Feet [Tir, Open]

[Shor]

Lachlan hesitated. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. After all, there would be pain involved, and he didn't really enjoy pain. It was. . . you know. . . painful. No. It was better than hobbling around all season. He had to get this out of the way as soon as possible, for Lachina's sake.

He knocked on the infirmary door. He waited, shuffling a bit with his good paw and blinking nervously. . .

He waited a bit more, drumming his free paw on the wall, humming tunelessly to himself. . .

Impatient, he stopped waiting and instead listened. . .

The room was unoccupied. Lachie opened the door, and glanced around, confirming his suspicion that nobeast was in the room. Of course, why would anybeast be? It wasn't like the healers would spend all their time locked up here. They probably had lives just like everyone else.

Lachie didn't. He instinctively began looking through all of the various belongings so carelessly left in the room. He opened anything that could be opened, read what little there was to read, and finally, his eyes came to rest on a mortar and pestle. "Ooh!" he exclaimed, and hurried over to the curious pair of objects. He loved such things, for they were fascinating in their simplicity. Seated on a previously undisturbed bed, he ground nonexistent herbs as he glanced around at everything else there was to see in the room. Beds were uninteresting, as were knives and empty jars. Then there were feet, bottles of some sort of medicine, and. . . feet. What?

He looked up at the owner thereof, and his unproductive herb-grinding came to a halt.

The big otter hurriedly put down the mortar and pestle and quickly rose to his foot. Not sure how to explain himself and almost completely certain he would be in trouble for rummaging through others' belongings, he glanced nervously to his left, to his right, and back to the beast at the door, trying to conjure something to say. In a moment of brilliant improvisation, he flashed a smile. ". . . Hello."

[Tirael]

". . . Hello."

Tirael returned the smile with a look of mild surprise. "Hi," he responded uncertainly, wondering why the other otter looked so suspicious. He hadn't been in the infirmary all day--he'd been Dibbun-watching with Fern--so he had no idea how long the stranger had been in the room.

That couldn't be good.

Still eying Lachie, the healer crossed to his worktable. "Can I help-..." he trailed off. He'd noticed the mortar and pestle on the bed, but only now did he see that nearly everything in the area had been shuffled about. It seemed like there had been a half-hearted attempt to replace what had been moved: nothing was as neat as he had left it. Glancing back at Lachlan, who was apparently still trying to look innocent, he finished his sentence. "...you?..."

[Shor]

Obviously, the "Can I help. . . you?" wouldn't have come from a patient, and there seemed to be recognition on the otter's face when he glanced at the mortar and pestle (Lachie wasn't sure -- he wasn't exactly his sister), which meant that this was very likely the infirmary keeper. Lachlan, out of force of habit, studied the presumed healer. Slim, strong-ish but not powerful, blue eyes, brown fur, burlap bag -- tan, probably for carrying medical-type supplies. Nothing interesting to be found, really. Lachie glanced at the floor. What would Lachina look for? He returned to the blue eyes. Nothing. How on earth could beasts see things in others' eyes? It just didn't make sense. No one could be in the same mood all the time, as evidenced by this healer-character, whose eyes betrayed only proper confusion.

Wait, where was he?

Still eying Lachie, the healer crossed to his worktable. "Can I help-. . . you?"

Oh, right. He considered offering his paw, but a pawshake seemed out of place. Instead, he tried apologizing. "Sorry, sorry, Ah just, uh-- Ah've a thing aboot goin' through beasts' belongings, uh. . . So!" He clapped his paws together. "Anyway, mah name's Lachie, an' ye would be a healer, by any chance?" He glanced down briefly at his fallen cane. Shouldn't have clapped. . .

[Tirael]

"Sorry, sorry..."

So he was on the defensive already. Lachie was doing no favors for himself, and Tirael faintly wondered if he was trying to seem suspicious. But what good could that possibly do?

"Ah just, uh-- Ah've a thing aboot goin' through beasts' belongings, uh. . . So!"

He's very up-front about it, Tirael thought to himself. He was still rather put off by the sea otter's bizarre behavior, but at least he was a little less concerned about what he was doing here in the first place. He was still going to check all his things the moment Lachie was out of the room, though. No harm in being thorough.

"Anyway, mah name's Lachie, an' ye would be a healer, by any chance?"

"I would," he replied, taking his mortar and pestle and restoring them to their proper place in the cabinet. Placing a few odd items back where they were supposed to be, he felt a little more at ease. It occurred to him that he might be a little obsessive about that, but he put the feeling aside and turned back to Lachie. "So, do you need anything, or was rooting through my things satisfying enough?"

[Shor]

As the healer spoke, Lachlan lowered himself on one footpaw to retrieve his cane from the floor. First he wondered about the healer's obvious love of neatness. Then, he wondered about his own lack thereof. Then, he wondered about the migration of birds; where would an osprey be right now? Wait. That was irrelevant.

"So, do you need anything, or was rooting through my things satisfying enough?"

