Nokteryth’s mindscape has been increasingly desolate and eerily quiet in the weeks since his injury. The dancing oil slicks and promises of conflagration absent in the dry dusty ruins of his parched mind.

« This is boring. »

A listless echo sounds in the deserted corridors, that appear to have been forsaken only moments before. There is a sense of life abandoned in the face of something a lot more serious than the mundane tasks of the every day.

“I know buddy…“ L’xan has heard this complaint a million times before… A trillion! And it is one that he shares. “Gotta give it time to heal, then we’ll be back where we belong…”

Up in the sky, up in the chaos of battle and the singing, stinging, stinky char of an enemy vanquished. Although, L’xan perhaps had it a little easier, his wounds not as severe he can’t help but share the chafing of the other half of his soul. It’ll be months yet before Nokteryth’s wing will bear him in flight.

« That bitch planned this…! »

“If she did, she’d be Faranth Incarnate. It was just shit timing Nok…”

Just like that skip was shit timing. One moment they’re leading Southern against that scourge from the skies, skipping to avoid a tiny clump. Next moment, they’re re-emerging into a clump that escaped detection: By them… and by the wings above.

“I should have someone’s ass for that….” L’xan mutters to himself in the crook of Nokteryth's arm. Only he can’t. He doesn’t have that authority any more. He isn’t even on any of the active rosters. He is on the sick list, gone from being consulted on everything…to being shunted to the side.

» This sucks! «

« That’s what I said! »

But there is a hint of a smile crawling along the big mans stubbily features. “We could go fishing again. And no one would come disturb us.” L’xan isn’t one to stay down for long really.

« Yeah, but I’m never flying again am I? » The dour desolation of Nokteryth’s mind expands in a wave of self-pity, the tar pits and oil drum fires desiccating in the face of such unrelenting feeling.

“The fuck you aren’t.” L’xan sounds sure. “Remember that time we did your other wing?” Of course Nokteryth doesn’t because he is a dragon. But L’xan remembers, and he shares that memory now. “You fucked that one up way worse! And you flew again… we’ll get up there again buddy.” There is a shimmer on the arid horizon of Nokteryth’s mindscape, a tentative promise that things will grow anew… if only the twilight-rusted bronze would take the time to get there. “Just gotta be paitent.” Which is easier said than done with the unrelenting itch of his own healing scores providing an unavoidable goad.

Of course the dragonhealer arrives precisely on schedule. Nokteryth really isn’t the type to moan about his injuries unless he feels them. L’xan, still proper despite his heavy bandages struggles to his feet even with the assistance of his cane. As the dragonhealer tends to the wounds, replacing bandages and manipulating the delicate repairs with careful fingers, L’xan is right there, hovering awkwardly, his own bulk augmented by the addition of bandages on his right arm and thigh.

“Well that’s encouraging.” The woman speaks, beckoning the bronzerider closer so that he can see the slight spread of new grown wingsail previously missing, and the glitter of green ichor coating the edges like weeds at a watering hole. “Another month… maybe less and he’ll be working that wing again.” The dragonhealer gives a wink to the former Weyrleader, ignoring the almost exaggerated way his tension relaxes at the news. “And work it we will.” She informs the pair with a firm voice before finishing her ministrations, and leaving the pair to absorb the news in private.

« I will fly? » There is a barest glimmer of the sweet adorable dragonet that was, that has been buried, forgotten under the bluster and the swagger of the dragon that is. A glimpse of the innocence behind the void, one that is only shared with the Igenese bronzerider.

“Yes! You… no we will fly again!” L’xan’s voice is exultant, ringing with relief and joy, even as he slides down Nokteryth’s uninjured side once more “We will be free”. Overcome by the outcome the pair allows the medicinal herbs to do their work, drifting into a sleep where they share dreams of chaos and destruction above sprawling fields alight with daisies and wild roses.