March 1st, C.E. 71
Nile Valley, African Community, Earth
The medical room of the Archangel was quiet when Andrew Waltfeld opened his eye. At first the harsh lights left him blinking, but a moment later there was another cause for tears, although he wiped them away hastily. There was a bandage over the left side of his head, covering his eye completely. His left arm didn't seem to be moving and he suspected that he shouldn't try anything with his legs either. He knew their numbness had to be due to heavy anaesthetic. "Aisha..." he muttered.
There was a groan from next to the bed and he turned his head to see a rather spectacular set of bedhead poke up above the edge of the mattress. For a moment he couldn't identify it, but then he recognised the shape of the face and Thomas raked back his hair into it's usual shape. He looked like hell, Waltfeld noted. Without a jacket it was possible to count his ribs through the thin material of his T-shirt and there were deep bags under his eyes.
"Ah," the man nodded to himself. "You're awake. I'd offer you a coffee, but it's lousy, and you probably couldn't keep it down anyway."
The Desert Tiger narrowed his eyes. "Lousy coffee?" he asked and was surprised by how weak he sounded. "Now I know I'm in hell."
Thomas laughed at that. "Not quite. In the hands of your enemies, I'm afraid. I wasn't planning to hand you over to Desert Dawn - they don't seem too fond of you for some reason, so I dragged the two of you aboard the Archangel."
"Two of us?" Waltfeld croaked, hope in his eyes.
The healer's lips twisted. "She's stable... not much more than that, I'm afraid, but stable." He gestured towards the other bed in the small room.
It was impossible to make out the identity of the person laid on the bed - she was heavily bandaged and surrounded by medical equipment - but Andrew's heart soared. Then he grimly bit down the joy. "How bad is it?" he asked.
Thomas rubbed at his beard. "Not great," he observed. "Neither of you will be making a full recovery. The brunt of your lady's injuries were against her right side and back - the internal damage is quite severe. Nothing that can't be lived with, but not something that can be entirely healed at this point. She lost a lot of blood, but she's responding well to transfusions. In your case, you have multiple fractures to your legs which will heal, given time, but your left eye is gone and I had to amputate most of your left arm."
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.
Nile Valley, African Community, Earth
The medical room of the Archangel was quiet when Andrew Waltfeld opened his eye. At first the harsh lights left him blinking, but a moment later there was another cause for tears, although he wiped them away hastily. There was a bandage over the left side of his head, covering his eye completely. His left arm didn't seem to be moving and he suspected that he shouldn't try anything with his legs either. He knew their numbness had to be due to heavy anaesthetic. "Aisha..." he muttered.
There was a groan from next to the bed and he turned his head to see a rather spectacular set of bedhead poke up above the edge of the mattress. For a moment he couldn't identify it, but then he recognised the shape of the face and Thomas raked back his hair into it's usual shape. He looked like hell, Waltfeld noted. Without a jacket it was possible to count his ribs through the thin material of his T-shirt and there were deep bags under his eyes.
"Ah," the man nodded to himself. "You're awake. I'd offer you a coffee, but it's lousy, and you probably couldn't keep it down anyway."
The Desert Tiger narrowed his eyes. "Lousy coffee?" he asked and was surprised by how weak he sounded. "Now I know I'm in hell."
Thomas laughed at that. "Not quite. In the hands of your enemies, I'm afraid. I wasn't planning to hand you over to Desert Dawn - they don't seem too fond of you for some reason, so I dragged the two of you aboard the Archangel."
"Two of us?" Waltfeld croaked, hope in his eyes.
The healer's lips twisted. "She's stable... not much more than that, I'm afraid, but stable." He gestured towards the other bed in the small room.
It was impossible to make out the identity of the person laid on the bed - she was heavily bandaged and surrounded by medical equipment - but Andrew's heart soared. Then he grimly bit down the joy. "How bad is it?" he asked.
Thomas rubbed at his beard. "Not great," he observed. "Neither of you will be making a full recovery. The brunt of your lady's injuries were against her right side and back - the internal damage is quite severe. Nothing that can't be lived with, but not something that can be entirely healed at this point. She lost a lot of blood, but she's responding well to transfusions. In your case, you have multiple fractures to your legs which will heal, given time, but your left eye is gone and I had to amputate most of your left arm."
D for Drakensis
You're only young once, but immaturity is forever.