Darkness, Darkness.....

[B'kay]

Darkness, darkness, be my pillow
Take my head and let me sleep


I itch, mine... The deep rumble of the dragon filtered through the blackness around him, touching his mind with discomfort, with pain, with the feeling that his skin would burst if he tried to move his neck.

B'kay understood, for his own had done so, many times. Where the flesh had been threadburned away on his scalp it was still raw and oozing, having burned to the bone in several spots. On the side of his face, his old scar had been obliterated, and was replaced by a broad swath of purple and white mottling that cracked and bled if he moved his jaw the wrong way. The healers said that it would take a while for it to toughen up, even though they were using every herb and ointment at their disposal to hurry the process.

Each time Syth moved, B'kay could feel his pain, and each time B'kay moved, Syth knew his rider's agony and frustration.

And it was dark, so dark. Sometimes the darkness was bliss, for there were moments that he was sure, should he be able to see the deep wound, the scarring tissue, on his dragon's precious neck, he would not be able to bear it. The dragonhealers said that it would probably stand out stark white against the dark, nearly black, bronzen hide.

I do itch so terribly....

It was some time before another apprentice was due to visit, and B'kay knew where the numbweed-infused healing salve was kept, an enormous tin of it, for the wound extended from the dragon's cheek all the way to his shoulder. The bronzerider rose carefully, found the wall near the foot of his cot, and made his way toward the sideboard where the medications were kept.

Sudden pain, and he was pitching forward. He growled in shock, as his hands caught the floor, and the wind was knocked out of him.

Gasping for breath, B'kay hung suspended for a moment, feet scrabbling against the floor for a purchase. A bench ... someone had moved a sharding bench.

"I don't know how long I can do this, Syth, it's like sleep-walking through a nightmare!" the rider growled as he righted himself and felt his way cautiously around the obstacle, his shins smarting sharply.



In the coolness of your shadow
In the silence of your deep


The deep bronze rumbled in sympathy, and, stretching himself painfully to peer into his rider's quarters, sent B'kay a reflected image.

The Weyrlingmaster stopped, startled, for in his mind he could see himself, in the odd glowing reflection of dragon vision. He moved his arms, his legs, took a few tentative steps. At first he veered, he thought, toward the sideboard, but saw himself moving away from it instead. The image was mirrored ... and he practiced for a moment, moving his body opposite to what his mind was seeing.

By the time he got to the collection of jars and tins, and reached for the bucket of special salve and the soft, padded spreading swab, he was moving with more surety, though still very slowly.

From the sideboard to the dragon's couch, Syth showed B'kay a clean run, and his steps were more secure, more sure, almost normal....

Stop!

He did, suddenly, and nearly toppled forward. He'd nearly walked into the dragon's bed, and would surely have rapped his shins badly again, if Syth hadn't stopped him.

"Depth perception is off...." he muttered, reaching a foot out to tap the stone couch, and turning to hoist himself up onto it. The hop and heft pulled at his own wound, and he could feel blood drizzling down his cheek once again. "Shells," he whispered, but priorities were what they were.


Darkness, darkness, be my blanket
Cover me with the endless night


Syth lay his head down, curling his neck as loosely as space would allow, as B'kay stood and felt his way along the dragon's muzzle, face, eye ridges, and down to his cheek. Tough but gentle hands explored the wound tenderly, took up the paddle, and dipped into the bucket of salve.

The deep, contented dragon-sigh as the cool numbing ointment settled into the wound drifted through B'kay's soul, calming him, comforting him. What better way for a rider to heal himself, than to help heal his dragon.



Take away the pain of knowing
Fill the emptiness with light, now
Emptiness with light....

---

"Darkness, Darkness", by Young, J.C., as performed by The Youngbloods, 1969

[Kitari]

Two steaming mugs of klah in hand, Kitari proceeded through the winding Lower Caverns towards the Healing Cavern, her lips pursed in an ever-present (since the Fall) indicator of stress and concern. Three Wingleaders had suffered major injuries, and most of the Wingseconds who ought to take over in their stead were barely out of Weyrlinghood.

The situation was far bleaker, she guessed, than any Pern had ever seen, with a single Weyr desperately lacking in mature dragons. Sitareh had hoped the Weyr would have enough time to re-populate before Threadfall, but it appeared that the Weyrwoman had been wrong. And now the woman was harming Weyr morale even more, having scarcely been seen since Threadfall. Alana and Kitari had suddenly been shouldered with more responsibility than they'd ever expected.

