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Harper's Tale 2 - Sunday, June 09, 2002, 8:44 PM
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Beach
Ancient dunes have been flattened by the endless parade of people and dragons that tramp northwest across the bowl, leaving a mere skiff of sand here along lake's beaten edge. Footprints litter the curve of beach, some left turns ago and caught frozen in the heavy clay earth near the water's edge. As the sun sets, shadows invade, creeping like fingers across the gently sloping ground and darkening the distant ledges on the far side of the lake.
To the north, dust rises from the redolent pens while the flattened disc of the main bowl is just a step to the northwest.
It is a spring afternoon. The sun begins to rise up over the horizon and sets the grass afire sparkling off of the dew. Orange, pink and purple rays spread across the sky, turning a few high cirrus clouds into brilliant fingers of color.
To the northwest, you see ten dragons.
Darting here and there are eleven firelizards.
Brown Sidramuntalath is here.
You see Toshiro and Aequitas here.
Sii'kyn and Miria are here.
Obvious exits:
Stables     Feeding Pens     Central Bowl     Lake

Slithering down the straps-ladder, Wyn slides from Vorkoroth's neck and gently touches earth.

Sii'kyn arches one brow. "I /am/ a rider, you know, and in much better shape than any recruit." It's the truth. "But running in ice-skates /is/ sorta dangerous, y'know." Ahem. But then again.. dangerous is his middle name! "I bet I could beat you there, yeah." And then, he races. Yep! Flinging legs and darting with all of that pent-up energy of his, he virtually sprints over the ice.

Lah-dee-dah... Miria is just having a blast being chased by the energy-full rider, combatting his with her own energy, keeping a nice, safe distance away. Yup. She's confident that she'll make it. "A rider for /how long/ compared to my two and a half Turns as a guard, Sii'kyn?" An eyebrow quirks rather amusedly. "And you don't know /how/ hard they have us working to get in shape."

Sii'kyn bolts after Miria. "I'm not a _full_ rider," he pants, "But I was a crack-fast stablehand before that!" As he bolts across the ice, the young man rivals up, ready to pass her. Ha! There he goes! Yaaaaaaaaah!

And in drop Wyn and Vorkoroth, the bluerider dismounting with her own inimitable double-hop, and a pair of skates around her neck. Skates which she proceeds to put on, after ambling towards a conveniant snowbank, leaving Vorkoroth to converse with Sidramuntalath. And perhaps lay a few bets on the speed skating.

"Wha..." Miria tries to speed up, of course, but she doesn't notice the little bit of melting ice straight ahead... Her skate blade catches in the indentation and WHACK she goes onto the ice, nicely sprawled out. "ACH!" She lies there somewhat stunned. "Bloody shards, it's melting already..."

Sii'kyn makes a fatal error. As his friend goes down, he begins one of his trademark skiffing stops; but when his blade turns, it slips on that aforementioned slippery ice. However, he won't get away so easily... as he turns, his blade continues on the ice, but his foot doesn't. He flails, and drops to his tailbone -- and the loosening 'skate on his /other/ foot glides up in the air. Ike watches - detachedly, with more than a little bit of horror -- as his back hits the ground, causing him to "OOOF!"... and then the blade comes down, newly-sharpened blade slicing easily from the cliff of his high left cheekbone to chin, skirting the edge of his mouth in the process. And there, he lies, stunned. Shocked, stunned... and silent.

"Ike? Miria?" Cue concerned noises from a certain blueriding ex-Healer. "Ike?!? Are you all right?" Without waiting for a reply, Wyn, still in her boots, goes patter-slipping out across the ice, dropping to her knees and sliding the rest of the way towards the tumbled pair. "Tsk, oh dear... Anything feel broken? Can you hear me?" Yes, so the order of the questions leaves a little something to be desired.

Miria has disconnected.

He doesn't even say a word, just staring up at Wyn in shock - and a tad bit of horror crosses his face when he hears the crunching of ice and the bellow of a very concerned, very large brown dragon. "Ram.. stop.." he hoarsely mutters. And the brown stops. Once he's towering over Wyn's shoulder. The brownling raises his trembling fingers to gingerly press against the cut, and they come away a stark red color. He stares at it. "Oh, good Faranth," he mutters. "What have I done to myself /this/ time?"

