Logfile from Taini Fort meets Thread over Fort Hold, and there are injured. 

   Thera stalks through wearing a dress that someone was fitting for her and is so not happy.

>> [fling] Gnaedath rumbles again. <<Birgith? Mine says you and yours are to stay here and run the flamer recharges>> <<

>> [fling] Birgith isn't moving << We are aware of this. >> She is amused, and flashes the new knot, then the picture of herself barely able to move. << Mine is there >> <<

W'ren dismounts, grabbing at the dangling fasteners of his helmet to tighten the helmet down on his head. Taking the gloves from his rider's belt he calls out to the assembled weyrlings. "Everyone check your dragons! make sure they are ready!" He begins to walk down the ranks, inspecting. "Tighten up that belt, F'at!" he yells to the bluerider. "B'ong! Where is your helmet? Put it on, weyrling!" He pulls at the leathers of the next and then, stops short, mouth open in front of Thera. "What in the name of the First Egg do you think you are doing, brownrider?! Are those /ruffles/?" His voice booms.

Thera straightens up, shoulders back and despite the fact that Hadamarth whuffles at her cause she's not about to say anything kind in any form or fashion, lifts her head and narrows her eyes back at W'ren, "I had a date with your father for the gather Sir!"

Taini comes around toward the bowl, carrying a few last minute supplies. "Anybody need anything?" She asks, eying the riders preparing. "Extra helmets..." She brings one over to B'ong. "Need one?" She glances around, and finds a place for the stuff and puts her hands on her hips. "Be careful." She says, rather unnecessarily.

The green Mrrth has been flying flame with Sirocco and so she lands with that group, wings kept at half-furl, as her muzzle is tilted toward the hold, and her eyes flare brilliant red. She can /feel/ the wispy Enemy falling, and her attention will be diverted only by taking the stones that T'jano proffers. Tail flicks, the restless green edges and twitches, unable to stay still as smoke tendrils out of her nostrils. T'jano, tense, attends Mrrth's firestone, and turns to watch the Weyrling wing, with a nod to Taini as well. Somber, the lean man has been a ghost around the weyr, of late, despite supposedly being restricted to it and two other places.

W'ren narrows his eyes on Thera, shaking his head at the woman, "i don't care if you had a date with my /Mother/! Go get your leathers on, NOW, weyrling! What were you /thinking/?" Turning to the next pair of weyrlings in the senior wing, he fumes, "Get those straps tighter, F'all! Taini! Get P'shaw over there one of those, too!" The man continues until he finds T'jano in his path and looks him up and down. "Finally! Someone with some wits about him!" He turns. "The rest of you who aren't already doing it, start feeding firestone to your lifemates, too!" He nods at his father and continues on.

Ita steps out quickly from the caverns, carrying numbweed and redwort and all such supplies. She nods at a dragon here and there, and smiles at a couple riders. Other than that, though, she's just here, just present.

Thera sneaks behind her dragon when someone hands a pair of pants at her. She had her flight jacket and so tucks all the ruffles into that and does up the belt, twice. Then comes back around and sneers at W'ren, who probably isn't watching anyways. A good thing. Ruffles still poke out of the jacket though.

Taini chuckles, watching Thera, and then returns to her task, counting flamers.

Inigoth and B'roughs have come from Ista to lend a hand, though most of his wing is still back at the Island weyr. He is inclined to get as much practice against real thread as possible. The older pair have filled in with which ever wing is short handed.

Astride Fanneth, G'dal stops picking his teeth, and mutters to himself, and to Fanneth. "Shardin stuff's gonna hit us in the shardin head if we wait much longer..." Fanneth rumbles his agreement, a loud rumble.

W'ren continues to inspect the wings, then stops, tilting his head as if to hear, nodding, then turns back around, coming up on T'jano. "Weyrling? When you've finished that, report to Jill and Sirrocco Wing. They need you there." Without waiting for a response, he turns back again and begins to walk back across the bowl to check that the other senior weyrling pairs are preparing properly.

