==== January 10th, 2014
==== Coora, A'lory, T'ral
==== Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. Coora brings Sidaaeth in for an examination. A'lory drops in to catch up with his clutchmate. More people who know good Lendai stories…

Who Coora, A'lory, T'ral
What Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation. Coora brings Sidaaeth in for an examination. A'lory drops in to catch up with his clutchmate. More people who know good Lendai stories…
When It is evening of the seventh day of the first month of the first turn of the 12th pass.
Where Southern Weyr

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Dragon Infirmary
An exceptionally large cavernous area is set aside for the dragons of the weyr to convalesce. Immediately adjacent to the ground weyrs, it provides some privacy for those pairs whose injuries require more silence and solitude for recovery. But there are also a number of dragon wallows here for triage and diagnosis; those with the worst injuries have the wallows nearest the open air exit reserved for them until they're well enough to be moved further in. Bins, shelves, and locked cabinets store all of the medicines and raw ingredients the dragonhealers will need for treatment, as well as things like blankets and 'medicinal whiskey' for the riders of the afflicted. A lettering system applied to the shelves above one lone desk hint at a filing system used by those who work here.

Sidaaeth lumbers into the infirmary beside his rider, his large feet slapping the ground with every step. There's an awkward hitch to his step, as he limps along, favoring his right leg. "Hallo?" Coora calls the moment they've entered, a look of concern on her face as she repeatedly glances at the small brown dragon.

T'ral's head comes up at that 'hallo.' He leans around a corner, eyebrows going up at the sight of Coora and her bondmate. "Didn't expect to see you so soon." His arms are full of linens and he calls, "Just a sec," as he disappears around a corner, hurryig to drop the linens in a bin. Hustling back into sight he slows as he draws up. "Coora. What brings you to…" he notes the look of concern and the limp, "…Ah. Sidaaeth. Got a hitch in your giddyup, there." T'ral looks between the brownpair, from dragon to rider, "What happened?"

"We think Sidaaeth pulled a muscle or something. He landed on it weird, but it's not bone that hurts, only muscle." Coora's voice is grave, not her usual bright, peppy tone. Sidaaeth gives a low groan to accompany his rider's words. "I just want him to get looked at, at least get some numbweed for it." Yes, Coora can apply the numbweed herself, but she can't check him over for damage as she's not a healer type.

Nodding, T'ral sends a serious look up at dragon and, dark eyes looking at the dragon's posture, tone, his eyes, that pale patch under his wing assessing everything he can without an examination. Everything a trainee might notice anyway. "I've called on a proper 'Healer. You're in good hands." He looks at Coora, "Can you describe the pain? And the severity?"

Coora nods, reaching a hand out to pet Sidaaeth's hide as the brown dragon settles himself in place, taking his weight off of his sore leg. "Sida says it's about a 3, and it's hot and tight in his muscle. Feels like more than tired muscles. It hurts, but not horribly." The brownrider steps closer to Sidaaeth, using both hands to stroke Sidaaeth's side soothingly.

But wait — there's more! One more dragon, that is: perhaps he and his lifemate are somewhat lost inthe tangle that is Southern Weyr. Hesitation stops A'lory at the doorway to the infirmary, while Eisheth looms (relatively speaking, he's a small one) over his shoulder, eyes bright with curiosity and a growing confidence. A clutchmate has, indeed, been found! But there is concern, then, for Sidaaeth's apparent injury, and he croons, questioningly. "Let's just wait here a moment, eh?" A'lory says softly, placing a hand on his dragon's neck.

A 'Healer rounds the corner, "Ah. T'ral, catch me up." He sticks out a hand to Coora, making introductions all around, listening and nodding as T'ral relates the dragon's injuries. The young bluerider looks to Coora, "I hadn't gotten to take a history yet." Speaking of history… T'ral's eyes flicker curiously to A'lory. Memory flashes to the docks. To A'lory laughing as he stood by Sara's side. To frank discussions with Sara. He blinks and shakes his head. He wants to watch the 'Healer at work, but is equally curious about the newcomer. He crosses the short distance to the bronzerider, "Can I help you? T'ral. You're…" he dredges the conversation, "A'lory. Sara mentioned you."

"A history of what? Sida hasn't had any other injuries to that leg before." Those big clown feet tend to cushion the impact of landing. Sidaaeth sniffs at the dragonhealer, letting out a whuff of hot air in either satisfaction or derision. "Be nice, Sidaaeth," Coora says amusedly, continuing to stroke the dragon's side. At the mention of her clutchmate's name, Coora's head perks right up and turns in the bronzerider's direction. "A'lory! Have you come to see how Sida and I are settling in?"

"Huh," A'lory agrees with a mischievious glint of the eye, half-reclining against his dragon's shoulder. "Glad someone remembers my name these days — I'm gettin' so I don't remember it m'self, half the time." He's kidding, yes? One never knows, not with this crazy Bitran. And yet, there is that in his friendly, teasing little smirk that might suggest he is kidding, this time. "Did she, now, youngin'? Hope it wasn't too damaging to my reputation." And then his gaze slides away, toward Coora, his brows knitting a little in worry over her dragon's injury; they are clutchmates, after all! "Course I did!" He assures mendaciously, pushing errant curls out of his face. "Didn't think I'd leave it for long, didja? And how's Lendai?"

T'ral looks up at Coora's question. He tilts his head. "It's procedure. And," he opens his hands, palms up, "It's relevant that he hasn't hurt this leg before." The Dragonhealer addresses Coora, "I'm going to need to examine his leg, can you have him relax for me?" The healer looks up at Sidaaeth, assessing the brown's state of mind by posture and eye color. T'ral watches the man closely. T'ral flushes, "Ah, it was an enlightening conversation." He's glad of Coora's happy interjection and waves the man and his bronze in. They know each other, apparently. T'ral moves to stand at the 'Healer's side, ready to assist at need.