Wyn is soon all bustle and efficiency, eyeing the slice and giving a stern order of "Vorkoroth. Stay. On. Shore." Which the blue heeds a little better. Wyn's bedside manner was never one to write home about. Think: slightly more friendly and personable than Ton Phanen. She eyes the cut, and proceeds to pull a sisal scarf from around her neck, folding the white cloth into a pad, and handing it to her wingmate with a brusque. "It appears to /me/ that you've gone and sliced your cheek open with your skate blade. And that you'll require stitches. Press that against your cheek, and we'll get you to the Infirmary once you can stand."

The housekeeper arrives to cart Miria off to bed.
Trajan walks in from the Central Bowl.

You look more closely at Trajan, but don't notice anything different.
Glimmering locks of pale hair flutter in featherlike tresses from this young man's head, flickering gently across his eyes and reaching to brush his shoulders faintly. Eyes glitter, palely blue fading into touches of violet at the center like gentle flames reaching outward. Alabaster skin covers the petite frame of the boy, pale as the winter sky and frail in appearance as the very snow. Thin lips curve upwards, shy smile peeking forth to brighten eyes to a glow of warmth which radiates about his entire form. Small and petite, he is in no way made of glass, eager for the outdoors and all the world has to offer.
He wears a tunic of pale sky blue, the fabric clinging slightly to his torso to disappear, tucked into comfortably fitting trousers. Perched on Trajan's shoulder is Gisei. Perched on Trajan's shoulder is Fiore. Perched on Trajan's shoulder is Tavias.
He wears the knot of a High Reaches Baker Apprentice.
Carrying:
Gisei Tavias
Fiore
He is a teenager of about 18. He is awake, but seems rather distracted.

You look more closely at Wyn...
Thick brown hair frames a heart-shaped face, falling in a gentle wave to just brush her shoulders. Grey eyes appraise the world calmly, although a dry humour often lurks in their depths. The young woman is slim and petite, height rising to a mere 5' 4, with a smooth complexion of olive skin, for the most part free of the lumps and bumps present in many of her age. Her legs provide most of her limited height, long and shapely and with well defined muscles. While delicate in form, she is possessed of a quiet strength, which manifests itself in every movement, although she rarely raises her voice above a low and mellow alto, and travels with sure grace on silent feet.
Forest and raven entwine to form a sleek pair of riding leathers that walk well the fine line between tight styling and comfort. Worked to a suede softness, they cling to what curves a petite frame has to offer, outlining lithe legs before disappearing into a pair of high leather boots polished to an onyx finish. Breeches are toned in the forest hue, as are sleeves and the trim of shoulder-seams and collar line of the riding jacket, the rest of it a deep black and fastened with silver buttons. A high collared undertunic in grey can be seen peeking out above the top of the jacket. Hiding in Wyn's hair is Thebes. Perched on Wyn's left shoulder, Terraverte twines her tail around her neck.
Black and midnight blue twine together in a single loop of double cording, a small tail and a tassel combining with a ribbon of blue to denote a Weyrling Wingsecond, rider of blue Vorkoroth.
Carrying:
Thebes Terraverte
You notice Wyn eyeing you intently.
She is a teenager of about 19. She is awake and looks alert.