"Nice to see you again too, W'ren." T'jano murmurs, half-smile at that, though he keeps his ungloved palm flat against the neck of the fidgeting green. "And welcome back." Seeing the front and the back of the Weyrling wingleader, T'jano considers his words for a moment then nods. "Alright. I can do that. Sir." Mildly spoken, T'jano is brought back to the necessity of the moment by Mrrth's narrow muzzle touching his shoulder lightly. More firestone.

Renna grasps the straps lightly, holds herself balanced against the dragon's hide for one loving moment, before dropping like a small pebble, down from her lifemate Deireth's neck.

Th'deus strides in, Xanth winging in from the Junior Queen's area. The man is in high energy, hair pulled severely back and flight helmet tucked under his arm. His old flight jacket is in evidence, the storm greys of the first gifted set that Th'deus' entire weyrling class received; Thadd's is in good repair, but wouldn't suit at a Gather. The Weyrleader glances up as Xanth drops to the ground, strapped and rigged and ready, and he'll spend a few moments to slide hands over the straps, check the seams and fasteners for the firestone. Silent, the massive man finishes his inspection quickly, before he pulls himself up. His regard passes over the wingleaders, Weyrsecond and Xanth touches minds with the dragons of those men and women. Ready?

Th'deus swings up to Xanth's neck, settling between two neckridges, and smiles down to his lifemate.

W'ren finishes his inspection of the weyrling wing, "Mount Up!" He yells to the weyrlings, spinning on his heels toward those junior weyrlings waiting in the wings with refill firestone sacks. "Sacks!" The command to start loading them onto the weyrling riders' strap hooks. The junior weyrlings rush in, reaching up to each of the mounted seniors in turn to hand three, four, six, however many sacks they can load. W'ren turns away, strides up to Th'deus and salutes. "Senior Weyrling Wing ready, sir!"

Thera swings up to Hadamarth's neck, settling between two neckridges, and smiles down to her lifemate.

Taini counts the flamethrowers, and as W'ren reports to Thadd, she turns and does the same. "Ground crew ready, sir." She says, quickly.

W'ren swings up to Gnaedath's neck, settling between two neckridges, and smiles down to his lifemate.

Astride Inigoth, B'roughs watches the young weyrleader and simply nods to the man when his eyes hit sentinel wing. He's kept his own knots on it's not /his/ wing and so he's playing the blue rider to the best of his ability. Other than that he waits, no point in wearing himself out now with fidgeting.

Astride Fanneth, G'dal grumbles. "Finally." He says, and Fanneth stretches his wings a little, bumping into the brown beside him. The rider is used to the loudmouth's ways, so he just ignores it, thankfully. Gun shifts in his seat, and checks his straps.

A shark in an a sea of small fish, that is how N'tan's pinched expression reads as the big man stands watching the wings gain order amongst themselves, arms crossed petulantly on his broad chest. While he has no love for his wing, there's a certain amount of comfort to be found amongst the faces you train with day in and day out. Nidhgoth remains coiled just behind, his preparations amounting to an inner cycle of psyching them both out, until they are both silently pumped.

Renna has been flying thread for Telgar, so while she may be on the plus side of middle aged, *cough* she looks relaxed as everyone bustles about. A quiet eyebrow arches and with a pat against Dei's muzzle, she mounts her dragon.

Renna takes a running leap at Deireth, snags a strap and hauls herself up hand over hand to settle between two neckridges.

Ita makes sure everything is in place, and watches carefully as the dragons prepare. "Be safe." She echoes the queen's words, softly, probably not overheard by many.

Astride Xanth, Th'deus leans down from Xanth to nods to Taini, "Aye. Thanks. Here's hoping they're bored." His teeth flash a quick grin; the adrenaline pumps and the man, ever a fighter, is anxious to be gone, to be there. A look around and he'll pump his arm, the signal to rise. Xanth transmits widely, with that taste of decay implicit of his mind-voice, the destination: Sky Above the Fort Hold Complex. The image is slanted with sun-set's rays across the buildings, a touch that a dragon accustomed to timing, might add.