"Psh, it's only satisfying if'n Ah find something int'restin'," Lachie almost said. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't. Instead, he replied with a curious expression on his face -- the kind he made when he realized he hadn't thought through what he was going to say beforepaw and was now having difficulty figuring out what sort of collection of words might be best applied in the present situation. This particular collection lacked his usual finesse. "Ahh, I don't know 'ow ye go about things 'ere, but Ah just wanted t'see if'n ye could do anythin' about mah leg. . ." He shifted his weight to his good footpaw and indicated the other with his cane. "It 'asn't worked quite right furra while now. . . shipwreck," he added, smiling as though it explained everything. In a way, it did; it was all Lachie knew.

[Tirael]

"Ahh, I don't know 'ow ye go about things 'ere, but Ah just wanted t'see if'n ye could do anythin' about mah leg. . ."

Glad that there was an actual medical purpose to Lachie's visit, Tirael shifted his gaze to the indicated leg. It looked fairly normal to the healer, though he figured that most legs would look normal when obscured by pants. All he could tell for now was that they were at least shaped like legs.

Brilliant medical analysis.

"It 'asn't worked quite right furra while now. . . shipwreck."

And some excellent data to add to that brilliant analysis. Motioning for Lachie to sit on the bed he'd previously been snooping from, he asked, "Were you injured? Did anything, even something small, happen to your leg?" If the answer wasn't the obvious broken bone or horribly damaged muscle, it could be some sort of infection that got in through a smaller entrance.

He could only hope that Lachie would keep giving him plain answers. Tirael wasn't the most perceptive creature, but he could tell (from excessive experience) when somebeast was uncomfortable with healing methods. Especially unpleasant for this patient, who would almost certainly have to undergo some form of surgery, unless the problem was an infection--which Tirael could do little about.

[Shor]

Lachlan sat and actually waited for the healer to finish talking. Afterward, he replied thoughtfully, "Er, aye, ackshully, mah leg 'ad a nasty scratch onnit. Left a good scar." He chuckled nervously, but the laughter faded quickly. His paws seemed to think that fluttering about frantically might keep the weight of the impending surgery from settling.

He began to wonder what his father would say. Probably something almost encouraging, something to the effect of "Wot're ye so nervous for? There's naught t'worry about. Shape up, now -- ye're tougher than that." At least, that's what Lachie thought. Barr always was the stoic warrior-type. Unfortunately, Lachlan was not nearly as strong an otter as his father. Lachlan shook his head, directing his thoughts instead at the future. Within a season, he might be able to run, swim, and, best of all, not hobble.

The healer had probably just said something, but Lachie had completely missed it. His brow furrowed as he tried to remember, but the immediate memory of the sound had already passed. Lachlan raised a paw to the back of his head, a recently developed habit of his. "Sorry, wot noo?"

[Tirael]

"Er, aye, ackshully, mah leg 'ad a nasty scratch onnit. Left a good scar."

Tirael raised an eyebrow: the information was medically vague, but at least it seemed he was on the right track. Though there wasn't enough evidence for a diagnosis, he was mostly thinking about the trauma theory. As he decided that it almost certainly wasn't a bone injury, he realized that he was jumping to the cheerful conclusion that it wasn't an infection. It didn't surprise him; he hated the idea of not being able to do anything for a patient. At least during the war, he'd been able to distract himself from that helpless anger with the abundant work he had, but peacetime left him with too much time to think...

"Um...how deep was the cut?" he asked, though the way he muttered it, it sounded as though he were simply thinking aloud. In a way, he was. The words came out his mouth before they really registered in his head.

"Sorry, wot noo?"

The noise snapped Tirael back to real life. Somewhat embarrassed to have lapsed into an out-loud-thinking daze, he repeated the question more loudly. "Oh, uh, I asked how deep it was. The scratch." After a moment, he clarified, "As in, just skin-deep, or into the muscle?"

[Shor]

"Definitely inna muscle. . . I dunno how far." Lachlan held the large paw to the back of his head, looking as though the injury were the result of a silly mistake on his part. "What's that mean?" he asked partly out of curiosity, partly out of fear. Lachie wasn't sure he liked that look on the healer's face. It bothered him; it hinted that the injury was beyond repair, which really wouldn't help Lachlan's already fragmented emotional state.

His free paw gripped the side of the bed without its owner's official consent. For somebeast rash and bold enough to insult a vermin warlord to his face, Lachlan wasn't very well handling the idea of surgery, which he thought was the most likely outcome.

((Eh...))

[Tirael]

"Definitely inna muscle. . . I dunno how far."

Tirael almost sighed with relief. However, he knew it wouldn't go over well if he seemed happy about that--at least, if he did so without an explanation. Taking advantage of the silence, he began forming that explanation in a way that would make sense to Lachlan. It didn't sound pretty, and any healer would know how difficult the job ahead was going to be. But Lachlan had asked for help, and unless he specified otherwise, he expected Tirael to give it.

And he would.

"What's that mean?"

After observing Lachlan's less-than-confident demeanor, he replied, "It means there's a way to help you." After letting that sink in for a moment, he continued. "My guess is that your muscle didn't heal properly after that wound. That would explain it being painful to use; it's not put together right anymore. We need to fix that." Now came the difficult part. Tirael searched in vain for a way to phrase this carefully, some way to make it less unnerving. But there really wasn't a way. How could you sugar up the thought of being cut into?