You look more closely at Sii'kyn...
Creamy, alabaster skin conflicts heavily with the general darkness that enshrouds this young man. His paleness gives him a constant look of general craftiness; mistaken for confusion, for some strange reason, the shock is so mercurial. Dark, deep oculars are odd colored: on the very rims of his irises, the coloring is so pale that it almost blends in with the surrounding white of his eye -- and then, it deepens into a spiral pool, until the fading into the ultimate obsidian of his pupils -- grey whirlpools, carrying flecks of a color just shy of quicksilver - captivating by the mere fact that they truly are windows to the heart. Pale eyelashes fringe those oddities, contrasting demurely to darkened 'brows; near-white complexion combines with these interesting features to give him a fairly contrasting, interesting look. Sleek hair, grown out and trimmed, is ebon in color and long in length, well on it's way to mid-back length. Another oddity plagues him, in the form of blue highlights - streaks varying from a single strand of hair to a thick, long lock; colors varying from the creamiest pastel azure, to the electricity-bright ice blue, to deep navy - and back again. Slender and slim, his short height doesn't detract from his image - he's no bag of bones. Broad shoulders, muscled from days of labor, contrast the narrow lines of his hips. Deft muscles, long, strong, and thick, line his legs -- definitely, he's lost that look of coltishness for the view of a predator, a pale leopard in lamb's clothing.
Royal blue, by ways of a tunic, is skin-tight; sleeveless, the collar rises to hug his neck, and the garment fades down to hip-length, where royal blue stops, gives way to ebon-black; a narrow braided belt fades to breeches, before they meld into high boots.
Doubled-cord loops once, ebon and navy twining their wicked ways, with a tail - a ribbon of magma-reddened brown weaves amongst, along with a tassle of silver, denoting him as a Senior Weyrling Wingsecond.
He is a young adult of about 20. He is awake and looks alert.

Sii'kyn eyes Ram for a long moment, and inspects the blood on his fingers for another long moment. Ahem. "Okay. Stitches?" He pauses. "Oh, Faranth, shells, shards... Fall, fire, and fog! Crackdust! This is gonna /scar/!" That's his big problem. Yep. "Okay. Pressing..." He presses the scarf against his cheek, and mumbles worse curses under his breath as he scrambles to his feet. "Shardit.."

"Yes," agrees Wyn patiently, "It will likely scar. I do not believe in giving false hope. However," And here a steadying hand moves to rest lightly on her friend and wingmate's shoulder. "How /severely/ it scars depends on how soon it's treated, and how little you can manage to tug at the wound and tear it further." Trajan is spotted, and beckoned over with a peremptory wave.

An innocent walk. That's all Trajan was trying to have. Humming softly, the bakerlet heads down towards one of his favorite places.. The lake. The lake is so nice. Yes it is. And look there! Even Sii'kyn's there! With.. *squint* ..Blood. It's not exactly hard to distinguish blood on someone. It's..ya know..red. Stare. See, while Sii'kyn might have blood there on his face, Trajan's blood..is promptly gone from his own, the baker going pale as he breaks out into a run, eyes gone wide. "What happened?!" Squeak!

Sii'kyn sniffles. Audibly. But.. admire him, he's not crying. Or bawling. Or squeaking. Ahem. "I kinda.. sliced my chin with a blade! No biggie." A smile is half-heartedly given. "Um.. Wyn? Go on and lead the way." Wince.

Wyn stands, and holds a hand out to offer a hand up, should one be sought. "What happened is that Sii'kyn caught a bad patch of ice, and filleted himself quite neatly." she intones, Vulcan-like, before it occurs to her that, oh, yes, she's supposed to be reassuring. "Do not be too alarmed, however. I've seen worse. Would you give him a hand, Trajan...? I should like to see if I can remember who's on duty in the infirmary..."

Sii'kyn twitches. Half-randomly. "Can we go now?" Twitch. Twitch. Shudder. Press. "'Cause it's beginning to hurt..."

Trajan is squeaking though! And looking like he might possibly cry. Hey, he can't help it. This is /Sii'kyn/ that's hurt here. Sii'kyn. Quick! Tell him to find a blue flower with red thorns! Ahem. Shakily, and still quite wide-eyed, the baker moves to help Sii'kyn up, biting down on his lower lip and trying to keep his eyes off the blood. Blood..isn't..good. Wait a minute. Don't be alarmed? His love is bleeding! Yes, the bakerlet is alarmed! "Okay.." Yes. Hurry hurry to the infirmary. Oohh, Sii'kyn can expect a bakerlet to be doting upon him hand and foot for a while to make sure he's completely alright..