Astride Gnaedath, W'ren tightens the straps carefully, checks his helmet and reaches down to grab the sacks the junior weyrlings hand him, twisting in his seat to make sure the senior weyrlings with him and behind are doing the same. "Make sure they are tight, S'al! Thera? You and Hadamarth take my right wingman slot! Taini? You run the flamer exchanges. Io and Imo ? Make sure those flamers report to the gold wing for exchange! Keep those refills going out to the goldies!" W'ren take a final look, tightens his gloves on his hands and lifts it into the air, pumps it downward.

"We're ready, W'ren," Taini calls, watching the dragons take off.

Overhead, The slash of putrid rotting vegetation slices through the ranks, Xanth's call: << Between. We fight! >> Ghost-silent, he is swallowed by the chill nothingness.

Ita moves around nervously. "This is always the hardest part. They blink out and..." She mutters to herself, and returns to her supplies, making sure that everything is ready.

Overhead, Astride Gnaedath, W'ren waves to Taini, holding his wing for the moment in a small circle beneath the other wings. they won't be needed for a few moments. Still, when the other dragons have left. He leads the wing one time around the bowl, checking their positions to kill time until the first round of refill sacks is needed.

>> [thread] Gnaedath sifts into the awareness of the link. <<Mine says to call us when you need the first round of refills. We wait.>> <<

Above the Star Stones, Hadamarth blinks in from ::between::!

>> [fling] Gnaedath waits silently in the link for the moment, his presence felt more than anything. <<We go in a few moments. Mine says to tighten the formation.>> <<

A certain silence has descended on the bowl, the absence of the Weyr's fighting dragons and the knowledge that there will be injuries, there will be pain and possibly, there will be death. Quiet and anxiety, the waiting must be the worst.

Amid that silence, restless and waiting, Taini paces, checking, re-checking everything until an older man comes up to her and pats her on the shoulder, "It's alright lass." He says, with a soft tone. "Hardest to wait."

Overhead, Astride Gnaedath, W'ren calls into the wind, raising his hand in a circle, signal for another round about the bowl. he peers over his shoulder at Thera, his wingsecond, signaling her to tighten the formation inward. The weylrings fly impeccably, albeit their age, all except B'ong, who's having trouble with his helmet strap.

>> [thread] Xanth has become a Presence, now, muculent mind-touch stretching to include every dragon, flashes of sulfur-yellow against a fog of black. << Now, we rise! *Between* to the Enemy, and flame as needed. >> <<

Overhead, Hadamarth corrects appropriate, surrounded by firestone sacks and buckled in thrice. She's all business, if slightly wide-eyed and nervous.

>> [fling] Gnaedath bugles the urgency of his next command, a still calm baritone, but still an order. <<Hieth! Mine says to tell your rider to pay attention! You are weaving! Xanth says the Thread is heavy and erratic. Tighten the formation again!>> <<

Overhead, Hadamarth Thera corrects appropriate, surrounded by firestone sacks and buckled in thrice She's all business, if slightly wide-eyed and nervous.

A sense of excitement ripples through the few remaining dragons -- older or infirm -- who remain. Thread has been met. The dragons flame! Thread is seared! Even so, the morbid preparations of healing ointments, numbweed, red-wort and bandages continues near the infirmary.

Ita waits quietly, picking up when the thread is charred. "Oh." She says. "They've started." She continues with the bunch near the infirmary, and washes her hands in redwort almost automatically.

Overhead, The wing continues to circle, waiting for word to go between to Threadfall. P'tooey leans over the side of her green, Spith, and coughs, momentarily zigzagging from her position at the furthermost tip of the standard vee. W'ren doesn't notice, instead giving the signal to ready to between. Watch out below!

Taini isn't watching out below. She's busy checking the one flamer she's worried about. So, P'thooey's lovely gift lands right on top of the goldrider's head. "Hey! Watch out up there!" She calls, good-naturedly.

Overhead, A sudden updraft, blows the center of the weyrling wing a little off center. F'all nearly tumbles in the adjustment, catching himself just barely when Braketh wings inward. At W'ren's left wingsecond position, C'ow checks his line behind, turning Mooth precisely without even looking. At least in flying, this pair is Thera/Hadamarth's near equal. Maybe.

Overhead, Hadamarth holds his position with the minute adjustment of one humongous brown (bigger now then the bronzes) and excellent muscle control. Thera sits and waits, to focused on being professional to hiss at heifer and bolt. Good thing her brown is so nice.