Now, Kitari was on her way to visit one of those bedridden Wingleaders. She'd scarcely had a moment to herself in the past sevendays, but it was past time to visit her previous Weyrlingmaster. The injuries he and Syth had suffered had been as widely broadcasted around the Weyr as the Weyrleader's; Thread had blinded B'kay, and he still hadn't recovered his sight. Many wondered if he ever would.

In a way, the young woman had been avoiding this. She didn't know if B'kay would be uncomfortable, being on display in such a weakened state. He was always so proud, almost cold...though she'd seen he harboured more, in a moment after a Flight when all emotions had been laid bare. And it was always painful to see a dragon hurting, to be reminded of her Lefayeth's own mortality. They had been lucky to escape Threadfall with not even a near miss. But luck didn't always last.

Finally, she arrived. Kitari knocked briefly before slipping in. "B'kay?" she called softly, staring bewildered at the empty cot. The drudge had pointed her in this direction, but she wondered nonetheless if she'd entered the wrong cavern. And yet, the furs were out of place; someone had been occupying that cot recently.

As her blue eyes drifted around the small room, she realized there was another opening in the wall on the opposite side. Oh yes...access to the dragons' cavern. That would be where he was.

Moving hesitantly now, Kitari stepped forward to peer inside. She never wanted to interrupt moments between dragons and riders, and this was an occasion more intense than most. With an inward shudder, she took in the sight of Syth's injury, her heart aching for the pain it must cause him to move. B'kay's back was turned to her, so she couldn't see his own wounds, but his gentle caress as he spread the numbweed over Syth's neck made her bite her lip as tears sprang to her eyes.

Kitari took a deep breath, blinking the moisture away. B'kay couldn't see her, but she still needed to be composed. He would hear it in her voice, otherwise. "B'kay?" she called again, stepping into the cavern. "I brought some klah...if you'd like to sit down and rest, I can finish for you. Or," she added, "I can help." She highly doubted he'd take the offer; riders would endure anything to tend their own dragons. But it was important to make it anyways.

[.K.aci]

<sup>"If someone doesn't get me new bandages, I will see to it you all are on numbweed duty for the rest of your lives." The tone was light, conversational, but the facial expression on the young man who stood in front of six apprentices was anything but kind. Eyes the color of red-brown earth, shot through with silver sparks flickered over the terrified faces, but the compassion he felt was only a flame that quickly died. "Go." The whispered word sent three flying down the hallway, and one more turned before he caught the wide sleeve. "You, stay. I don't need that many bandages."

The weyr was in an uproar, and K'l'sran was okay with that. It gave the man a little time to adjust to the new spin his life had taken, and if that time was given to him because of something that may later kill him... Well, his personality said he was okay with that. The sharply angled man ran a hand through dark hair and moved back through the doorway, back into the room of patients. As he moved from bed to bed, K’l’sran found himself falling into the rhythm of what he had known for his entire life... And it gave him time to think.

A Healer when he had made the jump, Kal had welcomed the chance for new things. His aspirations had been simple. Stay a Journeyman Healer for a few more turns, than return to the Guild and make Master Healer by his thirtieth. It was daring, as many didn't pass the test until older, but he was confident. This was his life, and he was content with it. That is, of course, until that nasty Brownrider had dumped him in the Candidate Quarters and told him he wasn't going anywhere until he agreed to Stand. Of course, a few hours later and Kal agreed - he knew no dragon would pick him.

With a fond glance over his shoulder at the young Brown waddling behind him, K'lsran let a hand drop and scratch at an eyeridge before moving on to the next patient. It had been all right, the Candidacy. His bluntness and irritating personality hadn't made him any friends, and he had been fine with that, preferring to spend his time in the Healing Cavern doing good... Until he had met another of the Candidate's who really didn't mind him. And then the world had slowly gotten better. The Queen wasn't going to rise for a while, and the little Queen's weren't going to mature for another turn or something, meaning he was fine. Then that stupid Penna and her fat dragon had to show up... And a Clutch was on the sands.

