They knew it would come in a predictable arrival, stratums of Igen's wings mobilized over Igen Hold. But it wasn't to be one of the victory books. Three weyrlings were sacrificed, Arroyo's wingleader isolated for an unknown injury. Even one of the dragonhealers wasn't immune when her role as rescuer turned into a second rescuee. Th'bek looks like a stone that's been skipped too many times as he enters with clean clothing. He strips methodically, no vast amount of brainpower needed for the task. He slips into an unheated pool first to jolt his senses and brain.

While the 'Fall wasn't over the Weyr proper, all those not directly involved with the fight were bought under cover, including one hapless trader lass who strayed to far from her wagon. And after there were supplies to gather and hands to hold. But at the first opportunity, Naneska also found her way to the baths to cleanse herself of the smell of sweaty fear and smoky medicines. She is certainly taking her time, her usually bright hazel eyes troubled by the thoughts and memories of the previous few candlemarks. When her reverie is interrupted by the ripples of the brownrider, her gaze lifts. "Rider." It is a respectful quiet verbal nod, sound to announce that she too is here.

Well that did it. The brownrider's central nervous system switches from agonizing over the day's events to processing a rapid cool down. Th'bek doesn't make any sounds of upset as his arms fan out front and then to the sides of him. As blood is redirected towards his center, he thrusts his head under to purge the worst scents of firestone. A few seconds is all it takes for him to pop back out, regroup as the water drains from his eyes, then switch to the heated pool, disturbing its fresh steam. "No greater feelin' in the world," well, he could think of a few more qualifiers, but at the moment this is heaven. Addressed by Naneska and clearly not having the advantage of a knot, Th'bek owes a pause as if thinking, then returns, "trader. How do you fair?" Tavuqth tucks in information of the young woman's occupation, either from the amassed memory of dragons, or via a flicker through the girl's head.

Naneska does not argue with words, but rather the slightest hint of a smirk and one brow rising. She does agree with words however. "Aye, always somethin' soothin' 'bout water." Of course that Bitran accent that refuses to leave may jog a few more braincells, that and the blonde affability she shares with her cousin. "I fare well enough. Far better than any o' ye I'd wager." She's refering to the general dragon-rider 'ye' rather than Th'bek specifically. "Hard 'Fall?" She asks, pausing a moment to nibble on pinched thumb and finger. "T' weyrlin's manage right enough?" Concern flickers across her face, she may not have been a candidate, but she was responsible for a few.

Th'bek, having forgotten soap sand back by his garments, doesn't seem to care about that neglect for now. Burying himself in water up to and just over his chin, the AWLM now his his old thoughts resuming habitat in his head. "Wish sometimes it even flushed out what's between the ears." He reveals with a rue smile, chin now barely exposed. "I don't even know the full extent yet, but I know three weyrlings are gone forever and Ager— Arroyo's wingleader is in rough shape. She's so sedated, Tavuqth can't learn anything from Kestrath." But she lives, and that is a small victory. "What of your people?" He doesn't bother Tavuqth with gleaning that detail in advance.

"Ye sure ye got anythin' betwixt yer ears t' flush?" Naneska teases momentarily distracted from her own concerns. "I'm fairly sure iffn somethin' happened t' me cousin, t' Weyr'd hear about it. Like we did when he was caught a couple o' 'Falls back." One of the perks of Weyrleadership is how fast the rumor mill churns your name out when something happens. "None of t' weyrlin's gone were H'rik?" She asks, her voice dropping slightly as if that will soften the blow. "Or Ji'or?" She doesn't play favorites, although she names no other weyrlngs.

Th'bek's impromptu laugh is directed into the water at first. "Wiser women than you, and men, have debated that very thing." The tidbit of humor is a temporary balm to his state of mind. "No ma'am, neither H'rik nor Ji'or were among the fallen, but I wager they may have some injuries between them." No fresh wounds mar the brownrider's skin, but there is a healing round of char from the Fall prior on his left shoulder. "The tune of your voice," acknowledging the Bitran accent, "doesn't seem of these parts." Stated casually enough as he sets the back of his head against the pool's edge, eyes closing just for a moment.