>> [thread] Gnaedath simmers silently, mind burning in unsatisfied desires, char and firestone fuming even into his mindlink. <<Mine asks if sacks are needed, yet.>> <<

>> [thread] Fanneth bellows through the links. << I need. >> He may be the first to run out, or maybe just the loudest. <<

Overhead, Astride Gnaedath, W'ren twists in his seat and gives the signal to envision, then the pumping hand signals between. Firestone is needed!

>> [fling] Gnaedath commands <<NOW!>> <<

Overhead, Gnaedath winks into ::between::!

Ita stops what she's doing, and rubs her temple. "That brown is /so/ loud." She says, shaking her head. "Wakes me up sometimes."

>> [fling] Gnaedath enters the link again calmly, cinnamon tainted with the soot and char much like burnt marshmallows. <<Stay in pairs! Remember to cover your wingman!>> <<

Greens begin to return, exhaustion painting their hides grey even in the dim light. Several alight in the bowl, to bring news to those who wait. The fall goes as well, so far. Replacements are needed. The winds are bad, and visibility becoming almost nothing.

Watch out Fizath! There's a spiraling strand of Thread headed right at you, blown by the breezes and hard to see in the growing smoky dimness. It's very similar to the set of two--binary orbiting parasites whose orbit takes them straight into the path of bronze Gnaedath and his rider, both on a mission to refill his father's sacks.

Ita hurries over to the greens, to make sure they are okay. She stands at the ready, waiting for anything.

>> [thread] Inigoth 's smooth ocean tones reach out calmly. <<I and mine will need more stone by the time you get it to us...>> <<

Mrrth still writhes in fury, even upon landing. Her wing is held a touch awkwardly, and it's T'jano unstrapping before the green lands, to call for numbweed. And redwort, this time, he'll remember. Mrrth's not badly wounded, but a wingtip garnered for their usual rash attacks. The greenrider takes the pots with grateful warmth, dipping his hands in the one, first, and then the other as he heads toward the green's proffered wing. Mrrth still puffs flame with her every breath.

High overhead, Nidhgoth blinks in from ::between::!

Bo wanders off to the northeast.

Taini steps over toward the green landing, and waits nervously, looking Mrrth over in the nearly lightless sky. "Teej? That you?" When he calls out for numbweed, she rushes over, albeit without the supplies.

It is Ita, the Healer who keeps her mind about her, hands already covered in redwort, bringing the numbweed to T'jano. "Greenrider." She holds up both containers to him. "Where is it needed?"

High overhead, Nidhgoth circles lower into the bowl.

When Nidhgoth lands the lithe brown is shaking so hard his lifemate's foot misses touching down on his knee, sending N'tan tumbling the last bit to roll into a ball as he lands hard on the bowl's floor. The piteous whines of both mingle until they are one harmonizing keel.

Astride Mrrth, "Me, yes, Taini. There's --" There. The green, having finally noticed her pain, became focused on that, and the relief that hits the both of them when it's gone, sags neck muscles of both rider and dragon. "Yes. Thanks. Xanth-Thadd made us leave. We were," he admits, "Getting tired. She thinks she should be able to stay with the bronzes. I tell her," T'jano murmurs, "That she already got her fair share and then some and needs to save some of the Thread for the other dragons." Yo bursts in from *between*, chittering with absolute fury at what she has decided was a really stupid maneuver of the greenpair. She is uniformly ignored by the other two of the trio. It's the brown's arrival, however, that catches T'jano's attention. He turns and dashes toward Nidhgoth, and calls out, "Is S'real here? Here, we'll need numbweed. More red-wort. Let's get the hurt done. Ita, see to the rider, please?"

Taini hears the keel, and rushes over to Ita, looking at the supplies. "What do I need to take?" She asks, suddenly fumble fingered and forgetful.