The rest, he guessed, was history. He realized, as many do, that he had just been giving the most amazing gift. And if showed as Helksinth butted his head against the boy’s leg. K'l'sranmine, why do we think of those things past? The man looked down at the hatchling that had followed him patiently, much as he had been doing since the Thread had begun to fall and any Healer had been called to the infirmary. That he had liked, when the Healer had begun to give orders to the new Weyrlings. Of course, K'l'sran wasn't going to do that. He had been a young Healer, probably not a Journeyman for a year, and there was no way that he would let him try and be better at something than K'l'sran was. While the other Weyrlings had been running, he had been back to what he had always been best at. Stitching up a poor fellow who had been burned. And it was better, somehow, with `Sinth next to him. The dragonet's steady consent presence made it easier for him, and as people died under his hand, it was easier to deal with.

"No reason, little man. Come on, all done in here." The dragonet was one of the few who resembled that idiot woman's Gold, but the doting eyes of K'l'sran saw none of it. He was perhaps not lithe and long-limbed, but the lighter caramel color with the beautiful mahogany stripes running across made him look much skinnier. And while large, he moved carefully. It showed he wasn’t a rash creature, and K’l’sran needed that. “Umm, sir?” One of the apprentices he had sent away scurried up, thrusting a piece of paper in his hand and darting back off. Scanning it, K’l’sran nodded, though to who it wasn’t apparent.

“Sinth, I need to go check on B’kay and his Bronze. Want to come?” Indeed, perhaps it was a stupid question. But the young man liked the eagerness as the young creature hurried to catch up to him, whirling eyes loving and always there for the young man who’s personality made him mostly a loner most of his life. That is a silly question, Mine. Of course, Helksinth was his own dragon. “Thank you.” Of course.</sup>[/i] Rolling his eyes, he let the chubby dragon take the lead. To the personal rooms around the corner, K’l’sran rapped on the door, calling out, “Weyrlingmaster B’kay?” No answer. A harder knock, and another call. Perhaps you should call again. No, he might be asleep.[/i] Shaking his head at the politeness of the dragon, he opened the door, not bothering to announce his presence. He is blind, mine. It would be nice if you did not startle him.[/i]

Sin, I really need to see how his sight is doing, I’m not here to make social calls. The damage he took was extensive and- where is he?[/i] The cot was empty. Biting his lip to stop from mumbling an oath, he rushed over to the dragon’s quarters, calling, “B’kay!” And came up short against the door to find a young woman there. Ignoring her, he walked past to the man, growling with no patience to his name, “You should be in bed! An apprentice was due up less than an hour to do that! Back to the cot!” No please, Mine? And the young lady is the Junior Weyrwoman. No! The man’s an idiot, he’s bleeding, his dragon could have done for another half hour, and the woman should have known better if she cares enough to visit! K’l’sranmine, you forget how you care enough for me when you wake in the middle of night to check on me.[/i] A silence as the man turned to give the woman a nod, as Helksinth trundled over and sprawled in the doorway. Greetings, Syth. My apologies for my Rider, he is just worried. Please do not take offense at his bluntness to Yours.

“May I add that you are bleeding?! What Healer wants to walk in to that?!”

Mine. Say hello to the rider of Lefayeth. Her name is Kitari. And how would you know that?[/i][/b]

Elegantly he turned towards the slightly older woman, giving a shallow bow. “My `Sinth reminds me of my manners, miss. Journeyman Healer K’l’sran and that is my Brown, Helksinth.” Yes, Mine. Leave out the Weyrling part. It’s not very fitting for what I’m doing, Sin. Mmmm. Tell her I say it is a pleasure to meet her.[/i][/color] “He says that to meet you is a pleasure he did not foresee, and that…” Tell her.[/i] “And that he apologies for my bluntness. Apparently, he has yet to teach me manners."[/sup][/size]

[B'kay]

B'kay was so intently concentrating on finding the trace of Syth's deep wound, and being extra cautious about not causing the dragon any discomfort, that he neither noticed the blood that oozed through his bandages and trickled down his neck, nor the soft sound of Kitari's footsteps on the stone floor.

Thus, her voice calling his name, and her kind offer of assistance, caused him to freeze. The first thought to hit his mind, however, was not gratitude ... but shame. His back stiffened, and he did not turn to face her greeting. The healers had described the extent of his injuries ... the missing hair, the burned flesh, the grotesque scars that would be left. Suddenly, in a burning pain that it him like a gut full of Thread, he was struck by only one thing ...

I can't let her see me like this.

