The Loss of a Patient

Writers: AL, Heather
Date Posted: 29th January 2015

Characters: Saibra, W'ser, D'ved
Description: W'ser loses a patient.
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 10, day 24 of Turn 7

Saibra

W'ser

Threadfall had been hot and heavy and patients were pouring in and out
of the infirmary. W'ser's tunic sleeves were rolled up his forearms
and already stained with tinges of dragon ichor. He dodged through
some apprentices that were hurrying over to a dragon with bandages.

"Weyrwoman! I need your assistance!" He barked the order without a
second thought. The fact that their new Weyrwoman was also a
dragonhealer had been a boon in W'ser's book. Sometimes goldriders
didn't understand how to help or what they should do when a
dragonhealer required their assistance.

Saibra had flown the 'Fall and then gone immediately to the infirmary
once Chioneth had landed. She did not always help out after
Threadfall, since she had her own duties to take care of as well, but
with today's particularly grueling time in the air she had known a
pair of extra hands would be appreciated.

"Coming." She called back to the Weyrdragonhealer as she grabbed an
apprentice's hand and pressed it down firmly over the bloody bandage
she had been using to sop up a gaping wound on a small green dragon.
"Keep applying pressure. I will send a journeyman to you. Don't leave
this dragon."

Stepping into the throng of people Saibra grabbed the first shoulder
she saw that bore journeyman knots, "Get to that green over there!
Now!" She gave the man firm shove in that direction before turning and
following behind W'ser. When she looked up her feet froze in midstep.

A mangled dragon lay before her, so twisted and scored that she could
not even identify if it were a brown or bronze dragon.

**Is it....**

}:He is alive still. I am holding on to him but he is fading.:{ There
was a strained sound to Chioneth's voice.

W'ser did not know how much hope they had of saving the dragon, but he
would try. "Weyrwoman, begin work on that left Wing while I try to
staunch the flow of blood at his neck." The gash at the base of his
neck and shoulder was oozing ichor at a rapid pace.

"Let me go!" A large man, his leathers splashed and darkened with a
mix of blood and ichor attempted to writhe free of hands that strained
to hold him back. His own face dripped with blood, a gash opening the
side of his face from which the red liquid trickled out. Although it
was likely he sported more injuries that couldn't necessarily be seen,
he fought those who tried to restrain him tooth and nail. "Orionth!
Orionth! Let me go, shaffit!"

"Get him out of here!" W'ser thundered, the man would only be a
distraction to the healers and to his own dragon as well. The
Weyrdragonhealer's entire front was covered in ichor, and not an inch
of his skin showed on his forearms and hands, all covered in dragon's
blood.

}:He's fading fast!:{ Chioneth's voice was pinched.

**Hold on to him!** Saibra growled as she worked feverishly at
patching up the oozing, torn wing. The riding leathers that she had
worn earlier that day were smeared with blood, her black hair falling
in wisps from the single braid that ran down her back.

"Orionth! ORIONTH!" Several men joined the two that continued to
fight against D'ved's thrashing. A fist struck one in the fast and
the bronzerider almost managed to break free, then was caught by
three more as they attempted to wrestle him back and out of sight of
his lifemate. One shouted, his words muffled against the cries that
surrounded them.

W'ser couldn't block out the screams that were aimed at his back as he
tried to save the bronze dragon before him. Even when the keen of
dragons rose up around him W'ser didn't stop working. He had to save
this dragon! He had to!

"W'ser." A soft voice whispered while a hand came down on his shoulder.

He didn't stop working. He couldn't!

Saibra squeezed W'ser's shoulder, speaking in a firmer tone, "W'ser. He's gone."

Gone? No. He couldn't accept that.

}:My rider. Orionth is gone. You should move so Chioneth and I can
carry him out.:{ Branth's tone was somber, and barely audible over the
sound of the dragons' keening.

"Come on, W'ser. Chioneth and Branth need to take him/between/."
Saibra's tone was commanding, and like a well-trained dragonrider,
W'ser obeyed his Weyrwoman, although his mind felt like it was in a
fog.

The screaming hadn't stopped, but someone had managed to force some
fellis down the man's throat. It was a few more moments before it
finally took effect and with one last weak attempt, he called out his
dragon's name while his dark, anguished eyes turned to W'ser, unspoken
accusation within before they finally closed.

The look on the man's face tore through W'ser like a knife, and he
followed numbly as the Weyrwoman pulled him a long. "Come on, W'ser."
She directed him toward his office and closed the door behind them.
"Sit down." Saibra ordered, pushing on his shoulders to guide him down
into his chair. The brownrider did as directed with a numb look on his
face.

The Weyrwoman glanced around the office and plucked a bottle of wine
from the shelf, "Here." She pushed the deep red wine into his hands.

W'ser looked down at the bottle for a moment, hesitating, and then he
ripped off the cork and turned the contents up to his lips. The liquid
surged down his throat, adding warmth to his body and limbs that felt
numb. He couldn't escape the look in the bronzerider's eyes, the
accusation that had been clearly written there. **It is my fault. I
should have saved his dragon.**

}:Nonsense. Orionth was beyond help. You did all you could.:{ Branth
insisted as he and Chioneth prepared to take the bronze dragon's
mangled remains/between/.

**Tell that to his rider.** W'ser thought morosely.

"Go home, W'ser."

The Weyrdragonhealer's head snapped up, "But I -"

"That's an order. The most severe have been treated, we will cover the
rest. I mean it. Go home. Rest. Clear your mind. You are no good to us
right now anyway." Saibra sighed as she looked down at her own soiled
clothing, but she couldn't leave the infirmary until the last of the
patients had been seen, especially since she had ordered W'ser to
leave.

W'ser knew better than to disobey and so he stood, the bottle of wine
hanging loosely in his hand, "Yes ma'am."

Saibra opened the door to leave but turned and looked back, "W'ser."

"Weyrwoman?"

"Don't blame yourself." She lifted her eyebrows and then turned and left.

The Weyrdragonhealer sighed, "Impossible."

Last updated on the February 10th 2015

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The Loss of a Patient