>> [fling] Gnaedath rumbles angrily into the link, echo of his rider's ire and concern. <<Birgith. Mine says to send B'rr and Flaketh to the infirmary to help Mrrth's rider in the infirmary. He says it's too hot up here for them anyway.>> <<

Ita nods. "Certainly." Her quietness is more a mark of her strength now. She heads over, handing Taini bandages and two bottles, and walks over toward the wounded man and his brown. She puts more redwort on her hands, and opens up a glowbasket, setting it nearby where the light can shine on N"tan and Nidhgoth. "Where is the worst of the char?" She asks, echoing the words through to the brown as well, unconsciously.

>> [fling] Birgith responds immediately, taking the cue, and sending the message, with flaming commands that Will. Be. Obeyed. << Flaketh. To Mrrth, please. >> <<

Thread has burned a track of flesh from shoulder to shoulder on Nidhgoth, singed flesh flaring as ichor seeps. N'tan's right hand is run through in palm's grasp, while leathers gape down his left leg where the wound snakes down the off side of his left shin. Both agonize for themselves and each other, with the man curled up against his lifemate's hide, body remembering birth's position with fetal fear.

Taini closes her eyes when she reaches the healer girl's side, seeing the carnage. "Where do you need this, Ita?" She asks, holding the supplies out. She pointedly looks away for a moment, and then, fortified from afar, and steeled from within, turns back, and waits for instructions.

Ita says, "Just here, thank you, weyrwoman." She assesses the situation, and starts by putting the numbweed on the dragon. "Rinse your hands with redwort, and put numbweed on the rider's injuries." She instructs carefully. "We'll get them calmed down, and then we'll see what we can do for their burns."

Redwort and then numbweed. The leanest Barlord brother turns to look at Mrrth quickly, seeking a certain reassurance in her orange gaze, but then he's all efficiency, nimble fingers, quick and light touch, seeming to know what he can use as a stair-case to reach the wound, and what he should not touch. Glob of 'weed in hand, he'll step up and begin the slathering of the brown. And T'jano is speaking to himself, the litany of that which he's memorized: "Redwort and then numbweed, lad, and then we'll stitch it and you'll be limping around for a bit. Play it up to the greens and maybe there'll be some sympathy, you know?" And with hands stained red, Mrrth's rider will slop the numbweed around, reaching where he thinks the wounds are, with careful fingers following this jagged edge and that, and the touch of his own dragon guiding him. Mrrth shifts to be in front of the serpent brown, her own wings half-mantled so she might be half-cloaked by her own pale underwing hues, as she stares at Nidhgoth.

As Nidhgoth relaxes, so does N'tan, long limbs stretching out so that eventually he is on his back, tilted against the dragon so one shoulder touches ground, while the other the brown. That allows the burnt flaps of his trousers to hang open, exposing the wound to the cool night air.

>> [thread] Birgith sends a soothing soft light toward the injured dragons, her scents like the freshness of the forest and anything that might remind the dragons of home. <<

Ita moves over to slather the numbweed on to the dragon, working quickly, explaining softly. "It is a bad score, but we will get it patched up." She points down to the rider, nodding over at Taini , encouraging her to do the same.

Taini does, a little more sloppily. This isn't her forte, after all. She coats her hands with the redwort, looking down at them for a moment, but then, a nudge shakes her from the reverie, and she begins to put the numbweed on to N'tan. "There. This should help." She says, quietly, not chattering on like Ita. She's listening too. Might learn something.

T'jano seems to know where the numbweed should go, and he puts it there. His glances, from time to time, to the green, are quick. Darting, confirming. And finally T'jano has fallen silent. When the dragon is covered with numbweed, he'll drop down, wash hands quickly before the anesthetic manages to broach the redwort shield. Next, quiet-voiced and with an open-palm touch on the brown, T'jano will call for the thread, the redwort, the needles. "How's the rider, Taini?"

Deireth winks out from between bugling pain and lands badly and lopsidedly as one wing struggles to take the brunt of the flying, the other batting rather helplessly. Renna is half out of her mind with worry and distress and is already sliding down the dragon before she actually lands. Hitting the ground with a roll that if it weren't for excellent pernesean genetics would have probably broken her hip. Instead she'll have a nasty bruise.

Above the Star Stones, Gnaedath blinks in from ::between::!