What kind of nonsense is that, Mine?! Syth said, his eyes whirling orange with concern. Lefayeth's is your friend, and Lefayeth is mine! They do not care that we will bear scars!

And then, with a careful tilt of his head, the bronze swerved his gaze invitingly toward the goldrider. He was determined to let her know that, despite his rider's frozen stance and silly emotions, she was welcome. And just to be sure that she would understand....

Lefayeth, my friend, please let Yours know that her company is valued, and my rider is a silly wherry.

Syth!

What?!

The intervention of his dragon (blast the shell that hatched him) brought a deep sigh of resignation from B'kay's chest. "I, um, Kitari, well ... " He leaned his head against the warm bronze hide for a moment before bracing himself carefully and turning around. His head shifted from side to side, though he did not realize he was doing so, as he attempted to locate where the voice had come from. He would feel like a fool if he was addressing her, only to find she was not where he thought she was.

But before he could orient himself, a firmer tread, the sound of claws on stone, and then--

“You should be in bed! An apprentice was due up less than an hour to do that! Back to the cot!”

What, who?

It is the rider of brown Helksinth, the healer-rider.

K'l'sran, the Journeyman Healer. He'd been in to see B'kay earlier on, when the injuries were still considered critical. B'kay thought of him as skilled as a healer ... but perhaps a bit too sure of himself in other ways. However, to be scolding him like this? Scolding a bronzerider, a Wingleader, and his own Weyrlingmaster?

Don't you mean "scolding you in front of Lefayeth's rider"?

That has nothing to--

You cannot lie to your dragon, Mine.

Caught between his two guests and his dragon, set up on a stage where all could see every expression that flitted across his face ... or that part of it which wasn't heavily bandaged ... there was not much B'kay could do but respond.

"Thank you for your concern, healer K'l'esran, but I'm sure I'm fine. Syth helped guide me here, and as you see, I have a very capable helper--" he gestured in a direction that he hoped was generally Kitari's "--who has even brought me klah. I'm sure the bleeding is of no great concern, perhaps you can return later and tend to the bandages, after Kitari and I are finished ministering to Syth."

That is never going to do, B'kay-Mine.

Let me deal with it, Syth.

The dragon sighed in exasperation.

[Kitari]

From the moment she had first broken the oppressive silence in the cavern, B'kay had shown no reaction. He neither turned nor responded. The only indication that he had even heard her was that his hand had ceased to smooth numbweed along Syth's injury. Thus, immediately after finishing her broken speech and realizing there would be no response, Kitari's limbs had gone cold. Her stomach felt as if it had dropped clean out of her body, and she inhaled sharply, eyes wide with uncertainty.

Syth, however, did acknowledge her. His head shifted ever so slightly, causing the goldrider to twinge with fear that he might hurt his neck in the process, and his whirling eyes met her own. For that, she was supremely grateful, as she saw no reproachful colours in his gaze.

A moment later, Lefayeth's mind touched her own, and Syth's joking words brought a hint of a smile to Kitari's face. However, if his rider didn't want her to be here, she would go.

Unwilling to break the silence again, she asked Lefayeth to relay a response. Kitarimine appreciates your welcome. It is very kind. I think she is being equally silly herself, though. She thinks she might go, when she only just got there, Lefayeth added of her own accord, with a mental 'flick of her tail' for Kitari. After a moment of silence, she added, Syth. Her voice was softer now, traced through with sorrow and hesitance. How are you feeling? It was inadequate, she knew, but there was no easy way to phrase such an inquiry.

Kitari's brow creased slightly at Lefayeth's comment on her indecision. If B'kay didn't want to see her, then she would respect that.

And then he spoke, voice low and faltering, as his head turned slightly in her direction. Kitari took a step forward unconsciously, then jumped at the sudden sharp voice that rent the air. She whirled, gazing dumbfoundedly at the Weyrling who stormed past her, lecturing the Weyrlingmaster as if he was a misbehaving Weyrbrat. Immediately, she sought B'kay's reaction, and the sight caused her to stiffen. He had finally turned, fully visible, and she saw the extent of the bandaging. Although not much else was apparent, she spotted the trace of red that was causing K'l'sran to raise such a fuss.

