D'thon Keeps Hannah Company In The Ground Weyrs

Logfile from Hannah-HT

Ground Weyrs (#4213)

Dark stone arches upwards to vault high above the entrance to these ground-level weyrs. Large enough for more than a few dragons, pillars define the expanse of one smooth dragon-couch from the next, to offer at least the hint of privacy. Redolent, the air struggles towards the vents high above in an attempt to escape the prevalent odors of redwort and numbweed that drift and lurk in every tidy corner. Tunnels branch off like tentacles, heading into dragon-healer's quarters and the infirmary further southeast.

Gold Dhiammarath is here.

You see Natel's Cot here.

Obvious exits:

Dragonhealer Weyr Weyr 1 Weyr 2 Bowl Infirmary

D'thon limps out of weyr 2.

D'thon half-limps/half-strolls out of one of the ground weyrs. He yawns and stretches before seeing hannah still tending to Dhiammarath. "How is she?" he asks simply.

D'thon (#3741)

You see a gaunt man with a deep threadscore scarring the left half of his face. Where his left eye would be is only pale scar tissue. His short cropped hair is as black as Crom coal except for a liberal sprinkling of grey at each temple. His square jaw matches his angular face. His body does not appear to be heavily muscled but wiry instead.

He is dressed in bronze-dyed leathers from neck to foot. The left arm of his leathers has been repaired. His left hand is gloved. Pinned over his heart is a small amber pin, fashioned in the shape of a star. Perching quietly on his shoulder, bronze Nkidu sits looking around.

He is awake and looks alert.

D'thon is 60 Turns, 6 months, and 20 days old.

D'thon has a recent slight calf score.

Hannah looks up, her face strained. "The same. Still weak.. still sleeping. She doesn't move much." Eyes glance towards the ground weyrs and a spark of humor lights her eyes, "You were almost invaded. Apparently, Yla's Castaliath has gone proddy." Nodding to his leg, "And you? How is your leg?"

D'thon rgins wryly, "Sore enough to keep me humble … for a while anyway. Did you enjoy the redfruit juice, soup, and meatrolls earlier?"

Hannah nods her head, "I did. Thank you." She gestures, "Please, sit. There isn't much to sit /on/, but.." An attempt at hospitality, at least.

D'thon chuckles and slowly levers himself down to sit with his bandaged right leg sticking straight out in front of him. "I'll be glad to go down and fetch you more as you like. It's just the right distance to exercise the leg without pushing it too much."

Hannah watches him sit with some concern in her eyes and then answers, "Oh, I would not want to impose upon you. Don't go only for only me." For now, her extremely shy nature is consumed with her worry for her lifemate and is a bit more talkative than usual. "I do thank you."

D'thon waves away Hannah's protest, "Dinna be silly, young Weyrwoman. It's not only my duty, it's an honor and a pleasure to serve. Let's hear no more like that. The grizzled bronze rider peers at the massive sleeping gold dragon with evident shared concern, "What are they doing for her?"

Hannah's own gaze follows the bronzerider's. "They are watching her for now. The healers are examining the herdbeasts to determine the cause of the problem. Right now, I believe they do not want to give her anything until they know the cause. So we watch and we wait." The white-gold form is still with sleep. Goldrider turns back and says sincerely, "I do thank you for going to the living caverns for me."

D'thon says, "Oh, weyrling doo, that's nothing at all, truly. The best part is I now have a captive audience if the urge strikes me to spin a tale or two." The old man gives out with a dry laugh, "You could probably do with some sleep, and my stories will put you out like a covered glowbasket. This'll work out quite nicely."

Hannah chuckles softly, "I'm sure your tales are not boring at all, D'thon. Certainly, they would not put me to sleep." Shifting positions, she sits with her legs folded and leans up against Dhiammarath's side. "You have that look about you that says you have many interesting tales to weave."

D'thon starts to reply but then his expression changes and his eyes lose focus for a moment. He hoists himself to his feet and says, "Please pardon me, young Weyrwoman, Pintarryth is experiencing a bit of pain himself. I'll be back shortly."

D'thon says, "No no, thank you, though."

D'thon limps into weyr 2.

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