've had my hide for flying her like this." She considers his words about appreciating aid and waves it away with some asperity, though not directed at him, "Some of Pern's leaders are troubled folk. Helping those in dire need, how could we not? But rejecting it because of a-" Her face contorts in what could only be described as intense distaste before continuing, "Peace. Harmony. So few find it precious!" At his explanation of the word Memsahib, her lips part, her eyes take on the look of one seeing into the far distances, "It is… beautiful." A soft smile curves her mouth before she queries, "Used to?" She blanches just a bit, almost as though regretting her last question. Her fingers reach out to touch that stitched wound lightly. "Seryth didn't mind the rough." There's an emphasis on Seryth and another wince as that jar is slid her way. She blinks down at it for a beat before exhaling and admitting quietly, "Saw the Healers this morning, but… thank you." She wills herself to look his way and in her eyes are a mixture of pain, anguish and resignation. Seryth's head swivels 'round to whuffle at the pair of 'healers, crooning softly, flexing her leg. "She says it feels good."

"Would have, but alas, it happened, didn't it?" He shrugs one shoulder and perhaps smiles a bit, listening to words he's heard many times over, and from various mouths, only in different words. "Doesn't make any sense to me either, but the way I look at it, it makes things more like a game. Makes us secretive, dangerous." Sigam purrs the words with a ridiculously serious expression on his face, eyebrows bouncing. "At least, when you look at it that way, it's easier to forget that a weyrwoman's being irresponsible and fickle, and that her residents are, in some part, caprines following her to the slaughter 'cause they don't know any better." What a cynic! "Aye, used to. Now he has to use words like 'your magesty' to keep her pleased. It's… a nice word. Rolls off the tongue. Mem-sah-heeeeeb." He draws out the word as he reaches down to reclaim the jar, globbing the stuff on in a healthy dose over the stitches. "I'm sorry." Almost as if sensing her gaze, Sigam's eyes are drawn to hers, dark, intense, and… and… not angry, not anymore, but vexed perhaps, as if wishing there were more he could do, even when he knows there isn't. "Good," is his eventual reply to the gold's approval, and the ever-careful Pol reaches up to push a pressure pad against the suture, just in case. "Thanks," the Dragonhealer comments to his assistant, even as he grins towards the crooning Seryth. "Just be careful you don't itch the stitches out, hm?" Looking back at Thea, he rattles off a list out of habit, "Keep an eye out for infections. You mighta seen them before, but signs generally include an increase of pain and soreness, swelling, heat around the wound site, puss within or oozing, et cetera. Basically, if it hurts, stop in and someone will look at it. Watch for dehydration, and here." Several of the thick pressure bandages are handed over. "My suggestion is to bandage during the day, leave them off at night to keep stray dust particles from getting in through the cracks. The stitches can come out in a sevenday." Got that?

Thea's got to laugh at the mock-serious tone with the outrageously incongruous words, a mirth that quickly fades, "It's a deadly game to play for folks who have no say in the leadership that is sworn to protect Pern. And it is more that just Ista's weyrwoman brought this on." The last bit said without heat but much weariness and a shake of her head that indicates all the ire between Weyrs is beyond her ken. A short beat later she answers with relief, "Oh, for all that the other word is more lovely, at least he is still around to use Your Majesty. I'd taken 'used to' with a more dire meaning." She acknowledges his sorry with a brief shrug, "It's life. Many things were easier to bear before-" She leaves the rest of that unsaid, closing her lips firmly on the words, retreating into herself as she listens to him rattle off those instructions for Seryth. She nods while he does so, reaches absently for that padding he hands her, "Got it." With her head bent and her focus on the gauze, she asks, "Can she fly with those in? Go *Between*?"

Sigam sighs, head shaking slightly, eyes troubled, but he seems to have resolved himself, at least on this matter. "It's going to be deadly either way, so you might as well have fun while you're at it. I could cite to you the medical benefits of laughter." His eyes are sparkling with the temptation, but he doesn't, instead reaching out with a clean patch of elbow to nudge her, if she'll have it. "Just keep doing what you're doing - that'll have to be good enough until seniorship changes hands." A small smirk worms onto his face. "Oh. Sorry, I guess that was rather ominous. My parents are young, relatively speaking, and Emhall's promised me he won't kick the bucket until my brother's ready to take over his ship. The old man's got a lot of verve." Pol twirls the unused string into a neat roll before taking Sigam's needle and kit to clean what needs it. "I'd like to say you get used to it, but I've seen enough riders and their dragons in here to know that's not true," the Dragonhealer says, pitching his voice low. "But a lot of them say that talking helps, even if they have to go to a mindhealer or someone impersonal. It's an option." He shrugs, speaking more loudly now as he goes to wash the numbweed and oil off his hands again. "Sure. She can do everything but roll in the dirt!" The words are jesting, but when he returns, his eyes are serious. "As if I could keep you from it even so."

"Fun." It's a dull-voiced echo from the weyrwoman, head still bent towards the padding in her hands. Seryth croons mournfully just then, and Thea exhales, glancing at the queen, "Me too, Seryth." To Sigam all she can say is, "Laughter, yes I remember… it was nice." She's nodding about his family, "I'm glad." She hums to the thought about Seniors changing, with a shrug of a slender shoulder, waiting for Pol to finish gathering her supplies before saying more. That nudge of his catches her off-guard and she sways, her mindless study of that padding broken. Her eyes flash to Sigam with a touch of mild surprise, confusion and then vexation at the mention of mindhealers. "It's not Flights that troubles me!" This comes out more forcefully than she perhaps meant, for she immediately moderates her tone, while dismissing the topic with a careless flip of the hand. She processes the rest of his words as he goes to wash up, speaking only when he heads back. "You could stop me! I would never endanger Seryth! If *Betweening* would hurt the wound in anyway…" But he has said it wouldn't, so she doesn't look worried about that. Instead, a troubled look settles on her face and she drops her head to study that padding she's holding once more. "Ah, Sigam?" She bites her lower lip gently before finishing the thought, "About that crossbow." She shudders, choking out, "Thanks."