Coora parts from Sidaaeth's side long enough to approach A'lory for a hug. "I haven't even seen Lendai. She's so busy. I keep forgetting she's the Weyrwoman." This last is added in a confidential tone, though T'ral is one of those who reminded her of Lendai's lofty rank. "Sidaaeth is ok, I think. He landed wrong during drills today and now his leg is sore, but we think it's a pulled muscle or something, right, T'ral?" Coora listens to the healer's instructions, relaying them to Sidaaeth, though the brown is already standing so he can display his leg for the dragonhealers. "He says you can touch him." Coora adds, stepping aside so A'lory and Eisheth can fully enter the infirmary.

A'lory laughs, now scratching the back of his neck in fond rememberance. "She always did have lofty goals, Lendai. Always thought she'd make a rather spectacular Senior, personally. All the pink decorations her idea?" rhetorical, the question is; whose else could they be? He squints thoughtfully at Sidaaeth, wondering. "Mmph. Somethin' about these winds in this time that is just… vicious." He and his mindmate slink further into the room, managing to quite stay out of the way of Healers wafting about.

"Seems like it, we'll know for sure in a bit." The 'Healer nods at Coora's go-ahead and runs hands lightly over the brown dragon's hindleg, testing for tension, heat, tenderness, all the while watching the big brown's reactions. If he rumbles or winces or guards. If his eyes shift tempo of hue. T'ral is watching for the cues too, "There." The bluerider says. Not that Coora couldn't have told them. The 'Healer stands back, "Seems like a pretty standard strain." He looks up at the dragon, "Keep off of it for a couple days. Land carefully." To Coora, "You'll want to go up north and ice it down a couple times today. Then once a day for the next seven or until it doesn't hurt." He runs a hand down the brown's flank. "Keep it elevated. If it's not better in a couple days, come back, we may need to wrap it. You're fine for drills, but do be careful on the landings. T'ral, you got the hidework?" The bluerider nods, "Yes, Sir." T'ral trots off to grab the ledger and record the information, date, time, injury, parties involved, treatment. T'ral shifts uncomfortably at the informal chatter about the Weyrwoman, he's studying that ledger. Yes, Sir! He looks up, warily, at A'lory's pronouncement on the winds. He'd had a horrible feeling for the last several months (becuase, duh, Thread), but that articulation was… "That's exactly what I've been feeling." His eyes are intent on the bronzerider, with a worried glance to Coora. "Were they different then? The winds."

Coora nods her head as she is debriefed by the healer, Sidaaeth settles his butt back down, the weight off of his leg again. There's a soft rumble of thanks as Coora crosses back to Sidaaeth's side and begins stroking his soft hide again. "We've been up to the Reaches, now and in the past, so we will have no problems getting some snow and ice on Sidaaeth's leg. I don't know about keeping it elevated, though. That's kind of going to be tough." Can you imagine a dragon with his hind leg elevated before him? "Yes, the winds seemed gentler, then. Not prone to such sudden sharp gusts." Maybe it's a result of the comet that they avoided by jumping forward.

A'lory wrinkles his nose as he tries to remember back that far. "Not I'd remember, either." He gives a not to Coora, much pleased at her reasoning. "What she said. That comet made a bit of a mess." In the way of understatements, it's a rather large one, but A'lory's gotten good at that sort of thing over the Turns. Eisheth extends his muzzle outwards, then tilts his head sideways. He'll prop — "Don't even consider it, or I'll punch you." A'lory threatens the bronze with a grin. Eisheth seems unconcerned, nonchalantly withdrawing his muzzle. He wasn't planning any mischief, really he wasn't.

T'ral looks for the departed 'Healer and shrugs, he could field this one. He looks up from the ledger, "Have Sidaaeth rest on his side with that leg on top." He makes some final notations and tucks the ledger under his arm, "That's curious. The wind is notably different." His brows furrow, eyes tight, "I wonder if that will affect Fall." His statement is a question. He makes a mental note to track down D'cen or Rhydian.

Sidaaeth gives a rumble at Eisheth before rising to his feet again, ready to go lay on his ledge and rest. "Sidaaeth is tired, we're going to get going. Thank you for seeing him, T'ral, and thank you for coming by A'lory." Coora gives a shake of her head at T'ral's question, "I think everyone's already used to the winds by now, so Fall isn't going to be different from what we're used to flying." With that, Coora turns for the exit and waves one final time. Sidaaeth's turn is much wider, his tail sweeping the floor as he turns about.

A'lory gives Coora a gentle nod of farewell. "Always good to see you, Coora." Mentally, he's setting reminders to get down to Southern more often; there are people here he needs to visit, and whatnot. Eisheth, ever the martinet when it comes to duty, is nudging at his rider. "Well, fine. I suppose I have to feed you sometime." T'ral, he offers a slightly sheepish half-grin. "Have to go stuff his royal bronzeness, here, so he'll stop giving me headaches. Perhaps I'll see you next time I'm here?"

"Of course, Coora. See you at drills." T'ral waves at the departing brownpair, brow knitted in concern for the limping dragon. He calls after her, "And come back if it's not better in a couple days!" To A'lory, "The pens are off the road out of the Weyr," he points. He's pointing at a stone wall, but through that wall as the avian flies, are the feeding pens. T'ral nods, "Good to meet you both," T'ral inclines his head at A'lory and Eisheth. "Maybe when the harpsichord is finished? I'm hoping for a concert." T'ral bows over a hand clasped to his belly, "Please pass along my thanks to Sara and tell her that our talk helped. Fair skies."

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