Mesmerized with myriad of visions applied to his mind, Nidhgoth's muscles lose tension one by one, until he is a slack hide heavy with bones. The keel is long gone, and has been replaced by a low humming moan that vibrates through his body to soothe his lifemate with his mere presence. N'tan breathes slowly, eyes closed as he too absorbs the shared visualizations. Taini's touch is recognized as healing hands, so when numbweed races through cauterized fibers, he relaxes further.

Having been consigned back to the Weyr, B'rrr and Flaketh are those who intercept Diereth and Renna. Swelling forward from playing backdrop to T'jano, Taini and Ita, the pair holler for their own support crew. Numbweed! Redwort! Taini, can your gold come help? And Flaketh chuffs to Diereth, his senior by more turns than he can count, as B'rrr heads for the rider first. Older rider, better bond with dragon. Get her first, and the dragon will stay.

"Looks like a pretty bad score, Teej. I don't know how bad it is, but it's across his leg, and his hand is burned too." She replies, continuing to slather. "I'm just gonna get him covered in this stuff, and then, let you guys take care of it. I've got no idea what I'm doing." Taini finishes the wound, and then inhales as another rider comes down. She nods, and replies to B'rr. "Aye, I'll get her." She does so, and the gold lumbers somewhat gracelessly from the pens.

"You're doing pretty well." Ita says, to try to bolster the other woman's confidence. "Now. If I could get you to open your wing just so, Nidhgoth, that would be helpful." She says, trying to reach that last little bit of 'score that hasn't been gotten yet. "There you go." She says, softly, continuing to work. "B'rr, you've got it covered?" She asks, glancing over toward the weyrling working on the older greenrider.

"I thought S'real was supposed to be here? Delliah?" T'jano does not let panic sift into his voice. He glances toward the other pair, coming in, and exhales as B'rrr heads toward them. Hope they're not hurt bad, is the uncharitable thought T'jano will allow himself. "N'tan, I'm going to be putting some stitches into Nidhgoth, now. I've him numbweeded, but he's to tell Mrrth if he feels anything, you're understanding that?" To a helper, T'jano murmurs, "I'll need better glows. Right here. Alright?" Another moment, "There's a gold in a bad way, over at Benden. Could be that they're both there." T'jano, to his credit, keeps this conversational. "And this, laddie," T'jano mutters to the brown dragon, "Does not merit a Master. Though you can blame the scars on me. I'll try to make them sexy."

Astride Deireth, Renna comes up from the roll already scrambling towards her dragon hollering, "What do I do? Dei it's alright sweetie, I know it hurts, it'll be better, it'll be fine, someone please help me!"

Above the Star Stones, Hadamarth blinks in from ::between::!

Ita nods. "Good. I've got him covered. If you need anyone to hold, or..." She pauses, and considers, watching B'rr step over toward the greenpair and start to put the numbweed on it. "Just be still ma'am," The young man says, "We'll cover her with the numbweed..." Although, the weyrling nearly forgets to coat his hands in redwort first. It's Flaketh who reminds him. "Oh, thanks, Flaketh." He says, grabbing the other jar and soaking his hands.

Renna grasps the straps lightly, holds herself balanced against the dragon's hide for one loving moment, before dropping like a small pebble, down from her lifemate Deireth's neck.

What relief he gets from the numbing has N'tan on his feet, though it took some struggle to get there. The tall man stands beside T'jano's ladder, and with the intensity of Rukbat's summer flare burning in his muddy eyes, watches the greenrider as he works. Dirt clings to the rider's jacket and helmet that are both shucked and tossed into a puddle on the ground, releasing the long sweaty bronzed hair - he's coming back into himself. There's even a strange outburst of wry humor that is quietly shared with the dragonhealer, "Maybe a sexy scar will up his chances next goldflight." It's his way of showing gratitude; something the rigid man is not in the slightest used to sharing.

Taini watches Birgith come over from the pens, and directs her to come stand near Nidhgoth and continue to give reassurances as needed. Birgith does so, and Taini looks at the rider. She frowns a little, wondering if /he/ needs stitches. "Should you be getting some attention yourself, N'tan?" She wonders.