A peculiar look comes over Sigam's face, but he doesn't seem as if he's about to reply to her despondent answers. It's not that he doesn't care - he glances over at her with each one - but he doesn't trust himself not to step out of line with his prying. Apparently, his row with Cenlia's left him a little cautious. "Well, I don't know how you expect me to always know what you're thinking, weyrwoman. I'm not a psychic, so I can only guess." Finally, her irritation gets a response out of him, but it's quiet and low to eke out her volume, eyes averted anywhere but at her. "If I thought it was of major concern, I would stop you. I meant- Shards, I meant that as encouragement." Again that solid line forms in his shoulders, obviously the area where Sigam carries all his tension. It doesn't melt away with her sudden change of topic, but at least his face softens a bit. "Don't mention it," he murmurs in a dismissive manner, "It's like you said - proddy happens."

Thea's head lifts and there's a blink of surprise, "I didn't think you could read my mind." For a moment she regards Sigam silently, noting the hard expression on his face, wilts a bit before a humble, "I'm sorry. I thought you knew." She swallows, "I know you've encouraged me to talk to you and I have, but it's not fair for me to keep dumping my grief on you all the time. It's Kav, ok? I've looked everywhere and there's not a trace. I think… I think I'm losing…" She doesn't finish the thought. By the look on her face she knows she's not being all that coherent. "That's why it's hard to laugh, can you understand that?" She nods to his comment with a shaky breath, "Okay, encouragement, thank you." It comes out calmly, genuinely before his dismissive tone brings her up short and she demurrs quietly, "I said -Flights- happen. It's proddy I cannot bear." Her eyes flicker to him tentatively, "I could have hurt X'hil. And I'm not… I'm really not like that." Her perception of his manner, his words not to mention it work through her tired brain and what is churned out the other end is, "I won't mention it again, I'm sorry." And she turns to leave.

Sigam sighs heavily, hands raising to rub over his face, fingers kneading at the areas around his eyes, particularly. "Look, I- Figured. At least in some small part. He seems to be the motivator behind a lot lately, but… I didn't know you were raiding the entire Southern continent looking for him. You mentioned Landing, but it didn't… sink in." Finally removing his hands, he blinks rapidly and shakes his head. "Obviously more tired than I thought." The comment seems to be made towards himself, but the mention of it has him looking over at Thea, brows suddenly knit. "Faranth help us. You're helping at Ista, looking for him, and pulling your duties as junior weyrwoman. When do you sleep?" It's half awe, half demand as he studies her. Finally, he relents, body falling into a position that's so slack, it's almost a wonder he hasn't fallen over. "Of course I understand. Losing someone you love isn't a singular notion." Again he's rubbing his eyes, but this time it's definitely to hide the glimmer of liquid there. "I know you're not like that, but I'm sure he forgives you. Cenlia might give you a hard time, but," he's saying quickly, an attempt being made at a smile. "Wait, what?" Distracted by his own reaction, the 'healer almost misses her words, and her exit. "Thea, stop!" Sigam seems on the edge of saying - doing - something completely different, but instead he turns and snatches up the numbweed jar that's still on the floor where he used it last, and extends it toward her. "For Seryth," he explains, eyes averted because he knows if he looks at her, the tears will come back. He's just too worn out to keep them at bay. "If it itches."

At Sigam's 'stop', Thea does so, turning without looking up. She braces for something, maybe a lecture. When it doesn't come, she peeks up, waits stoically though his questions, then she admits, "I don't, much. Haven't been able to since the Hatching." She brushes the comment about X'hil away with a short, "I could care less what he thinks. Was not wanting you to think-" His sudden deflation and eye rubbing earns a keen look, but it's the tone behind his next words that has an understanding flickering over her face, "You lost someone too?" Fair's fair. He made her talk. She accepts the jar, peering at it for a moment in utter confusion. Oh yes! The wound. A sheepish glance towards Seryth, then a concerned one back towards the dragonhealer. "You can tell me about her if you want." She just assumes it's a her, anyway.

"The brain requires six to eight hours of sleep a night in order to return toxin levels to a workable status. Failure to do so results in low performance levels, significantly higher amounts of stress and, in time, emotional inproductivity." Sigam's words are quiet, machine-like, and he's obviously quoting something he's studied in order to keep his wits about him as he glances up to meet Thea's gaze. "Wanting me to think what? That you're a crazy, homicidal killer? No," he says, shaking his head with a trace of a smile on his face. "I don't think that. Or anything else bad of you for it." Long fingers busy themselves by picking at a hangnail now that his hands are empty, eyes avidly watching as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. "I suppose 'lost' is a strong word," he says after a long moment, squinting as if deciding how to best put things. Or maybe to hold off another fit of sadness. "It's a very long stAnd a very strange one." He sighs. "Are you sure you want to offer that?"

The lecture comes, but since it isn't a parental tongue-lashing, Thea throws neither bottles nor fits. There's a dry, "I'm well past emotional improductivity by now so… " She attempts for lightness, "Ah then you don't know me well at all, because although I am no homicidal killer, I am crazy, or so I was once told." She nods with mock seriousness, but the smile she has manufactured fades into his silence as she watches him focus on that nail. Her eyes are concerned as the silence grows and she is on the verge of stepping away with some sort of apology when he speaks. She tilts her head at the dragonhealer, nothing but open honesty in her expression, "I wouldn't have offered if I didn't mean it. You've listened to me, why would I mind returning the favor?" Suddenly tired of standing, she takes a step back to the wall, slides down it to sit on the floor.