Wyn hangs back a bit, looking perhaps just a tad doubtful at Trajan's ability to stay conscious while leading Sii'kyn to the infirmary. Although she really oughtn't to be. After all, it's a statistical fact that it's only the big, burly sorts that faint at blood. "Right. Come a long then, follow me, and for /Faranth's/ sake, keep /pressure/ on that." she barks, slipping a little into her Wingsecond voice, before leading the way.

**TRAVEL**

Shining steel and redwort tang assault the senses on entry to the infirmary.
Infirmary
Echoing and austere, blank stone walls are vaulted high to overshadow the row of white-curtained cots along the back wall. Ancient metal gleams steel-bright in the form of sinks and examination table, lit relentlessly by bright glows and reflecting the colours of bottles and jars shelved above. Padlocked cabinets hide the more dangerous drugs and implements, whilst healer paraphenalia litters one solid oak table with sweetly-fragranced herbs and tattered scrolls. A small hearth contains a fire usually banked low, several cauldrons set ready nearby to for heating water. A dark staircase twists up from one corner to the dragonhealer's lair; one low door leads into the lower caverns, another to weyrhealers' quarters. Barn-sized doors open inwards with creak of hinges from the ground weyr.
Comfortable on top of a cupboard are ten firelizards.
You see examination area here.
You notice Siannen asleep here.
Mosiah is here.
Obvious exits:
Ground Weyrs     Inner Caverns     Healers' Quarters

Sii'kyn pushes his way in from the ground weyrs.
Trajan pushes his way in from the ground weyrs.

Mosiah is settled up on one of the counters, again forgoing the traditional chair. He seems to be pouring some substance or another into little red vials... ah, yes. Those infamous little red vials.

"..don't speak down your..I am keeping pressure..bah! Traj. Please don't faint on me.." Muscular brownling, suffering expression on face, trots in after Wyn, sisal scarf pressed to cheek. "And I'll.. uh.. buy you another one of these flipping-fabric-things once all of this is over. Can I sit down?" All is asked rapid-fire, silver eyes of Sii'kyn encompassing the Evil Infirmary.

Trajan comes right along with Sii'kyn, the little baker fretting no matter what's said to him. Oh no, he's not going to faint, despite the rather pale look in his face. Well..okay, sitting down /might/ be a good idea. But still, he's just worried about the brownrider.

Wyn pads briskly into the Infirmary, shepherding Sii'kyn and Trajan in as soon as she's cleared the doorway. "Oh hush." she advises. "Keep talking and you'll tear it worse. I never liked that scarf anyways." Although white and blood red are a rather nice combination... But that's gross. So, instead, Wyn nods and points at a cot before angling off towards Mosiah. "Psst. Moe." comments the former Healer. "Still posess a liking for a touch of trauma now and again? I've brought you a toy to play with..." Good thing her tone's kept (hopefully) too low for Sii'kyn's ears, hmm?

Mosiah blinks up as the little group bustles into the infirmary. With a heave and a ho, he is bouncing up off the counter to land upon sandaled feet on the ground. Any more contraceptive measuring is left for another time. Moe's eyes actually light up at the sight of reddness on Ike, and Wyn's words are just the icing on the bubbly. "Ohhhh, what have we here?" He waves a hand over to a spare cot, swooping over with eager anticipation. "Let me see."

"Nasty," Ike mutters. "Toy?" He plops down on the spare cot. "I need stitches, Moe-boy!" He's still cheeky. Yep. This is not fazing him at all. He peels the scarf off his left cheek, exposing a nice cut that runs from his cheekbone to jawbone.

Trajan moves after Sii'kyn to sit with him. He's emotional support, you know. Eyes widen though as the scarf is moved away, and the baker quickly turns his head, averting his eyes. Eeewwww.. He didn't need to see that. He reaches to lightly grasp Ike's arm though.

"Nice clean cut," supplies Wyn to Moe, eyewitness to the end to the icecapade and now hovering interestedly around his shoulder. "Slipped and his skate blade caught it. Still fresh, although I don't know how clean the blade was..."

