Fort Weyr - Dragon Infirmary

This huge cavern of smooth stone arches upwards to a rounded ceiling, high enough for even the largest of Golds to fit comfortably. Along the walls of the cavern are many carved out and worn smooth couches for injured dragons to rest on, most with a cot alongside for the dragon's rider to sleep.
Tables line the other walls, movable so they can be taken to the dragon instead of making the dragon come to it. Bolts of cloth, thread, needles and cabinet after cabinet of remedies and equipment take up the rest of the space. Two huge double doors lead out to the Center Bowl.


Late night in Fort Weyr sees fires banked and lights dimmed in hallways and rooms. A few people wander here and there, returning late from work shifts or heading out for the graveyard ones. A few insomniacs drift or gather on small groups but for the most part people are abed and sleeping at this hour. The dragon infirmary is softly lit as well, the healer crew a lighter one during the wee hours of the night; those are grouped around one of the desks at the far end of the room, heads over a tome as they pour over text and discuss details of treatment methods. On one of the couches lies Dremkoth, in an uneasy sleep. The bandaged and bruised bronze twitches now and then, uttering a rumbling groan with each inhale. D'ani is with him, but the weyrsecond is not asleep. He sits thinking, one palm resting on Dremkoth's forearm while he frowns at a nondescript spot on the wall.

It is late when Dtirae returns, for various reasons. Zuvaleyuth has relayed the latest, having chatted up any who would share the news of what went down during the flight. It is this that brings the goldrider into the infirmary, quiet so not to wake those who rest. It is not hard to find Dremkoth, and so the woman approaches with a careful, quiet step. Then, D'ani comes into view as she moves closer. "D'ani." Comes a soft greeting, and the announcement of her presence. Black hair, briefly, comes as a curtain as she ducks her head down before approaching closer. She slips to settle near, but not too terribly close. "I heard he was hurt." A hand lifts, tentative before it drops down and remains close to herself. "How bad is it? How are you? Are you okay?"

D'ani's eyes are slow to drift from that spot on the wall - it's after her head duck that they lift to Dtirae, the brown dulled, pained. "He's…nothing's broken. Some big bruises, a few cuts they've stitched." His mouth tugs to one side in a rueful, lopsided half smile. "Knocked the wind out of himself when he smacked into one of the other males, so he's sore. They've dosed him with something." How is he? He winces and just shakes his head.

"That's… A relief." Dtirae notes to nothing being broken, but still. Grey eyes search him quietly, concern settling into her features. She doesn't hesitate to move a little closer, this time. "He'll be okay. Sounds like she had another unpleasant flight." Her hand lifts, again, reaching for him but hesitating to make contact. Grey eyes search brown, silently. "How are you, D'ani? Talk to me?"

D'ani grunts, nodding. "He'll recover; he's tough." He drops his head to eye the forearm where his hand rests against bronze hide. His hand moves slowly stroking it and he adds lowly, "Still hard to see him suffer." He starts to nod, then shakes his head no about the flight. It wasn't horrible. He's silent after her plea. Talk? "Dei… I… I think I'm just tired." And they lost.

Dtirae's pulling back, yet again. Fingers curl and the woman watches him in silence. "I know." Comes softly, and then she remains silent. She lingers, lips pressing together before she averts his gaze from him. "Okay. Why don't you try and rest? You're… Not going to do well just staring at the wall."

D'ani nods slowly, dully. "I'll rest eventually." He will. He lifts his head after a few beats and looks at her. Really looks this time. "Are you okay? It's the middle of the night…" His words trail off, stick in his throat.

"Eventually?" She is not pleased with that answer, but doesn't press him more. She is staring at her hands, when he looks at her. "Me?" Grey eyes lift and she's returning his look. "Why wouldn't I be?" Then, she sighs softly and nods. "I'm okay. I… Had a scare. With the flight."

"Eventually," D'ani repeats, this time a touch more firmly with a faint smile ghosting his mouth. "Because you're here rather than in your own weyr or on a beach somewhere in Ista?" He tries for light and it falls flat as he hears her answer. "Ah. That." It's his turn to sigh, "I'm sorry. Dremkoth was so exuberant; he wasn't looking at any of the others."

"Good." Dtirae doesn't press any further, smiling back for that faint smile of his. "Why would I be in my own weyr? And… I didn't feel much like the beach." His sigh has her leaning over, to place a hand on his shoulder, this time. "Don't be sorry. Don't. It's not your fault. I'm glad he's in one piece."

"Be….cause it's the middle of the night?" D'ani hazards a guess slowly, quizzically. "Unless you're nocturnal now." Heh. Then the point about her weyr is moot. He nods about Dremkoth but doesn't comment because being in pieces is…unthinkable. And he wouldn't be sitting here brooding because Dremkoth wouldn't be here. So instead he reaches up to that hand on his shoulder and gives it a brief squeeze before dropping his hand. "I'm sorry we worried you…again," he says quietly.

"I could be." Dtirae teases softly, "but, I just go back to Fort. That's why." She does, at least give him an answer. Her hand lingers, even as it drops away. "Stop apologizing." It's a command. Old habits? Not really. She'll move closer, in order to give him a gentle hug or as much of a hug she can manage. "I don't mind worrying." She murmurs.

Just got back and yet she came here rather than go to her weyr, but D'ani simply nods rather than create a loop in conversation. He'd known she took Zuva away, otherwise he might have had to repeat the kidnapping move to wisk her away from danger. Her hug finds his shoulders tense beneath her arms and though he doesn't move to return it he does lift a hand to pat her upper back awkwardly. "I mind. You don't need more stress," he says sincerely.

And that would have been bad, a repeat of the past. She pulls back from the hug and frowns. "I'm not stressed. Why do you worry over me so much, D'ani?" A hand lifts to gingerly pat his cheek. "You'll stress yourself out, worrying about me like this."

Yeah, D'ani could have gotten his nose broken again. He'd do it anyway if he thought one of Fort's queens was in mortal danger. The look D'ani gives Dtirae is skeptical. She's not stressed. Riiiiight. But he doesn't press the point. Instead, he frowns thoughtfully. Is he worried? He doesn't think so, but hasn't the energy to disagree. "Because you're still fragile," he says bluntly, but kindly. "And that's what people who care about their friends do." He leans back after that cheek pat, against Dremkoth's shoulder, allowing his head to rest wearily.

"Of course…" Dtirae returns softly, sighing as he leans back. The woman pulls back and looks over the bronzerider with a frown. "I think you worry too much. Get some rest. I'll ask the Healers to bring you something." She lingers a moment before turning to go speak to the Healers.

D'ani can't help it - he chuckles. They both worry too much and they both assure each other they're fine with it. Haaa! A half-grimace tugs at his mouth regarding the healers, but again he doesn't argue. He might not take it, but he won't tell Dtirae that. "You rest too, yeah?" he finally, softly calls after her before finding that spot on the wall to stare at unseeingly. His mind is out across the bowl where those guest weyrs are and… his hands curl into fists on their own accord.