She was caught entirely off guard when the young man suddenly whirled on her, and she raised one arm instinctively as if expecting an attack. However, at his unexpectedly courteous bow and greeting, Kitari nodded jerkily and turned her gaze to the adorably chubby brown dragonet beside him. The last comment caused her lips to twitch in a half-smile, and she nodded once again, to Helksinth this time. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Helksinth, K'l'sran. I hope you're not tiring your dragonet out, racing around the Infirmary with him all day." It was not a reprimand, however; her tone was slightly teasing.

When B'kay replied, rather curtly, and gestured off to her left, Kitari started in surprise. The klah! She stepped forward immediately, abashed at having forgotten so quickly. "Here, B'kay, your klah," she murmured and reached for B'kay's hand, closing his fingers about the mug. Her hand lingered for a moment, only that, before she stepped back once again, staring determinedly at Syth's visible forelimb. Not that B'kay could see where she was looking. Still, aside from the pangs it gave her to see the pain he must be enduring from the Threadscore, it was...good, to see him again.

And yet, something K'l'sran had said stirred in her, and she added, almost meekly, "Maybe the Healer should just...take a look..." Kitari broke off, almost expecting B'kay to reprimand her, but the man was bleeding. She couldn't just ignore that.

[B'kay]

I itch. Syth's repeated complaint was this time directed, with far more dignity and courage, as if enduring an itch was as dangerous as surviving Threadfall, to Lefayeth in answer to her question. He raised his head ever so slightly ... pride warring with caution, as he winced when the movement caused his wound to sting just a bit. And I sting, but I am healing. The healer of dragons told B'kay-Mine that itching was a good sign. You are a good friend to be concerned. I wish this small weyr were large enough that you could visit me like your rider visits Mine.

The great dark head once again tilted toward Kitari, as he noted her lingering hesitation. It did not occur to Syth that this was very undragonlike behavior, to be aware of the body language of another dragon's rider. In fact, for some reason that he never even gave consideration to, it felt quite natural to him. Had B'kay overheard the conversation between the dragons, however, the blush on his cheeks would have grown as red as the minute trickle of blood that had oozed, unknown to him, from under the edge of his bandages. For Syth then said to the young queen, Please tell your rider that Mine likes her very much and does not really want her to leave. He is just ... shy.

Flustered by his emotions ... he had thought of Kitari often, making the excuse that he was concerned about his student's sudden increase in responsibility and stress ... B'kay was almost relieved when Kitari's attention was turned to greeting K'l'sran and Helksinth. He was taking the moment to compose himself, and had almost managed the task, when suddenly a warm mug was in his hand ... and warm fingers wrapped around it.

The bronzerider's stomach lurched, and he had all he could do to not fall off the ledge of Syth's stone couch. His other hand moved reflexively, and began to reach for hers as she pulled it away, but remembering the young Healer and his brown, he stopped, and instead fought his emotions under control.

What on Pern had gotten into him?

"Thank you, Kitari," he said, taking a sip of hot klah ... why did it taste so much better today than on days before? It must be a fresh batch.

Her next words, however, spoken hesitantly, stopped him in mid-sip. Kitari, his friend Kitari, was siding with the Healer? Why-- he had thought that--

You ARE bleeding, Mine. Syth said, quietly, thoughts touched with concern. And it shows.

The dragon once again sent an image to his rider's mind, and B'kay responded by reaching up to touch the spot with the fingers of his free hand. He pulled it away, rubbing thumb against forefingers, and felt the warm sticky blood slide between them.

"Well," he said quietly, swallowing his pride, for the fear of prolonging his recovery loomed in his mind. "I could feel that something had ... stung at me ... when I hopped up onto the dragoncouch, but I didn't realize-- Perhaps you're both right."

He then turned towards Kitari, or hoped he'd done so semi-accurately, and lowered his voice, unsure of how close K'l'sran was. "If you want to step out I'll understand. They say it's not very pretty. I--" and now the voice dropped to a whisper, "--I don't want to upset you." As he spoke, his heart hoped on the one hand that she would stay, and on the other fought with the shame of her seeing the grotesque mask his mind imagined Thread had made of his face.

[.K.aci]

<sup>[[My due apologies, I was rather ill for the past few days. But here this is.]

'Thank you for your concern, healer K'l'sran, but I'm sure I'm fine. Syth helped guide me here, and as you see, I have a very capable helper who has even brought me klah. I'm sure the bleeding is of no great concern, perhaps you can return later and tend to the bandages, after Kitari and I are finished ministering to Syth.'