Mosiah croons a lilting note followed by a low whistle. "Sweet Faranth... that's a good one. Good job." He manages to hold back from touching the edges of the slice, but does extend a hand holding a bit of gauze to Ike. "Here, put this on it while I wash up and then examine it closer... wanna help out Wyn?" He turns about to go wash up, using some redwort as well.

Sii'kyn quietly presses the gauze to his cheek. "No, no," he protests.. "Not Wyn!" Ahem. Trajan's hand would be patted, but his hands are bloodied, so he shifts to gaze at Trajan. "I'm alright. Really. Aren't I, doc?" Ahem.

Trajan glances at Mosiah and Wyn quietly for a moment, biting down on his lower lip, but doesn't move from Sii'kyn's side. Nope. Staying /right/ there. Despite the blood. He glances up after a moment to peek at the brownrider, smiling faintly, and nods. Well, he at least believes Sii'kyn on that matter. After all, he doesn't /look/ like he's dying or anything.

Wyn clucks her tongue. "Ike!" she clucks further. "I was a fairly /decent/ Healer trainee, I'll have you know." Which is actually quite true. In any case, she ignores the plea of the wounded, and bustles off to get supplies. "Suture kit and prep kit, Moe?" she queries? giving her own hands a redwort wash in order to prevent contamination as she places the supplies on a tray and ferries them over to Mosiah.

Lhana ducks in from the inner caverns.

"Well, you won't loose your head, if that is what you are worried about..." Moe teases as he returns, dropping onto a stool. He reaches forward to move the gauze away, peering at the long gash, "What kind of pain to you have? When you fell, did you hit your head in anyway besides this? Didn't happen to bite your tongue, did you?" He holds the gauze to the slash again, before motioning for Ike to open his mouth to check inside. "Yeah, can you get me some of the numbweed and redwort as well... willowsalic tea? I'll bet your head is sure ringing, Ike."

Sii'kyn twitches. "I don't bite my tongue." He learned that from numerous falls. Yep. "It's just.. painful. Acute." Very. "And yep, my head hit the ice at the very.. back." One hand comes up and presses lightly against the top of his head, and he winces. And mouth opens. Yep. "Wig-gnh, yh.." is mumbled.

Lhana goes home.

Trajan gently rubs Sii'kyn's arm..probably more for his own reasurrance than anything, still looking a little bit pale in the face. Well, he can't help it. There's blood. It's coming from Sii'kyn. His Sii'kyn is injured. Bad stuff. He doesn't move though, not wanting to disrupt the healers at work, and not wanting to move away from the brownrider either.

Wyn quietly adds the requested items to another tray, organizing them with anal-retentive precision. First the pot of numbweed, then the pot of oil. Then a bowl of warm water, to which is added a generous splash of redwort solution, swirled around until the mixture is rosy. A small towel is added beside /that/, and the ensemble placed beside the first tray. "Tea... tea tea tea..." she murmurs, poking through cupboards to find the willowsalic bark. "Medium strength? she inquires, before glancing at Trajan curiously.

Mosiah seems to find nothing amiss on the inside. "Well, that's one good thing going for you... didn't cut clean through." He then moves to stand, ruffling fingers through Ike's hair the wrong way 'til he finds the bump, feeling it softly with fingers and then looking at it. "Yeah, good thing we are at Reaches. Plenty of ice to put down that swelling." He glances askance to an apprentice to run off and get some. "Okay, back to that pretty slash." He sits once more and reveals the slash, a long 'oooooooh' coming from him as well. "Lets get this cleaned up, then we can see what we can do with it." And so, with some plain water and a damp cloth he slowly begins to wash it off. "Looks pretty clean. Very lucky there... please try not to talk." And so, the others are more than welcome to tell Ike to shut up if the need arises. "Yeah... medium should work."

Sii'kyn sniffs. "Not talk?" That's impossible. But he obliges, giving Moe a dubious look. Oh-oh-oh-oh-pain! It hurts! Don't /touch/ it, man... gah, he /has/ to wash it, doesn't he? Ram's threatening bellow is heard clear across to the infirmary, and his eyes widen for a moment. Whups. This cannot be good...