"Maybe." T'jano agrees. The needle flashes with regular rhythm. This, unfortunately, T'jano got a lot of practice with, though dragon-flesh is tougher than human by far. Tiny stitches, little knots, and T'jano's back aches and Mrrth's wing begins to hurt again, "Taini, be a doll, please, and hit Mrrth's 'tip for me, left, please?" Another stitch, carefully in and out and this is going to take all night, and there's a quick glance between knot and cut, to the greenpair, over there, and B'rrr, who T'jano wouldn't personally have clean a toilet, much less stitch a dragon. "Taini," T'jano mutters very quietly. "Mrrth's got it. Have her help him." That's supposed to be code for something. Maybe Taini will figure it out.

And since Mrrth and T'jano seem to have that pair in hand, Ita moves over toward the weyrling tending the greenpair. "Here. Let me help." She says. Whether Taini caught the code or not, Ita did. "B'rr, go get me some bandages. Taini has some. " She directs softly, coating her hands again. "Now, then, ma'am, we'll get her taken care of. Let me see what we can do." She begins to slather the numbweed onto the sore spots, noticing where they are. "Are you injured at all, ma'am?"

Renna does what she is told and has her forehead pressed into her lime green's hide, eyes closed shut tightly. For the moment the panic for that bond is all that is there for the two of them. Her own threadscored shoulder unnoticed in the adrenaline of the moment. Her lifemate is her first priority.

Women have never been his long suit, so when N'tan barks, "After Nidhgoth is attended to!" no one is probably surprised. Nidhgoth's skin flinches, reacting much like a runner plagued with vtols. The rider's large soothing hand smooths out the twitches, while he plies comforting words to his lifemate's mind. Soon the trembling comes to a halt.

Huh? Taini is not exactly on top of her game tonight. She hears his words, but doesn't understand what he's talking about. Fortunately, Ita gets it, and Taini catches on after she does. "Right. Here, B'rr." She hands the supplies over to the weyrling, who moves over to Deireth's side. Tai then directs her gold to focus her attention on Deireth as well, though she merely turns, instead of lumbering over. She can focus from here. Eye contact is enough. Taini moves toward the other pair, ready to do whatever is necessary. She notices the score on Renna's shoulder. "Can I coat that with some numbweed, ma'am? It will help your dragon, I think. Give her less to worry about?"

Not so much as blinking, Renna's only acknowledgment to the question is a slight jerk of her shoulder and a left over wheeze from the firestone sack. Her hand moves out to splay across the hide of her dragon and as the numbweed is applied so to can she manage a small nod.

"It's going to take me a while here, N'tan," T'jano is the Voice of Reason. "Lots of cuts, lots of stitches. I'm imagining that it'll be easier on him," T'jano brushes a warm hand across the brown's hide, before he resumes his gruesome task of poking metal through it, "If you were not bleeding. If you were already healing. They are peculiar that way, the dragons. Or so they told us in our classes. And it'd make my job easier, which would make my work easier, which would make my work /neater/ which you'd both probably appreciate, so if you'd let one of the healers tend to you, Pern will just be a better place, see?"

Thera has been sent back, their firestone sacks gone and with the notification that thread is under control. Hadamarth lands smoothly and luckily Thera does not tumble head over heel off her dragon this time. Unlatching strap after strap, she slides down the brown. Still wide-eyed and fairly exhausted, she manages to dart over and ask, "Can I help?"

Taini and Birgith continue to help where needed, which, when the real healers, and more experienced personnel show up, is less and less. Bee settles herself down for the long haul, and Tai goes to work with the crews, making sure everything goes well with them, too.

B'rr stands there, holding bandages. "You could come help over here.." He says, with a frown. He doesn't' realize that he's holding the bandages to prevent him from 'helping' much.

"Please." T'jano spares a glance for Thera. "Start on his other side. Start with the ones that are oozing the most. Get some folks with glows over to help you. There's a bad one by his shoulder, I was going to do that one next, N'tan, Thera's excellent with the stitching." That is spoken to be the man, again, as if it might matter. It does to T'jano. Ability-snob, perhaps. He's worked harder at this dragonhealing business than anything he's ever done, and his recent pride took a blow, with the recent death of a patient he'd helped with. With humility comes a certain grounding. "It's all good, N'tan. She's good."