The sentence was delivered with such clarity and astute calmness that it did something that rarely happened. K'l'sran actually became speechless. His mouth agape, he only blinked at the Weyrlingmaster while `Sinth's dry chuckles filled his mind. Oh, Mine. What did you do without me before? If you keep your mouth open that far you might catch something. The words were enough to shake him out of reverie, and he cocked an eyebrow before opening his mouth to snap at the man. Hush. What? He's being an idiot! Hush, Mine. He is not telling you that because of the injury. Can you not see he is embarrassed in front of Lefayeth's?</sup>[/i][/color] With a frown, he turned to the Brown that had sprawled in front of him. No, he's just being stubborn. `Sinth frowned mentally, peering up to his. Mine, I am not wrong. And he said the Weyrlingmaster was stubborn. Okay. Whatever you say. But that still means that I have a bleeding man who now needs his bandages changed!

'It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Helksinth, K'l'sran. I hope you're not tiring your dragonet out, racing around the Infirmary with him all day.' It was exactly the thing to say to distract K'l'sran, who had just opened his mouth to argue again. "I am certainly-" Hush, Mine. Stop telling me to hush! Can you not see she is just teasing?[/i] All the same, K'l'sran examined the large hatchling closely, making sure he wasn't getting tired. I am fine, Mine, I promise. Sliding his neck upwards, he chucked his head under the hand and silently asked to be scratched. With a smile, the boy consented, rubbing his eyeridge gently.

The Brown had moved perfectly. He had distracted the young man just enough that by the time he remembered he had a bleeding patient, the girl (what did `Sinth say her name was?) had murmured, 'Maybe the Healer should just...take a look...'

"Of course I should take a look," he muttered under his breath, but stayed where he was. One thing he had learned, is never push the patient. Besides, he had somebody else to annoy the Weyrlingmaster, and looking back, it might not have been the best thing to come storming in treating him like a child. Perhaps Mine. Shut up.[/i][/b] It seemed he had found the key to his stubborn patient problems. Put the dragon, the girl, her dragon, and a Healer up against him. Then they would have no choice but to just let him do it and be done! 'Well, I could feel that something had ... stung at me ... when I hopped up onto the dragoncouch, but I didn't realize-- Perhaps you're both right.' Perhaps.[/b] Thank you for not saying that out loud, Mine.[/i]

The words were whispered, but the blind man had misjudged his distance. 'If you want to step out I'll understand. They say it's not very pretty. I--' The last part was illegible, but K'l'sran had to fight from opening his mouth. Actually, he did, but Helksinth darted his maw up to chomp gently on His's hand. No. You will not speak right now unless you are going to be a Healer. And Mine, you are not a Healer of the mind. A startled yelp came out of his mouth, but he smothered it, looking down wide-eyed on his young partner. All I was going to say is that he isn't that bad. It's healing fast. Why should I let him over exaggerate his wounds? The young Brown let go, shaking his head and hauling himself to his feet.

Because, Mine. Until he can see with his own eyes, Syth's is not going to be overly-eager in believing you. And he is embarrassed in front of the Queen's Rider.[/i] Shaking the abused hand, he watched the Brown trundle over to the Bronze and the people gathered around him. Generally speaking, his `Sinth thought what he thought. But when the young dragon had decided to think his own thing - woe to anything in his way. That was going to be a problem, and he could see that from here. But another problem for another day, as he turned his focus to the Bronzerider. "Weyrlingmaster B'kay, if you'd let the young lady help you to your cot, I can just re-bandage it and fetch the apprentice to numbweed Syth. I would even wait until the apprentice got here... But if it stung, I worry that you pulled something open that should stay closed..."[/size][/sup]

[B'kay]

As B'kay nervously awaited Kitari's response, lifting his fingers to dab again at the trickle of blood, trying to determine if it had stopped, or gotten worse, an odd yelp sounded from a different sector of the room ... and closer than B'kay had thought it would, for certainly it came from the Journeyman Healer.

He was about to ask if K'l'sran was all-right, for it sounded like pain was behind that cry, when he was stopped by two things....

Syth's amused mental chuckle as he sent him an image of young Helksinth chomping down (albeit gently from a dragon's perspective) on his rider's hand....

