“Medic! Medic.. !”

“Oh hush, I’ll be there in a moment.” Soft, but firm; the dragon never once lost concentration to the bemoaning wailing of the injured dragons below deck; the cacophony of grunts and whining murmurs filling in the backdrop of a creaking ship. Being in the profession as long as he had, Anachronos long since learnt to drown out the sound of his patients and listen only for the important signs than the surface-level complaints.

His hands never once stalled, the pestle grounding the last of the poppysnap seeds. He curled his bright orange wings inwards, making space as he moved towards the aernborne gustgather and deposited the crushed mixture into the head of it. Reigniting the staff; a yellow-tinted smoke began to drift out the top and fill the cabin with an aromatic aroma meant to settle the weary dragons down and calm the nerves.

He gave a cursory glance over his shoulder, as sometimes the absence of sound was just as alarming as someone screaming for help. His charges were four dragons in total; with one deep in paralysis thanks to the progression of a water basilisk’s poison, and three injured from the same attack. Idly, he knew why those sea dwelling beasts were known as terrors of the deep, now.

Picking up a cloth, Anachronos wiped the sweat off his brow and checked on the distillation of the antidote he was making. The attack was fresh enough there was still some of the venom from the beast that was collected, halving the process and potentially saving the dragon from a lifetime of misfortune. The recipe was an old one, as few antidotes were recorded of the specific kind he needed.

Everything seemed in order; and the white drops of restorative liquid had already filled the canteen a quarter of the way. Now he could address the agonized dragon calling for him.

“Don’t worry,” he said when he approached, stilling the patient despite their protesting bawl. “It’s not the worst bite I’ve seen. You’ll live.”

“Oh, that’s reassuring!” Though the dragon could not say anymore; yipping and whimpering with Anachronos’ inspection. Seemingly satisfied by something or another known only to the medic, he retreated back towards his bench and grabbed a bushel of rose petals. They were crushed much in the same way the seeds were, placed in a bottle and filled with burning hot water. The petals began to dissolve, staining the liquid red.

“Drink this once cool.” instructed Anachronos, leaving it at the bedside. “Any earlier and you’ll burn your tongue, any later and it’ll be ineffective.”

With a sigh and one more patient treated, the others were an unfortunate waiting game. He gave one more round of checks before retreating towards a lopsided chair, easing down on it and smoothing his claws through ruffled feathers. It wasn’t easy work, being one of the only medics onboard – and it still amazed him the amount of strange and unusual injuries that the crew managed to get in.

Still.. he can’t say that he didn’t enjoy some aspect of it. Not the pain – absolutely not – but the knowledge that he was responsible for nursing them back to full health. Watching a recovery always brought warmth to his heart. Even if he wished he possessed some magic wand to cure all that ailed someone with no effort at all; applying his training and skills was ultimately rewarding.

- Tootsie#570692