19.Aug.12, 08:48 PM
The walk to the infirmary, though not terribly far, had nearly taken Sanderon's last spark of strength. With his eyes still shut tight he felt, more than saw, the shadow of the Healing Hall come over them as D'ren led him inside. The weyrleader's encouragement fell on unthankful ears. He did not care to be encouraged right now. He just wanted to fall unconscious upon the nearest bed. Did the man truly believe that Sanderon would be fine? He hadn't been 'fine' since the day he was captured in the woods. And at this rate, he would never be 'fine' again. Now was not the time to dwell on such things. Even if he wanted to think on it, his mind was shattered and wandered in crazy directions. It did not seem to want to settle down and think clearly on anything. It never stopped fully on a single thought before racing off in another direction towards nothing except...
Pain.
That was the only thing that was real. Voices did not matter. Though he heard one now. It was D'ren again. When had Sanderon stopped moving? That was odd. He was on a bed now. That was nice...or at least it should be he thought briefly. There was no difference though. Nothing had really changed. At least he didn't have to move anymore.
On his belly now, with his bloody wrists by either side of his head and his shredded back soaked in blood messing up the blankets underneath him, he listened to what D'ren had to say. Opening his eyes briefly to look upon the man sitting in a chair beside him, he suddenly realized that some sort of response was being asked for. Hoping it was the right one, Sanderon tried to remember what D'ren had asked and then mumbled in the same void tone as before, "Am I alright? ...No. How could I be?"
How could he be alright? D'ren's question made no sense. Didn't the man not see his torn and bleeding flesh? What was wrong with him.
When he heard D'ren apologize with 'I'm Sorry Kid.' A spark of anger flashed briefly through Sanderon's eyes before disappearing behind the fog of misery again. Meeting the weyrleader's gaze, he said without feeling, "Don't say you're sorry. Just... don't."
The apology was heartfelt, Sanderon was sure but it rekindled a spark of his old defiance when he heard it. I'shan had repeatedly said that he was sorry too, right before Sanderon was torn away from his family, probably leaving them thinking he was dead.
"Actions. ...Not words." Was what Sanderon mumbled now, as he closed his eyes once again. He willed his mind to let go so he could feel the sweet peace of the unconscious, but still his mind refused to release him. His tortured flesh still throbbed terribly with each beat of his heart.
Where was the healer?
Pain.
That was the only thing that was real. Voices did not matter. Though he heard one now. It was D'ren again. When had Sanderon stopped moving? That was odd. He was on a bed now. That was nice...or at least it should be he thought briefly. There was no difference though. Nothing had really changed. At least he didn't have to move anymore.
On his belly now, with his bloody wrists by either side of his head and his shredded back soaked in blood messing up the blankets underneath him, he listened to what D'ren had to say. Opening his eyes briefly to look upon the man sitting in a chair beside him, he suddenly realized that some sort of response was being asked for. Hoping it was the right one, Sanderon tried to remember what D'ren had asked and then mumbled in the same void tone as before, "Am I alright? ...No. How could I be?"
How could he be alright? D'ren's question made no sense. Didn't the man not see his torn and bleeding flesh? What was wrong with him.
When he heard D'ren apologize with 'I'm Sorry Kid.' A spark of anger flashed briefly through Sanderon's eyes before disappearing behind the fog of misery again. Meeting the weyrleader's gaze, he said without feeling, "Don't say you're sorry. Just... don't."
The apology was heartfelt, Sanderon was sure but it rekindled a spark of his old defiance when he heard it. I'shan had repeatedly said that he was sorry too, right before Sanderon was torn away from his family, probably leaving them thinking he was dead.
"Actions. ...Not words." Was what Sanderon mumbled now, as he closed his eyes once again. He willed his mind to let go so he could feel the sweet peace of the unconscious, but still his mind refused to release him. His tortured flesh still throbbed terribly with each beat of his heart.
Where was the healer?