And K'l'sran's own voice offering a solution that sounded quite reasonable once he'd uttered the part about the young lady helping B'kay to his cot....

Still puzzling over the image of a dragon's sudden mock-attack on his own rider, for certainly it must have been in play if Syth had enjoyed the moment, B'kay nodded gingerly.

"I believe that might be wise," he said quietly, and began to slide from the edge of the stone dragon couch toward the floor. Being newly blind and poorly adjusted, however, the Weyrlingmaster failed to take into account that he hadn't a clue how far down the floor might be. He landed with a jolt that both sent a sharp pain shooting up through his wound, and pitched him off balance.

Now it was the bronzerider's turn to yelp, and Syth echoed with a muffled dragon-roar of distress. B'kay flung his hands forward in an effort to catch himself, but they flailed on empty air, and his panicked mind battled with conflicting images:

One was himself landing face-first on the stone, breaking nose and cheekbones on top of his threadscore and undoing all the skilled work the healers had accomplished.

The other was himself landing in Kitari's arms, bringing with it the shocking revelation that he found this option far more pleasant than he should have, had it been nothing more than an alternative for a battered nose and burst wounds!

[OOC: I really don't care WHO catches B'kay, LOL, it would be fun either way to play with. ]

[Kitari]

Kitari practically flinched when, after a painfully long pause, B'kay began to speak. It wasn't the attack she had expected, however, as he reluctantly acquiesced to have his injury inspected. Relieved, the goldrider turned back to him, chiding herself for making such an assumption. For a moment, she pondered her reaction, that feeling of unexplainable fear that had coursed through her at the thought of B'kay lashing out. It wasn't as if she hadn't dealt with scores of proud men in her Turns out at sea...

A second later, however, he had turned to her, speaking in lowered tones, and Kitari leaned forward slightly to catch the last of his words. She felt a flush rise in her cheeks, his whispered speech conjuring visions of a horribly disfigured face, barely recognizable as human, until she quashed the silly imaginings back down. He hadn't even seen the damage, Kitari reminded herself. And even if it was as bad as it could possibly be, she was far from weak; she could be strong for him.

"No, I'm staying," she replied firmly, although keeping her tone low, as well, out of consideration.

In response to Syth's comment about wishing she could visit, Lefayeth replied, It will not be so for long. You and yours will be healed soon and back in your weyr. And I have informed Kitarimine as you wished. She understands.

"Oh yes," Kitari murmured, reminded of her news by listening in on Lefayeth's exchange. "I wanted to tell you, your old weyr is available once again. Now that Plianth and Penna are gone, and the Weyrleader is rather incapacitated, or at least choosing not to be part of decision-making, I made sure to re-assign it for you."

As K'l'sran spoke up just then, Kitari nodded, reaching forward to take B'kay's arm. However, it promptly removed itself from her grasping range, jerking forward as B'kay took that fateful step downward, was held in limbo for a moment, and then began to fall.

Even before the pull of gravity began to draw him downward into its grasp, Kitari was moving. She had already been shifting forward to guide him to his room, so she carried the forward motion through, attempting to place herself in front of the Weyrlingmaster. What she hadn't anticipated, as she reached to catch him across his chest and wherever else she could grab hold, was the klah still gripped in his fist that was now spraying forward. With a muffled groan of pain, Kitari felt the hot liquid spill across her arm, but her attention was focused on trying to keep the Weyrlingmaster, somehow, from continuing his downward plunge. The man may not have been exceptionally taller than her, but he was definitely broader, and the goldrider was surprised to realize just how soft she had grown with the absence of hard labour in the Weyr...

[B'kay]

B'kay let go of the mug as he fell forward, hand flying open just as Kitari groaned. Instinctively, he realize what must have happened, but there was nothing he could do. Gravity and momentum carried him forward, then her arms were across him, attempting to break his fall. His mind fought between the panic of his current situation and worry ... how badly was she burned?

The injured Weyrlingmaster flailed his arms, which found themselves wrapped around the goldrider. Desperation gripped him as he gripped her, but nothing would bring back control of the situation. He was committed to this tumble, and about to bring Kitari down with him!

Syth, his poor neck still paining him greatly, thrust his head around and forward, emiting a deep growl of pain. The huge black-bronze muzzle darted out, great eyes above flashing red and orange fire. He wanted to help, to catch them, to prevent both riders from further injury ... but his scarred and painful neck impeded him!