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he offers a steadying whisp of stern blue and gunmetal. <<Steady on. My Wyn informs me that I should tell you that some pain is to be expected. If the numbweed is applied first, the wound cannot be properly cleaned.>>

Trajan blinks, head lifting a bit in surprise at the bellowing from Ram. Oh dear. Not good at all! He moves his hand down Sii'kyn's arm, ignoring the blood on his hand before lacing his fingers with the brownrider's peering up at him concernedly. Biting his lip a little bit, brows raise, looking a bit indecisive. Should he stay, or go try and reassure the dragon outside? Meep.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath gives a low growl, all hot lava and intense incense. << He /hurts/, Vor, >> is said, tones conflicting, colors crashing in waves and cresting high. << He hurts more than he lets on. >>

Wyn, busy with the tea, lets her eyes unfocus a moment once the water is sent to boiling. A muted rumbling can be heard in response to the brown bellow, Vorkoroth relaying information in a low, steadying purr. A tight smile, and she returns to her tea making. "You know," she allows, attempting to make light of things. "You could consider this a practice run for if you ever get scored."

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he lets the dark ocean of his thoughts crash against the lava roiling from Sidramuntalath. In the ensuring mental steam, words twist through the obscuring cloud. <<It is to be expected. You must be calm, because he will hurt himself worse if he must leave to calm you.>>

Mosiah murmurs under his breath, "Well, bellowing isn't exactly keeping your mouth shut, is it?" But, the rider is more than granted. Kind of hard to clean it out if it is full of numbweed. Sorry ol' boy. Healer is quick, but thorough with his attentions. "Ahhhh, okay.. that's the worst of it. Thank you." A very small amount of numbweed and redwort is applied, careful to keep it to the immediate wound, otherwise that'll make his next actions extremely complicated. "Here, this should help you." He leans back a bit, cleaning off his hands. He looks to Ike, "Okay, I'll let you talk for this... the question is, how much of a scar do you want? It is pretty thin, so it shouldn't be much more than a faint line if you let me stitch it shut... or, if you think the ladies would like something more gruesome, we could let it heal as is. Up to you."

Sii'kyn glares openly at Wyn and Moe. Healers. Evil. Ahem. "Stitches," he demands. But, at about that point -- for no reason whatsoever -- his eyes roll back, and he plops backwards. Ahem. He just... uh.. blacked out! So now Ike doesn't have to make the gruesome decision of whether he wants a nice, ugly scar, or... a line scar. Let Trajan decide! Yah! But he's fainted dead away, so.. someone had better decide.

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that Sidramuntalath half-panics, before completely shutting down. << He is unconscious, >> he bites out through the steam. << How do you like /them/ redfruits? >> Growl. << Thanks to that... healer. >>

Eeek! Trajan blinks, eyes widening a little bit as Sii'kyn just..well..plops. O.O That's..not good. Squeaking faintly, the baker moves to help prop the brownrider's head. Wait a second. Blink. Head turns abruptly, looking at Mosiah. Indeed..the bakerlet will make the decision. "Stitch it. ..Please." And where are those 'ladies' he's talking about? Rowr! His Sii'kyn!

<Local> Vorkoroth senses that he is being just as bland as his rider, swirling navy ribbons calmly through the mistiness of the mindscape. Either that, or he's just letting Wyn do the talking, and relaying. <<It is hardly the Healers fault that he fainted. The Healer will likely be able to fix him much more easily now, since he'll no longer be twitching. He will be fine.>>

Wyn, now hovering in the background with an eyebrow flicked up after Sii'kyn's faint, steps forwards long enough to place a jar of catgut and a package of various sizes of curved needles on one of the trays. She then proceeds to pull up a stool and watch Moe work, interest in the procedure completely undisguised now that the patient has obligingly blanked out and spared her the trouble of having to avoid looking ghoulish.

