Trial and Error (2/2)

Writers: Aaron, Iluva
Date Posted: 24th March 2025

Characters: Z'renh, M'rhas
Description: A silent and peaceful bathing of dragons, and nothing more surely
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 6, day 4 of Turn 12
Notes: Mentioned: T'mhas, M'thos, K'yne, T'lonas

M'rhas

"Sorry. We were, uh... discussing." He pointed back and forth between his head and Adamanth's. "Here. Use as much as you need." He set the bucket where they could both reach it.

M'rhas expression didn't change whether he was looking at Z'renh, Adamanth, or the bucket.

}:It's a _trap_! Is it a trap!?:{

**I dunno.** He tried to think. It could be - some trap for later, if not right now. Something to lord over them, rub their noses whenever it suited them, make them indebted to them somehow. M'rhas still had half a mind to tell the other weyrling to shove his soapsand where Rukbat couldn't reach it, but his better half had already reached the upper limits of his panic. **Don't think so.**

In fact as the iridescent blue in the bronze's eyes steadied, a tentative white flag raised as far as he was concerned. "... thanks? I dunno if you'll have enough to finish if you share with us."

"Don't worry about it. I'll go get some more if we need it," said Z'renh. And then, as if Adamanth had always believed this was right and proper, he nodded his assent. After all, it _was_ the leader's responsibility to make sure the wing had everything it needed to succeed.

Z'renh was not sure how long this sudden bout of magnanimity would last, but he was not about to waste it.

"Well..." M'rhas weighed a handful of the gifted soapsand as if it might somehow still be a trap or a set-up, but ultimately shrugged. "Thanks." He said firmly. They had to finish this bath one way or another, and this was the fastest way through it. Besides who was he to rebuff their unsolicited generosity?

Only, he did briefly wonder which of them had argued for helping them or against it, and then--

Alzaryth nudged his hand, bringing him back. **Yeah, sorry.** M'rhas obliged. With the other pair's blessing soaped up a few more times, scrubbing in their odd silent truce. In fact if one didn't know them all better it could even be called peaceful, or companionable. The work of two new dragonriders starting to pay off.

But then one bit of sloppiness with his last handful brought an end to all that.

There was little warning other than a sudden burn racing up his skull, an intense pressure uncoiling inside, and suddenly M'rhas' violent sneeze fell into a violent cough, all of which frightened the bejeepers out of his dragon.

Without thinking, Alzaryth bolted, a flail of limbs going in any direction but Adamanth's-- which incidentally brought him colliding dead on with Adamanth's bucket.

}:You would dareâ€":{ Adamanth launched into a tirade about ungrateful Alzaryth squandering his most gracious gift when purely on instinct, Z'renh stepped into his way. He was certain the bronze would stop. That he would, would he able to stop. But he was not. And he did not.

"Oh..." Something tore. Sliced. It was his pants leg? Oh. And his _leg_ leg. That... THAT was a lot of blood. And was he in the water?

Adamanth shrieked, panic rising inside him.

**No. Listen.**

It was a simple command, but it carried with it so much more than that. Adamanth had never had much care for the feelings underlying Z'renh's thoughts. Or maybe he was simply not very attuned to understanding them. But now, an overwhelming calm flowed from Z'renh into Adamanth that stilled him.

The bronze made himself as small as he could. His eyes whirled yellow, orange, and red.

}:This was not my will,:{ he said pitifully.

**I know. I'm going to be all right. And you're going to stay with me. You are _not_ going to panic. And you are going to let M'rhas help me.**

}:A-as... as you will.:{

"M'rhas. Hand me that scrub brush. Please."

Oh, that was a lot of blood. Z'renh's face paled.

"Quickly."

Oh M'rhas heard him-- just as the color drained from his face and out onto the sands in front of him, where it seemed instantaneously Z'renh lay in the midst of dying, Adamanth had transformed into a whimpering kitten, and Alzaryth had completely _abandoned_ him to streak out across the 'bowl somewhere.

"Oooooooooh shit." A brush was somehow in his hands and his expression of disbelief wiped away with the dawning realization that it really and truly and surely was _all up to him_. He shoved the brush in Z'renh's hand and then wondered if he ought to be doing that. "Shit shit shit--" **Alzaryth,** Grabbing through their link with a sense of great necessity, M'rhas had never felt so grateful for the tinge of relief that echoed back. "Shit shit--" **Tell Fianwyth, tell Arinoth, Domorth,** in his mindseye the image flashing was actually Ghraisath, **that Z'renh's injured in here. He's bleeding and needs immediate help.**

}:But--:{

**They'll know what to do after, but they need to know now to help Adamanth's.**

Alzaryth's panic suspended a little. }:But I--But I--:{

**Baby, listen to me. You can do this. We can do it.**

With only some hesitation Alzaryth steeled himself. He cast out to more older dragons than were actually on staff.

**We can do it.** "Alright. Breathe, Z'renh. Keep breathing, do not stop breathing, or I will sock you in the flaming face, alright?" **Shit shit shit. Okay okay. Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding, how do I stop the scorching, flaming bleeding...**

M'rhas' head whipped around confusedly despite how stoicly his arms operated. He had his discarded shirt in his hands for some reason and was rolling it up tightly, watching the blue turn a dark wet purple as blood eagerly ate into it, fitting it in place. "We've gotta tie it really tight," he explained to Z'renh, and himself, wondering if it was really his voice, if that was really Adamanth cowering like he was Alzaryth beside them. "Help's coming, just keep breathing."

"Okay," he wiped the sweat from his brow, replacing it with the bronze weyrling's blood, "Gimme that brush. Now. You alright?"

"I'm good." A bit woozy. Very woozy. He counted himself lucky that M'rhas remembered how to make the tourniquet, as he himself was not quite sure he could remember what the brush was for anymore. He had known, just a moment ago... Well, he certainly did not need to get himself punched. That would make Adamanth panic. So he kept breathing and handed the brush to M'rhas.

"I'm going to be all right," he told M'rhas, and it absolutely sounded like he believed it. "You saved me."

}:Make him help you faster,:{ Adamanth demanded. }:Make him!:{

**Shh. It's all right. You're going to sit tight, and the Healers will be patching me up before you know it. I just have to... stay awake.**

M'rhas' ears flushed deep crimson at the word 'saved' and the way Z'renh was looking at him now. An animal saved from a snare. He hadn't saved him-- not yet. And more alarmingly, what if he _didn't_? What if it was actually too late, the gash was just too deep, the bloodloss too rampant and he was going to be knelt here covered in his classmate's blood when Adamanth--

"Yeah, well, you know-- it ain't no big thing." He blurted, spinning the brush even faster. "Now, _breathe_."

}:I... I don't think I like bathing.:{ Alzaryth admitted quietly.

At last the brush slowed, stopped. Very hesitantly, sitting back on his heels, M'rhas felt dizzy and warm and weightlessly hopeful all would really be well. He'd never been more relieved not to have to punch this guy in his life. He patted his shoulder, probably a little too roughly in hindsight. "There ya go. Good man. You're gonna be fine. You're a good... man, Z'renh. Good man."

Z'renh tried to smile and nod, but his system was in too much shock for him to think much beyond the concentration it took to hold Adamanth there with him. That was his lifeline. Well, that and the tourniquet, anyway. The Healers would be there soon. And they would give him and Adamanth both permission to rest. But until then, he would be strong.

Last updated on the March 26th 2025

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Trial and Error (2/2)