"So you should obviously sleep," Sigam says a bit wryly himself, allowing a little smile to creep up on his features. "Crazy? You? Naaah." He shakes his head as, hesitantly, he moves to join her on the floor. Across the room, Pol gives him a look and a salute that she's obviously picked up from the Dragonhealer, indicating she'll pick up the slack. "Love that girl," Sigam grunts in relief as he drops, head shaking. "If I didn't already have two sisters, I'd claim her." But that isn't the reason he's sat down, and after another moment of silence, he draws his knees up to drape his arms across them. "This is going to sound bad, but when I lived at Ierne to get my Dragonhealer's certs, I didn't have any intention staying celibate in order to focus on my studies. Somewhere along the line, I met a holder's daughter, and we hit it off. Really well." The emphasizes the 'really.' "Couple weeks later, I get a letter from her saying she was pregnant, and that her father was demanding an engagement to preserve her honor, or some cock and bull like that. I've tried to forget, exactly." A stiff hand is waved, as if whisking the words away. "It was nonsense, but obviously my fault, so I agreed. I couldn't quit studying, so she came to Ierne, and I went through the process of convincing myself that I loved her and it would work out." He flicks a glance up to her and smiles rather brokenly. "I can be very convincing. But months went by and she didn't get much bigger. I asked her about it, and she said the healer claimed she was fine, it was just too early. Finally, I demanded to go with her and, embarrased, she agreed." His head shakes severely. "She wasn't pregnant, had faked the whole thing. I don't even know /why/. It's not like I come from a rich family or anything. She was just… desperate, obsessive, I don't know. But when I asked her to leave, give me space, she refused. I tried to make her leave, and she went berserk. It took two of my friends to haul her out of my room, and by that time, she was out of her mind with screaming." His eyes are distant, reliving the scene in his memories. "She spent the night with the Guard, and had gone home the next, furious. Her dad sent a note saying he wouldn't want me near his precious child for all the weyrs of Pern, and I haven't heard from any of them since." Silence hangs for a moment before he hazards another glance her way. "Oh, the tangled webs we weave."

"No doubt I should sleep, just cannot." Thea answers, lips twitching into a slight smirk at Sigam's denial of her mental instability. "Cenlia and X'hil will tell ya differently." She flickers a glance at Pol, then her attention is back on Sigam. She shifts until she is sitting cross-legged, leans forward to brace an elbow on her knee, and rests her head sideways in the palm of her hand, watching him as he tells the story. There's not one flicker of surprise, not an ounce of censure or judgment as he begins, although as he goes into it a few times her eyes sharpen to keen assessment as she stores questions in the back of her mind. When he is finished, she eyes that broken smile of his with eyes that are genuinely puzzled. "You know, holdbred myself, so a demand like that from her father wouldn't really be all that unheard of." But that's not her point, merely an observation and she moves on, "So you lived together and you thought you loved her?" Her green eyes flicker over his face before asking curiously, "Why did you ask her to leave?" Her face has an expression that she thinks she may understand why, but she wants his take on it.

Sigam sends a brief assessing look her way, but shrugs. "I'd offer a medical suggestion on that count too, but you've expressed that you've been to a healer." He snickers, then says, "Well, if either of them ever talk to me again, I'll be sure to ask, yeah?" The Dragonhealer exhales long and low, fingers again working at his nails in a developing nervous habit. "I know. It's part of why I didn't balk, really. But in retrospect, it all feels so… disgusting. I can't be mad at him - she's likely fed him some sob story about my being abusive or something - but I really wish I could be." He turns his head to give Thea a long, searching look, then shakes his head. "I didn't think, I /did/. I did love her. She was an intriguing person. Clever, obviously, quick-witted, doting. Perhaps a little clingy, but it never got in the way. It was too good to be true, I later realized, but by then it was rather late." Again he breathes deep, looking guilty rather than irritated now as he scratches the back of his neck. "I just needed space. Room to breathe and calm down and wrap my mind around things. I guess… maybe she thought I meant for her to leave for good." The words don't come out as a question - this is a train of thought he's obviously taken before. "Either way, she took it badly. I suppose it's all for the better, because if she hadn't shown her true colors, I wouldn't be here, but…" He doesn't seem capable of finishing the sentence, simply ducking his head and fighting hard to keep his composure.

Thea flushes at Sigam's mention of her visiting the Healers, offering a clipped, "Wasn't for lack of sleep that I went." Her uneasy expression fades into a crooked smile as he mentions the other two, "I'm sure they'll back me up on that." Her eyes drift down to where he's picking at his fingers and a tiny wrinkle forms, marring her forehead, her lips curving slightly in a frown. She reaches out to tap gentle fingers on his, "Don't." Then she catches herself, ducks her head and yanks her hand back muttering, "Make a mess of your nails and leave open breaks in your skin. You'll be catching a zoonovirus from your patients and then where will we be without our dagonhealer?" Once again she is listening to him speak. "Oh, you did love her? I misunderstood." She quotes him, "Most people don't have to 'go through the process of convincing themselves they love someone', thats all." Her eyes are understanding as he goes on, she points out, "Many girls would likely take that badly, yes. It pretty much smacks of rejection." She ought to know! But she has another question, "So her deception, wasn't what what made you send her away?" She eyes his discomfiture with no small puzzlement, "You seem…Do you still love her? Why don't you go after her? Snatch her away from under her father's nose and bring her here?" Her eyes spark with a bit of mischief, "Seryth and I will help you!" She's smiling in the way a fellow conspirator might at him, but behind that her eyes are careful. She's not teasing and the offer is genuine.

"Obviously," Sigam murmurs, but the misunderstanding of his meaning keeps him from trying to explain again. "They may," he concedes with a small smile, but the humor in his eyes turns to slight surprise when she taps his picking fingers. They're quick to seperate, one hand clamping around each knee, but a single brow is raised in her direction. "Aw, Thea, I'm touched. I didn't know you cared," he says wryly. "There are plenty of Dragonhealers to go around. Ierne's getting better and better at making the information accessible to anyone who wants it." Lips purse, then, a frown taking place of interest. "You can come to love anyone in the end. It's all up here." He taps his forehead. "I don't know how else to explain that to you. It just happened, eventually." A bark of a laugh sounds, drawing the attention of a passing 'healer, but Sigam waves them off. "Girls are too complicated. We don't /mean/ to reject you, we just need /space/. Maybe time to do manly things. Punch a wall, break stuff, cook outdoors." There is a sympathetic look her way, sensing a bit of a link between what he's said and what she's told him of Enkavir, "It doesn't last forever, though." That seems to be for her benefit. "I've had too long to think about this, Thea. It's been-" Surprise seems to tilt his eyebrows. "It's been over four years now. The deception's what made me ask her to go, but I didn't want her /gone/. Not at first. But then she was throwing punches and clawing and hurling glass and books and chairs, and… And then the wedding was abruptly called off when she'd barely had time to get home. I decided I was better without such a psycho in my life, but… I don't know. Love has a funny way of addling your entire sharding life." Thea's offer earns a flat, almost disbelieving stare. "You're serious, aren't you? No, no way. For all my doubts, I never want to go there again. Why do you think I left the bar when Cenlia threw the bottle at me? There's too much there. I'd…" But whatever "he'd" is lost in a shake of his head. "I'm happy here."