Naneska's own laugh echoes a counterpoint. "Clearly ye have no idea jist how wise I kin be." There is even a wink, but his eyes are closing so it is unlikely that he'll see it. "Nor am I a ma'am. Naneska o' t' Reika." There is a pause, pregnant with the traders mischief. "Nan or Naneska usually work jist fine though." Introduction given she'll settle back against the edge of the pool, watching the ripples created with the idle swaying of her arms. "'N aye, from Bitra originally. Bin here a turn or two now." She answers well enough. It is only after a few more moments of watching the ripples that she speaks again. "And thank ye rider, for puttin' this woman's mind t' rest."

"How wise can you be at sixteen Turns?" So he's selling Naneska a little short, but Th'bek doesn't deliver the line with any judgment. He smiles lightly to the ceiling. "Good to meet you. Th'bek," getting lazy while talking or else he'd contribute his title as well. As she thanks him, he didn't expect it, and doesn't know how to react. Except for, "Long way from Bitra." AKA he smells a story but is either too polite or sleepy to ask.

"Oh, ye got me. I wasn't at all wise at sixteen. Thank Faranth I am no longer that age." Naneska is a bit older, and only a smidge wiser really, but she will not let reality get in the way of the game. "'Twas sixteen when me da decided I was of marriageable age. I was inclined t' disagree. Still am iffn I'm honest." There is an affectionate smile. "Me gran, is related to F'in's da, so she sent me here…" Affection shifts towards good-hearted wickedness. "It was clear t' her that I was never goin' t' be a suitable holder woman."

The rider's head voluntarily lolls forward as Naneska informs him she is not sixteen. "Well, I know you're under thirty," and at that upper limit he allows his head to lean back, but his eyes no longer assume a closed status. He remains conservatively quiet on whatever marriage debacle exists in Naneska's history, but when a friend of his is mentioned, "F'in is a very good relation to have, and not just because he's the Weyrleader." Elaborating slightly, "we were candidates and weyrlings together. He's a good sod," Rev can say that as a friend from way back. Realizing the absence of cleanser and not ambitious enough to get out of the bath and get it, Th'bek washes without it, knowing he'll be in this very spot tomorrow or at least the day after. "Welcome to Igen at last."

Naneska nods, her smile broadening somewhat. "He took me lightnin' huntin' once after a storm. Him and Rhakanth. Before Rhakanth got ideas…" And since they gave that big fancy knot to her cousin, she's not had much time to catch up with him. "I don't imagine he's changed much." That flicker of mischief crosses her features once more. "Even if it were a hundred turns ago." Yeah, she is trying to get him back for that 'sixteen' remark by infering he's ancient. "'Tis not a proper welcome wit'out a drink yeah?"

Th'bek considers those antics that sound very much like F'in and Rhakanth. "Better than during a storm, unless you live on the edge. Tavuqth would do something like that if he didn't have a smarter rider." Th'bek, though carefree, doesn't have a death wish. "Oh, he might'a changed a little, but I think it was for the better." And as he's being called old, "I feel like it someday, shells." He agrees! As the brownrider stands, "that is one of my favorite customs, but another night." His mind isn't quite 'here'. "Actually, if you come to the weyrlings' graduation ceremony, I'll owe you one, plus an extra for your patience."

Naneska isn't really likely to go anywhere, even as Th'bek stands. "I'll look for ye." And that is accompanied by a gaze to set his face into her memory before that gaze wanders briefly. Nan will totally look. "And perhaps I could thank ye for yer welcome, n' yer duty." She will not hide the nature of her intentions, but he is not 'here' and neither is she really. "But that is tomorrow, n' I imagine ye need rest more than ye need somethin' that feels better'n water." For a moment she contemplates her fingers, wrinkled now from her time in the water. "'N I hope ye friend recovers." She was listening, even if she didn't indicate at the time.

Th'bek is broad-shouldered, but so are many others. In the archetype of a dragonrider, he is a typical specimen. It was, perhaps, opportune that they momentarily had the baths to themselves, but good timing, like lightning, has been known to strike twice. "I think I will take the day after the ceremony off, fair warning." Because his worse half plans to drink as much as possible after his charges advance to full riders. "Rest sounds ideal," he dries haphazardly, dons new garments half wet, and looks back, "thank you," nodding gratefully, "I do too. G'night."

Naneska cocks her head as she watches him dry and depart. "G'night Th'bek." And then she is alone for a brief moment more with her thoughts, before others come to take advantage of the waters ability to soothe sights and smells they'd prefer to forget.