Deciding it would be best to wait for Lachlan to ask, the healer fell silent. If he didn't let the sea otter become excited enough, he might not be able to overcome his fear--and then he'd be crippled for the rest of his life.

[Shor]

"It means there's a way to help you."

That alleviated the weight on Lachlan's heart. He was, for the moment, quite relieved that he wouldn't have to spend his life with his cane.

"My guess is that your muscle didn't heal properly after that wound. That would explain it being painful to use; it's not put together right anymore. We need to fix that."

Lachie waited for the healer to continue, but he'd fallen silent. The seer first tried to imagine how one might go about fixing an improperly healed muscle. He gave up quickly, not really sure how a muscle could be improperly healed in the first place. He wondered if the healer had ever not healed something properly? Did he have to do surgery every time that happened?

"Sae, ye want tae 'eal the muscle again. . . properly?" he asked, now a bit confused. "How?-- Wait, ye, er, jus'. . . Don't tell me specific'lly. Just, uh. . . surgery then?" he asked. . . sort of. He wanted to know what, essentially, he should expect, but nothing beyond that. He didn't need a visualization.

[Tirael]

"Sae, ye want tae 'eal the muscle again. . . properly?"

Tirael nodded. He knew his treatment sounded bizarre--it certainly didn't sound right--but he'd read that it had worked before. He'd never performed it himself, but then again, he'd never had a patient with Lachie's symptoms. And he was experienced enough to do this...right?

"How?-- Wait, ye, er, jus'. . . Don't tell me specific'lly. Just, uh. . . surgery then?"

"Surgery," Tirael affirmed, nodding again. "And if all goes well, you could be skipping, or running, or...well, whatever it is you plan to do, within several weeks." Maybe 'several' wasn't the best word choice, he thought, but maintained a reassuring expression. "I'll need to examine your leg more closely, though. I want to know exactly what we're dealing with, here." By that, of course, he really meant that he needed to know where he was going to be cutting. Otherwise, the chances were slim to none that he would do anything beside make Lachie's leg worse.

That was his worst case scenario. Well, second-worst, but the worst case didn't bear mentioning.

[Shor]

Lachlan showed the healer his lovely injury. The scar tissue was plainly visible, but, in Lachie's opinion, it wasn't the worst-looking such injury he'd seen. On the other paw, those other wounds hadn't crippled beasts. Appearances truly were deceiving.

Lachlan tried to speculate. "Noo, Ah've no mem'ry o'the incident-- sorry --but Ah think it came frae wood or metal, 'cos it's norras clean as a usual knife wound. Wot d'ye think?" Lachie tried to listen to the healer's doubtlessly thoughtful response, but he simply could not hold his focus down. Instead, Lachie's mind wandered as he wondered about. Finally, he returned to reality and, unsure if the healer had finished speaking, mumbled something along the lines of "Ne'ermind, ca'we jus' get it o'er with?"

---

((. . . Well, it started out coherent.))

[Tirael]

"Noo, Ah've no mem'ry o'the incident-- sorry --but Ah think it came frae wood or metal, 'cos it's norras clean as a usual knife wound. Wot d'ye think?"

Bending slightly, Tirael scrutinized the wound closely. Lachlan was right--it wasn't a clean cut. Something jagged had had a field day with the sea otter's leg, and the result was far from pretty. But he could see, albeit rather faintly, those areas that seemed even less right than the others...places that, probably because it hadn't occurred to Lachlan to not move them so much, either didn't connect properly or connected improperly. In any case, he knew where he would have to work.

Again, the healer half-muttered, half-told what he was thinking, but the only response he received was something about 'getting it over with.' Looking up from the wound, he gazed at Lachlan sympathetically. "We can. But," he continued more sternly, "I want you to be absolutely certain of this. Surgery, even performed by the most skilled healers, is risky. You can use your leg somewhat right now; there's a chance that you'll be able to use it fully, but there's also a chance you could end up in a wheelchair." Laying a paw on the taller otter's shoulder, he said, "You know the risk. If you still want this, we can start whenever you'd like."

[Shor]

"I want you to be absolutely certain of this. Surgery, even performed by the most skilled healers, is risky. You can use your leg somewhat right now; there's a chance that you'll be able to use it fully, but there's also a chance you could end up in a wheelchair."

Lachie gulped. Really? A wheelchair? He didn't like the sound of any of that. He considered the consequences of a surgery-gone-wrong. Not being able to walk at all would be worse than just hobbling around. This just couldn't be easy for once, could it?

Laying a paw on the taller otter's shoulder, he said, "You know the risk. If you still want this, we can start whenever you'd like."

He weighed the possibilities. On one paw, he could walk out of this infirmary, figuratively speaking. On the other, he could be wheeled out of it, literally speaking. It was high-risk-high-reward, which was tough, but, in the end, Lachlan's willingness to gamble won over the jury of one.

"Start now. . . Just be careful about it," was his final answer.