Thea lets it go. Perhaps she understood, perhaps not. Sigam's teasing is met with a level look, she says shortly, "None of the other dragonhealers here are friends of mine, so of course I do." She's listening then, with a small nod of agreement, "Complicated. Of course we are. We can't really help that though, you know." She headtilts at him then, eyeing that finger that he points at his forehead, "I suppose. You can do it that way. My ma and da were like that. But for me…" Her voice trails off, the pale green of her eyes grow hazy, "It all came here first." And she lightly touches her own chest over her heart. "Took me by surprise. Totally unexpected." She lowers her hand, her head turns away and her throat works for a few seconds and she is able to look back with eyes that are bright with unshed tears. Her laughter at his next words has somewhat of an edge to it, "Punch and break…" She can't finish for snickering. She's nodding understanding of the idea of needing space though, "I once told Kav I'd let him go, set him free. See, he had these ideas about the stars, wanted to go see Kefai about it, find him in the wilderness. He said he would never go anywhere." Her look towards Sigam can only be described as bereft, "It's been twenty days and not a word." She swallows that down, listens to him speak about punches and throwing things and she's blanching at his words as well as that flat stare, "Oh, Sigam. I'm sorry, I didn't know. You seemed…" She gives him a long, measuring look, "…so broken up about it. Your eyes were…you had tears in them. It made me want to help." She's confused, it's plain to see, "You're happy? Then why…?" She sits up, leans back against that wall, drops her head, "I shouldn't be asking you all this stuff. But you seemed so…sad."

"I appreciate that," Sigam says with a genuine smile, eyes dancing under brows that are finally released from a frown. "I know you can't control it, but it's thoroughly vexing sometimes," he chuckles, hands scrubbing through his hair. "Mighta been different if I had chosen her, or had even been interested beyond one night, but… Well, you know." His gaze follows her hand briefly before flicking back to meet her glimmering eyes. "That's the way it's supposed to work, I've learned. It's much better that way." The words are soft and low, even though he's smirking into her laughter. "All that pent up testosterone and everything." Interested, he listens to her speak of Kav, some mix of bone-deep sadness and puzzlement on his face. "Do you think he could have gone to Kefai, after the hatching? I doubt he was in the best frame of mind after that…" A blink of surprise. "Twenty. Shards. Has it really been that long? I'm… That's…" The Dragonhealer is at a loss for words, sympathetic tears hiking themselves up into his dark eyes. "Don't be sorry, there's no way you could have known. It's… something I don't talk about much." The goldrider's long look has him averting his gaze. "I… Thank you. I'm sorry. That was very brusque of me. I just don't know what to think. To be so ready to have a family, to feel so in love and part of something bigger than me, and to feel so… connected. And then to have all of that thrown in my face, completely rejected, the carpet torn out from under my feet and-" Finally the dam breaks. Arms go up around his head and are curled in to his knees, entire body shaking as raw emotion thunders out of him in a muffled scream. She's said something else, he knows she has, but he doesn't have the ability to respond at the moment. He can only hope she'll understand.

Thea can only shake her head, "He wasn't really sure he -wanted- to Impress. He wasn't close to his family. He no longer had connections with his craft. I cannot imagine where he would have gone." She shakes her head in sorrow, "He could have gone somewhere to get his head together, I wouldn't have minded. But I never thought he'd go without leaving word, without saying goodbye." Her voice chokes off into silence. She listens to Sigam speak of being in love, having a family, being connected and then having that snatched away and it hits close enough to home that it starts silent tears sliding down her cheeks. She is nodding in total understanding when his head drops into his arms and he is letting out that muffled scream of loss. Her eyes dart towards the other 'healers in the annex, did they hear? Nothing seems amiss so Thea sits in silence offering the only support she can. She doesn't try and talk, just places a light hand on his shoulder and waits for him to release the grief he has stored up inside.

"I hate this," Sigam says raggedly after a few moments of uncontrollable, shaking grief. His body is still spasming under her hand, breath coming in rapid, hysterical bursts, but at least he's found his tongue. "It's been four sharding years! Why does it feel like it was yesterday?" His face remains buried in his arms, fingers digging hard into his hair. "Like I could wake up and it was all some kind of nasty dream." More minutes pass, in which breathing exercises are attempted, given up on, lost in sobs, and are eventually put into practice. Finally he unrolls one sleeve and rubs it down his face, leaving a dark patch on the fabric. Though bloodshot and puffy, there is a sudden infinite sea of calm in his eyes… or maybe that's just the deadened feeling one gets after ridding oneself of years worth of pent up emotion. "Shard it all." With a loud sniff, he glances sideways at the hand on his shoulder, following it back to Thea's tear-streaked face. With a watery sort of half-smile, he extends his sleeve saying, "There might be a dry patch left." He's immediately sober again, trying to dig up and remember what she'd been saying before his grief so rudely interrupted. "I'm sorry Thea. I can't pretend to understand why he did that, but… I hope it's temporary." One hand sneaks up to lay over the one on his shoulder, if she'll let him. "I hate to see you sad all the time, I really do. If you didn't obviously love him so much, I might hate him." A sideways look and meek smile shows that was an attempt at humor - don't have Seryth eat him, please!

Thea can only shake her head helplessly as Sigam asks that question. Why do some things never heal, even with time? Her own grief spills from her eyes as she watch his fingers clench his head and she winces. When his sobs end and his breathing takes over she murmurs, "Dream? Hmm, when I do sleep, I dream of him, when I awake, I feel for his body next to mine and it all comes crashing back that he is gone." When he offers her that patch of sleeve, she gives a tiny head-shake and a wan smile, gently pulls her hand from underneath his and reaches instead onto her jacket pocket, pulls out a plain linen handkerchief, wiping her eyes with it instead. For a long moment she sits, head bent studying that damp square of material. "Kav-" her voice cracks as she says the name, "Gave me this to use one night when we sat talking on the beach." Her voice is almost inaudible as she speaks, "That was the night I fell first knew I loved him." Her own attempt at humor fails miserably, "Always meant to get it back to him, but could never keep it clean long enough to return it." The dragonhealer's next words have her lifting her head, flashing him a confused look, "You do? I'm sorry, I try not to let it show around folks." She attempts a half-smile in return, "Four years of you feeling like this? I don't know how you withstood it - I don't think I could." For a breath she is silent, her eyes shift to rest thoughtfully on Seryth's bulk where she has curled on the floor, "I have an out."