It is a good thing Moe isn't given to squeaking or making any another astonished noise when his patients abruptly faint on him. Instead, the healer nods to Trajan, "Just let him lie back on the cot..." A hand does come out though, healer leaning close to make sure that Ike's breathing and heartbeat are at least still there. Always sucks to have a patient die on you like that. "Well, guess who will be spending the next couple of days in the infirmary." You never know with a knock on the head Ike seems to have had. He bobs his head to Trajan, "Stitches it is... its fairly long, so this might take some time." At least they don't have to hear any more bellowing? He reaches over to take up the needle and thread it with some extremely fine and thin catgut provided by Wyn. Mmmmm. Stitching. Moe's ego surfaces, "Good thing I was here... it'll be so fardling thin..." *preen* And so, he sets needle to skin to begin the process.

"Or at least it will be if you stitch half as well as you talk," notes Wyn with some amusement, standing to rescue the kettle, which is boiling. Steaming water is poured into a mug, and an infuser loaded with shredded bark is lowered into it, the entire contraption set aside to steep. She snags a glowtube on her return, and adds it to the trays as well, a long-past lesson on concussions percolating to her forebrain before she takes her seat again.

Trajan wouldn't mind staying the entire time at all. Nope. Not him. He's still clinging to Sii'kyn's hand, too, before letting him lay completely on the cot, and letting the healer get to work. He gives a little sniff though, and after a moment, looks at Wyn, somewhat timid. "..Is Ram okay..or should I go see to him..?"

Mosiah stitches away down Ike's cheek, each individual stitch small and almost delicate. Each is evenly spaced as he moves is way down the rider's cheek. When all is said and done, there are nearly seventeen little stitches. He pushes up from where he sits, moving to the counter and coming back with a small jar filled with a comfrey and mosstea salve. He applies it to the wound before adding fresh gauze. "There... that should do." As the apprentice arrives with bundled ice, Moe looks to Trajan, "You are welcome to stay as long as you want... if you even want to help, you can help hold this ice on that bump at the back of his head, if you want?"

Wyn gives a little nod, and lets her eyes unfocus again as she slips into mental communication. Blinking, she returns again to give Trajan a smile that really honestly tries it's hardest to be reassuring. Quite a feat, if you know Wyn. "Sidramuntalath is... holding steady. I've had Vorkoroth bespeaking him. So while I'm sure he'd not mind a little human reassurance, it's quite safe to stay here with Sii'kyn."

Sii'kyn has disconnected.

Trajan tilts his head a bit to the side, nodding slowly before he shifts to get up, brushing a kiss against Sii'kyn's forehead. "Sii'kyn is fine here.. I think..I should go check on Ram..just to make sure he's okay." Not that he expects much of a response out of the brown, but still, having someone around can be a comfort in itself.

Mosiah looks to Trajan, bobbing his head, "Yeah, that might be good as well. We'll keep a close eye on him though. But, Ike will have to remain here a couple of days, at least until we are sure that bump on the back of his head isn't worse than it is. Thank you both for getting him here though." He glances askance to Wyn.

Wyn gives a slight nod, and laces her fingers together consideringly as Trajan moves off, eyeing the stitching with an appraising look. "No problem, Moe. I knew you were on duty tonight, and I do have to admit, you know your stitching." A pause. "Nice job. If I run afoul of a flight-driven Tatia again, I might just let you work on /me/." Meanwhile, she's simply been watching the dead-to-the-world Ike, assuring herself that he's fine. And then her eyes unfocus again, and she looks wry. "My lord and master summons me, pointing out quite sensibly that Fyria should be made aware that she's down a wingsecond."

Trajan looks a little bit worried at that, but nods, trying to keep himself calm above anything else. Can't go reassure a dragon if he's all upset himself. "I'll..come back after I check on Ram.." He definately doesn't want to leave Sii'kyn alone for long. He shuffles out of the infirmary then, quickly heading outside.
Trajan wrenches open the double doors that lead outside.

Mosiah bobs his head after Wyn, "I'll put you up on that, you know... see you later, Wyn." Healer glances after Trajan, smiling softly as he leaves.

Wyn gives a nod, a last glance to Sii'kyn's cot, and then a roguish smile for Mosiah, before trotting off again.