Who

Amarante

What

She loves Threadfall, in a way only dragons should.

When

It is noon of the seventh day of the fifth month of the eighth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Infirmary, Igen Weyr

OOC Date 09 Jul 2016 04:00

 

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Infirmary

From the astringent smell of redwort, to the gleam of counter and cabinet, this place positively defines the concept of antiseptic cleanliness. Despite the yawning exit to the Dragonhealer Courtyard, the floors remain scrupulously swept of sand and particulate matter. Back behind the counter where the healers usually are, are shelves full of bottles and jars, as well as cupboards hiding away more delicate items that shouldn't be exposed to too much sand. Beyond the counter, there is the Desk, where patients are checked in and taken to one of the examination areas by a healer. The windows are usually kept open for the flow of air, but there is both shutters to shut out dust storms, and curtains for other occasions.


It must have made her a horrible person, how she loved it.

But the other side of the coin was it wasn't the pain that she loved. It wasn't the suffering. She may have thrived on the scent of gangrenous flesh but she certainly didn't enjoy that either (what clean freak would?). It wasn't the anguish. It wasn't the deaths. It wasn't the misery.

It was fixing it all.

Over her time at the Weyr it was quickly becoming apparent that Amarante had something in her many other Healers did not for Thread wounds. And for those that didn't flinch at them, were able to strive through working for hours to days without rest to make sure they healed just right … they didn't smile about it quite the way Amarante did. Her normally overly effusive and too-chatty and abrupt bedside manner melted away with those with Thread wounds, and her collected good nature and natural cheer were enough to keep any of the conscious riders' spirits up.

She didn't lie. She was utterly frank about everything she was able to do for them, every step of the prognosis she could guess at, every explanation that guesses really were just guesses. Here is what we are sure will happen. Here are the worst case and best case scenarios. Here are the in-betweens. Any healer could do that for any number of things, but Amarante took to it with Thread wounds like a fish took to its particular choice environment's water.

Amarante took to Threadscores like dragons took to Threadfall, it could be said.

So every time there was a bad Fall, a heavy Fall, a Fall with lots of injuries, she slipped comfortably into her element and became a young woman thoroughly connected to her surroundings and moving smoothly with every step. No hesitations like in other places in her life. No burbling. No out-of-place concerns, just flowing through the steps. It was easy. It came easy.

(It was why Siagen kept insisting on her putting her name in to walk the tables; it was part of why she resisted. They might make her go back to the Hall. Send her to a Hold. Send her to another Weyr she didn't know. She was good at wounds. Everywhere had wounds.)

Her heart was heavy when she realized there was a thrill in her as the dragons rose to meet the leading edge and it had nothing to do with the defeat of Pern's natural nemesis. Not, at least, in the air.

It had to do with defeating it on the ground.

Not with flame, but with cream and cloth, suture and needle, gentle hands and care.

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