Sigam watches Thea solemnly, no real expression showing on his face, though weary sorrow is taking place of the calm. "Happened sorta like that for me, too. She was always an early riser though, so it always took the absolute silence of the place for it to sink in." His focus shifts from her face to the kerchief in her hands as she explains it, his own hand retreats to his knees, holding them tight to his chest. "Mementos are the hardest part to deal with. They live on with you, even when they haven't. Even the stupid little things that are yours, not theirs. Ink they asked to use, their favorite corner of the rug, the decoration they commented on the first time they visited your room. Eventually, it becomes almost funny, the amount of things you've associated." And, yes, there is a spectre of a smile on his lips, head shaking. "They help just as much as they hurt, just like memories." He pauses, holding his breath in hesitation, and then says, more quietly, "Keep it. If- When he comes back, give it to him then." Her confusion is met with a half-shrug. "You do well, don't get me wrong, but I've been around enough distraught riders in my lifetime to know pain when I see it. When you don't have a convenient lifemate to go through, you learn ways to see what dragons are feeling - mostly through their bonds." When her gaze shifts, so does his, a frown forming on his face. "An… out?"

"Listen to us, talking about them like they've died or something." Thea's short laugh is unnatural as she turns back to Sigam and not liking the sound she stifles it. She nods understanding to his comments about mementos, "Memories. They're everywhere. Even riding Seryth-" Her breath catches and she swallows, hastily changing the focus, "Was that why you left Ierne?" The handkerchief is drawn up to her chest along with her legs, both hands clench it as she wordlessly eyes Seryth, nodding in answer to Sigam's question. Her face has become expressionless, drained of color, and her answer is a one word whisper, "*Between*."

Thea's laugh sets Sigam to wincing, head tucking low, even if his eyes remain on hers. "It does seem rather harsh, to talk without letting them defend themselves," he agrees in a murmur, the sudden grin on his face fierce, emphasizing the worn lines around his mouth and eyes. "Even riding?" The smile melts of his face in puddles, head tilting to again regard the silver-kissed gold. "It must make everything hard for you, if he's tied as closely to you as Seryth. As for Ierne, yes and no. I stayed on to earn my third grade, but the second I heard a position had opened here, it became obvious that it was time for a change." Thea moves, but so does Sigam, startled eyes wide and suddenly fearful. Tens- hundreds of words vie for control of his mouth, and his jaw works, trying to make any one of them come out. In the end, only one comes out, accompanied by the slump of his body back against the wall. "Oh."

Thea turns her face is turned away to nod, indicating Seryth, "Yes, riding. She… spoke to him a few times." Her smile is bittersweet, her head turns back in time to see the horror on Sigam's face, the reaction clearly stronger than she'd expected. She waits, with a slightly guilty look, watching him warily, but no lecture pours forth. She headtilts, a slight frown forms and she asks defensively, "I'm sorry, not pleasant to hear, but… why the shock? Surely you've heard similar sentiments from Riders before?" Then a look sweeps her face. She thinks she knows! "Oh, forgive me, I shouldn't have said that right after you've been so upset about your girl. I'm sorry." And she is humbly contrite.

Surprise arches Sigam's eyebrows for a moment. "Really? I suppose, for a dragon like Seryth, that's awful rare. I've had only a few dragons bespeak me over the years, and most of those weren't under the best of circumstances. Usually to tell me to stop what I was doing before my head became their next meal." He looks around the annex then, a small smile creeping like so much ivy up his face. The Dragonhealer's obviously gotten a threat or two like that here already. "Of course I have. It doesn't mean I agree with it," is his mumbled reply, eyes averted. "Don't worry about it. That's not what bothers me. It's just… weird. Having people be so calm about their suicide." The man's face scrunches, but it doesn't appear as if tears will be forthcoming this time. "I suppose this is a bad time to cite the negative effects of queen mortality on weyrs, isn't it?"

Thea smirks a little at that, "Nice of them to give you a warning before making you their dinner, eh?" Her smiles fades, "She only did on one occasion, never spoke to anyone else." Again that bittersweet smile, "Made him get on her back for a ride. So I would talk to him." She waves that away, glancing around the Annex when he does and the quiet reminds her how late the hour is. It has her scrambling to her feet, stretching out the kinks as she peeks at his averted eyes, confused by his scrunched expression. With some asperity, she tells him, "Calm because I said it was an out, not that I was going there for sure!" She pauses, lips twitching at his attempt to cite negative effects, her voice softens, "I'm sorry, I just don't know…" She turns towards Seryth, "Try to forget I said it?"

Chaton steps inside, briefly knocking on the archway as he enters, but not bothering to wait for a reply. He keeps walking, pausing to tap on a computer with his knuckles, then continues on. "Big place…" he mumbles.

"Dragons at least attempt politeness when you're holding pieces of their body together," Sigam notes dryly, eyes flickering over her face. "She must have been convincing, for it to have worked so swimmingly." The Dragonhealer allows the change in conversation, however, not wanting to sting her further. "I'm sorry. You just… said *Between* and I… assumed. That you were heavily considering it." The man seems reluctant, but he rises to his feet as well, making a vain attempt to straighten his clothes. "As a professional, I will, writing it off as a side effect of the flight. But as your friend…" He trails off, troubled, but resolved. "As your friend, I selfishly ask you to use it only as a last resort." A tapping in the corner briefly distracts the 'healer and, turning, he barks, "Oy! Don't do that!" The words are for Chaton, whom Sigam is suddenly giving a sharp, assessing eye. "Welcome to the Dragonhealer Annex. Can I help you?" His voice is stiff with protocol.

"Swimmingly." It's a flat-toned echo as Thea turns around to give Sigam a level look. At his advice, she opens her mouth retorting with some heat, "You have no idea-" But she stops drops her head, tears coming again, "You do, I'm sorry and I will." It's a whispered comment, before the light knock has her wiping her eyes hastily with that handkerchief and hiding it away, looking with over-bright eyes towards the door. And giving Chaton a warm, if tremulous smile to take the bite out of Sigam's bark.

Chaton gives another computer a fast rap before looking up. "Oh! *dragon*healer annex." he grins. "Brilliant. So, that's the dragon then?" he nods at the recently stitched dragon. He walks over with a sort of quick, hyper gait. His eyes look it over superficially, then he waves it off. "Fascinating." he doesn't sound like he much mean's it though, but it's hard to tell because all of his speech thus far has been delivered quickly, but not so fast as that the words run together. "And you must be the healer…" he points at Sigam, then moves the finger to Thea. "And you have been crying." he moves his pointing finger to the muscles at the corner of her mouth. "Taunt and pulled down…" then up to her brow. "Eyebrows pulled down at the sides, but raised in the middle" her neck muscles. "Taunt. Chin dipped slightly." he grins. "All facial expressions relating to emotions are involuntary and are universal." he explains.

"I wouldn't suggest it if I didn't think there was some merit to life after losing a loved one." Sigam pitches the words too low to be heard by others, fingers reaching out to perhaps brush her arm if she hasn't moved too far out of the way. "We should save this for another time. Just know that I'm sorry." Then, the private moment is over, and the Dragonhealer's attention is turned over to Chaton. "Do you always treat technical equipment with such disregard?," he asks in a flat voice, brow arching as the quick-talking lad makes his inspections. When he mentions crying, Sigam winces, visibly stiffening. "Yes, I am 'the healer.' Sigam. And who are you?" He hesitates, eyeing the newcomer's knot, and seems to decide to withhold his 'sir'.

From outside there is a loud keening from outside followed by a few nondescript thumps and a series of curses from a voice that keeps cracking through octaves. Suddenly, though certainly not without warning, M'nol's tousled, disheveled, and harried pubescent face appears through the door, closely followed by Faraeth's, his eyes whirling red-orange with distress. M'nol looks slightly guilty at interrupting what is clearly a serious discussion. With a quiet gulp from M'nol and a louder whine from Faraeth, M'nol waves to Sigam, "Sig! He just woke up creeling and whining. He said his right wing hurt and it didn't move quite right anymore."

Thea tilts her head to peek back up at Sigam, "I don't know if it is-" Seryth raises her head as Chaton walks so quickly towards her, perhaps picking up some of her Rider's emotions, the normally serene queen gives a barking chuff - a warning to keep the stranger at bay. Thea's eyes zero in on that finger thrust at her. Her brows lower, lips press together in a flat line at Chaton's seemingly insensitive assessment as her eyes flick to his knot. Her brows hike up in unimpressed surprise as she sees the Healer knot, her head gives a tiny shake of disbelief. The weyrwoman's voice is deceptively mild, "Mind sparing us a lecture on body language? And be a bit slower approaching injured dragons, please." She reaches a calming hand to rest gently on Seryth's foreleg, tilting her head, asking the teen in a cool voice, "New here?" The sounds from outside distract her and she is peering out the door, the queen behind her snakes her neck around to see Faraeth through the open door.

Chaton nods. "New? Yes…" he nods. "No, Sir, I can't honestly say that I much like computers. I've never been any good at them. Too… cold and calculating. Inhuman." he shakes his head. "I'm not good with dragons, either." he gives a small bow to Seryth. "Sorry, there." He promptly forgets the warning on quick movements, when the outburst at the door causes him to spin 'round on his toes. He mumbles something about panicking not helping anything. "Try breathing. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Sometimes it helps to count on the out." he advises. "Like" he inhales "In…" and exhales "One." he inhales again, but this time blows a strand of hair out of his eyes. "It helps regulate your breathing and your panic response. Hormones and such."

"That's for you to decide." Really, seriously, Sigam is done with the conversation - the pain in his eyes and the cold line of his mouth indicate he won't venture into it with Chaton present. "I'm not their greatest fan either, but they are expensive and invaluable, saving us time and sparing others from having to read handwriting that is abhorrent, at best." Patience already exhausted, Chaton isn't getting the best side of Sigam, but he doesn't feel like going out of his way to make reparations. "Sorry, Seryth," is grumbled towards the gold as he moves around her. "And I wish you would kindly stop telling people what to do around here. We're perfectly capable of handling things ourselves." Though he's crossing towards M'nol, the Dragonhealer's eyes are only for Faraeth, eying the wing in question. "What exercises were the weyrlings doing today," he asks, gaze twitching back to go from Thea to Seryth. "Hate to ask you this, but since you're here, would you mind dampening the pain for a moment? It'll help him stay calm while we apply numbweed." Already he's crossing to pick a jar from the nearest shelf.

M'nol leads Faraeth further into the room as the poor brown continues to keen and carry his hurting wing at a slightly off angle from the other. M'nol gives his dragon a deeply concerned look, a few tears even peeking out the edge of his eyes, he'd been told that injuries now could hurt Faraeth for life. He gulps loudly, stroking the brown's nose comfortingly, "Just stretches, spreading the wings out, then bringing them back in, and moving them up and down. I think he may have rolled over on it." His eyes are drooping in sleep, but his only concern is for his lifemate.

Seryth's eyes whirl an irritated yellow as she rises to her feet. The quick-spinning Chaton is given a none-to-gentle nudge towards the door with her muzzle, a snort of hot breath puffs from her nostrils as she does it. "Seryth!" It's a hurried admonishment from Thea before a swift glance towards Sigam has her eyes darkening with hurt at his coldness, but a glance back to the others shows she understands, at least in part. She nods to Sigam's request, pointing a finger at Chaton, addressing him crisply, coolly, "You may stay, but over by the door, please and be still." She visibly forces herself to relax the tension in her taut shoulders and a calming breath as her frown eases. Her eyes take on that unfocused look as one does when communicating with their dragon, and the queen lowers herself with a rumble of discontent sent the newcomer's way. Then she stretches her muzzle towards Faraeth, eyes calming as she croons softly, musically.

Chaton stumbles at the nudge, and, to add insult to injury, the snort was aimed perfectly to knock all of his hair back into his eyes. He exhales sharply, to clear them out, and turns to look at the gold. He eyes the gold for a moment, something on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows it and shakes his head. "Ah, no. No, I don't think I will. There's too much to see. Lots to do. Think you can point me in the direction of the head healer here, or someone can give me a hand?"

"That sounds much more likely, M'nol." Sigam says, calming down in his element. "You should take a seat. There's a chair over there, or the floor." Opening and dropping his jar on the nearest counter, Sigam scrubs up and coats his arms with yet more redwort and oil. "Ask Faraeth if he heard a cracking noise at any point when he rolled over." The numbweed is picked back up and Sigam hurries back to the brown's side. "Also ask if the pain is sharp and aching, or if it's more sickening, as if there's something wrong but he just can't place it." A table is hauled over, and Sigam indicates that Faraeth should rest his wing on it. "May I touch you?," he asks of the weyrling before giving Thea and Seryth a thankful glance. To Chaton, he points, indicating an assistant on break. "Ask her. Her name is Mari, and she can direct you wherever you need to go. Welcome to Xanadu, and… I'm sorry that it couldn't've been on better terms." And then he's got a palm full of numbweed, attention fully devoted to the task.

Chaton nods. "Awesome." he says. He nods cooly at the assistant, and waves her over. A quick, "How-do-you-do?" later and a quick request for directions towards Klah, the head healer, and a place to sleep, and he's quickly following her out the door, but not before giving one last rap on the nearest computer before exiting.

M'nol collapses into the indicated chair. He hadn't noticed Chaton, so his exit was equally unnoticed. He takes a deep breath a slugs back a glass of water. "He says it's aching and he didn't hear a snap." He scoots the chair to within reach of Faraeth's nose and strokes said nose, "It's okay, Farry," He turns worried eyes to Sigam, "Will he be okay?"

"The head healer is in his bed, likely at this hour. You'll need to see him in the morning. and Chaton? Might want to notice knots and address folks with due respect." Thea's voice is clipped, just shy of irate as she answers the young lad, before returning her attention to Faraeth, her eyes returning Sigam's glance on the way towards the brown. That rapping sound on the computer has a swift glare aimed at the lad's backside as he heads out, but the weyrwoman stifles it and concentrates with Seryth. After a few moments, her voice is once again gentle, "How's the pain M'nol? Is Seryth helping?" There's curiosity in her tone, "We've not had the chance to do this before."

"Respect my sharding third eye," Sigam is hissing, and it's obvious that if his hands weren't filled with numbing goo, they would be in fists. "If I ever see him touch a piece of technology with anything less than utter reverence, I know where I will embed my old rusty scalpels." Fortunately, his voice is filled with more frustration than conviction. "Farry will be fine, M'nol, don't you worry." With the fast-paced mindhealer finally gone, Sigam is quick to relax, shoulders drooping even if his movement never ceases. "It's likely just a strain, which is fortunate for you. We'll numb it, and continue to do so for at least a sevenday, maybe two. Can you tell me where it hurts?" Something of a smile is aimed towards Thea, words teasing, not suggestive of her being lax. "Lucky you. You're obviously not hauled up here enough, most of us would break a limb to have a gold assisting. It really helps the dragons calm down, even if it's only by sheer intimidation."

Thea flickers a glance towards Sigam at that hiss, her lips quirking in a tiny grin. "He'll find himself booted back to Healer Hall so fast he won't know what continent he's on if he doesn't get a grip on himself. Just say the word if he annoys," she says sweetly as if this thought cheers her considerably. She tilts her head considering Sigam, "I don't know why they haven't called us. Perhaps they thought Seryth was too young?" She really doesn't seem to know. "With Hisolda back, I've more time now. Send Calelir, we would come. I can do paperwork here as well as in the office." She brushes back long srtands of her dark hair, tucking it behind one ear, giving a considering look at Faraeth, noting her relaxation, then she nods at M'nol, "I'm glad." His question has her raising a sable brow at the door through which Chaton exited and she answers, "My guess is he's a journeyman mindhealer with some need to see a mindhealer himself." She actually giggles after saying that. Seryth herself continues her croon to the dragonet, flicking out her tongue, aiming it for the top of Faraeth's head.

"You will be the first to know," Sigam purrs back before, with a chuckle, he shakes his head. "We're so mean." Taking M'nol's direction, the Dragonhealer begins to gently apply the numbweed on Faraeth's elbow, working it around the entire joint and even edging out onto the primary mainsail a bit to minimize auxiliary soreness. Soft words are coming from Sigam, all aimed towards the brown, even if he has calmed significantly with Seryth's intervention. "They… haven't…?" Sigam pauses to look over at Thea, surprised. "I'm going to have a word with K'vin. I can't believe he would pass up such a opportunity, youth or no youth. If she's old enough to fly, she's old enough to be listened to." There's no scorn in that statement, merely surprise as he goes back to massaging gel towards the spar bone. "I'll definitely send him along if we need help. Thank you." A truly grateful glance is given over his shoulder, but it is brief. "You're going to want to keep this numb at the first sign of pain for the first three days, to cut down on distress. After that, you can venture out into calm saltwaters - it really helps the healing process. No wing exercises, no undue stretching, and definitely no attempts at flight. Because this has happened once, you're doubly prone to having it happen again until adulthood is reached, so exercise caution. Not overcaution, but be careful." Finally, he's reached the finger joint on the top, and he ducks beneath the leading edge to get the muscles on the underside of the wing. "He was another trundlebug splattered on the wall of life," Sigam says, joining in the laughter as he watches Seryth aim a lick for Faraeth. "Aren't you a sweetie."

Faraeth gives an audible sigh, his first lids relaxing, as Sigam applies the numbweed. M'nol, still looking somewhat grim, nods as Sigam gives him care instructions, then giggles at the mention of trundle bugs, still making a face, "Bleck, trundlebugs. Why do they have to make such a nasty smell?" Faraeth gives a soft cooing sound as Seryth's tongue touches his head and says, unrestrained enough for many to see the tattered red velvet, « For a not-mom, not-M'nol, you're really nice. »

Thea looks smug, some of the sparkle back in the green of her eyes, "Will be my pleasure if he doesn't shape up." She watches with interest as the dragonhealer applies the numbweed, eyes unfocused slightly. Her face stills as if she were retreating deep inside herself, there's a small, "Hunh, I can feel where it hurts through Seryth if I focus." Then she is more 'there' as she merely nods at Sigam, "Certainly, tell K'vin I'd be honored." She can't help but chuckle at the trundlebug comment, answering M'nol's question, "It's their nature?" Is she talking insects or mindhealers? She proudly agrees with Sigam's comment about Seryth, , "She -is- a sweetie!" The queen gives the young brown a purring trill of encouragement. Thea suddenly takes a step back from the table rubbing at her face and leans against her dragon's side, muttering, "That's weird. Sorta… dizzy."

"Not all ugly things can be beautiful on the inside," Sigam comments with sagely sarcasm, nose wrinkled with a grin that can only be termed 'wicked.' "I'm sure he's a nice kid, but I just don't have the patience to deal with over-helpful obnoxious types." His massage along the extensor muscles is brisk and quick, and the Dragonhealer is almost surprised when he's done. "I'm used to /much/ larger browns. If you were full-grown, this would have taken much longer." Stepping away from Faraeth, Sigam cants his head. "Seryth, let him go nice and easy. Tell me how it feels, Farry." In the meantime, he can tell he missed a spot on his pinky, for his skin has settled from buzzing softly to being completely dead. "I'll mention it to him, Thea, but the honor would be all hours. Her temperament couldn't be better, so if it wouldn't be a burden to you.." As he's washing his hands free of numbweed and oil, a questioning look is aimed at the goldrider. "Dizzy?"

Faraeth stands slowly, spreads his wing slightly, then pulls it in against his body with a happy chirrup. M'nol chuckles, "He says it doesn't hurt. Should I take a small jar of numbweed with me?" He might've been about to say more, but Thea's words catch his attention and he would've moved towards her if she wasn't clearly leaning against Seryth, "You okay, Thea?"

Thea has no more quips or comments as Seryth whuffs gently at Faraeth, slowly pulling her head back to brace Thea upright against her side. The queen is releasing the brown and hopefully doing it right because Thea, who has gone quite pale, is likely not helping her. She manages a nod in answer to both questions from Sigam and M'nol. "I'm… fine." She says it through whitened lips with her eyes closed. "Just been a…long day." She says this as she's slowly sliding down Seryth's side to the floor. "I just need…" She lands sitting up, with her head tipped forward on Seryth's, her dark hair tumbles over the gold's muzzle.

"Yeah, hang on a sec, I'll grab you a vial. Just filled them today." Sigam dries off his hands briskly, returning the larger jar of numbweed and exchanging it for a squatter, smaller version. "Here, this should do. I put a lot on, so don't use my job as a point of reference. A thin layer will be all it takes to get through the epidermis and affect the mus-" The Dragonhealer's about to pass it on to M'nol, but something in the way Thea's speaking has him glancing over, eyebrows tightly knit. "You don't look fine," he's growling, on the move even as she slides to the floor. A flick of his wrist has the jar of numbweed tossed to the weyrling's breadbasket, even as he pads to Thea's side, sparing a quick glance for Seryth. The dragon hasn't gone ten kinds of distressed, so the goldrider is obviously intact, but sensitive fingers still pause just beyond her pale mouth, testing for breath, before they alight on the pulse in her jugular. "A little off-kilter maybe, but stable. Thea?" Hands are withdrawn as he scoots back a bit, giving her space. His shoulders sag. "Shards, I shoulda let you head home hours back. Gotta be exhausted by now."

M'nol manages, after a few juggles, to secure the vial of numbweed and tuck it in his jacket as he joins Sigam near Thea. Faraeth, picking up on his bonded's distress, begins shuffling back and forth nervously, emitting a quiet sound of discontent. M'nol follows the 'healer's lead and stays back, but he can't keep the panic out of his voice as he calls to her, "Thea?" He blinks twice, trying to process through his own tired brain, then looks at Sigam, "What should we do?"

Seryth doesn't move her muzzle, but her eyes follow Sigam's movements, strangely their color continues a green-slow whirl as she watches him. Thea's eyes remain shut, her face still that alabaster white, but she speaks from where she is leaning against her dragon's muzzle, protesting quietly, "I'm fine." She can hear Faraeth, pick his distress up from Seryth and her brow wrinkles, "Send him back to the barracks, he needs to rest that wing. Take care of his lifemate first." It's a faint plea, as her eyes open half way to seek Sigam, the ice green almost colorless through her dark lashes, "I think I just need some…" She doesn't finish. Her eyes slide closed and she slips sideways off the tip of Seryth's muzzle slumping towards Sigam. She's out cold, but Seryth remains calm and relaxed offering nothing more than a questioning croon that seems to be directed at the dragonhealer.

"Oh, fine, yes, that's why you've gone whiter than linen." The words are gruff, but lines of concern have reappeared on Sigam's face. When she mentions M'nol, he glances towards the weyrling and frowns a little. "She has a point. Faraeth should definitely be resting." He doesn't order them out right away, for with a muffled noise, Sigam leans forwards and catches Thea against his chest. Eyes are wide and confused, he looks from Seryth to M'nol to Faraeth and back. "Don't ask /me/ what to do," he tells the gold, dark eyebrows furrowed. After a moment of staring helplessly at Thea, he sets his mouth and glances up at the weyrling pair. "You guys really should head back. Remember salt water - even if you soak a cloth tomorrow instead of going out into it, that will help. But for now, get rest. I'll send a note to your instructors, explaining." To Seryth, he says, "Is she safe to be carried? I could help you get her to the healers." Already, he's settling her weight awkwardly in his arms, trying to find a good hold. It's not often he carries around bodies, yanno - he's no K'ael!

M'nol gives Sigam a quick nod. Now that Thea has spoken he knows she's not dead at least. He moves to Faraeth's side and maneuvers the brown back towards the door, clearing the path for Sigam to carry Thea. He gives one last worried look for Thea, saying, "I'm gonna get Faraeth 'n' me both some sleep. But I'll be through some time t'morrow to make sure Thea's alive and well. Let me know if anything happens, Sig." He gives the 'healer a tired, sad grin, and leads his lifemate back to their couch in the barracks.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 License