Here Be Dragons: Book 1 of the Emergence Series

[Expedition Day 50]

"Wake up, Pryce," Hironh rumbled as he nudged the feverish crafter, who only groaned incoherently. "You need to eat." He helped Pryce into a sitting position that seemed natural for humans. The crafter's small body was alarmingly soft and fragile in his talons, but at least he was strong enough to keep himself upright.

"Here," Hironh said, and slowly fed the sickly human a can of stew.

It still pained him to see pure and finely crafted metal used as disposable food containers, but he did have to admit that he saw the appeal of indefinitely storing food for later consumption. He had seen Pryce open these cans before, and it was easy to do it himself – the hard part was feeding the human, especially whenever his fever grew to particularly severe heights. Sometimes Hironh would have to help hold the can for him, as his hands would tremble so much that a spill was inevitable.

"T-thanks," Pryce managed, once he had finally finished the can of stew and took his medication. "Can you h-help me up?"

Hironh offered his right wing thumb to steady Pryce, guiding the human to the 'head' of the ship. It was another routine that they had established over the last few days, and when Pryce was done he laid back down on his sleeping bags to try and rest…usually without much success.

With nothing else to do, Hironh decided that it was time to have his own meal. The canned food was unreasonably delicious as usual, but it was hard to enjoy it in his current situation. He did some light exercise afterwards, though it was probably more accurately described as stretching. It was probably safe to start moving his wing now, but he didn't dare strain it yet.

Hironh curled up to rest soon afterwards, knowing that he would have to attend to Pryce in another few hours. Normally he would have no issue falling back asleep, but Pryce's feverish groans kept him awake. The severity of his illness seemed to come in waves, and it was difficult to tell if the crafter would survive. Hironh absently scratched at his wing as these troubled thoughts clouded his mind; the mending bone had begun to ache and itch less these past few days, which was just another reminder of his debt to Pryce.

The sheer helplessness Hironh felt in this situation was deeply unpleasant, yet painfully familiar all the same; the terrible feeling of being able to do nothing while another wasted away was something he could have gone the rest of his life without experiencing again…At least this time Anvonh wasn't here to witness his ignoble situation, but that wasn't much of a consolation.

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Hironh considered gathering some ashen bark to make medicine for Pryce, but he still had no way of knowing what effect it might have on the human.

So in the end there was nothing he could do but to hope that Pryce would pull through.

[Expedition Day 60]

"You look…a little better?" Fathom rumbled, though the uncertainty in his voice made it sound more like a question.

"I feel less bad…than yesterday," Pryce panted. His fever made it hard to think, yet alone speak. "How are you feeling?"

"I am healing well," Fathom said, craning to look back on his bandaged wounds. "I think my body will be healed in five more days. Wing will take a little longer."

"Good," Pryce weakly nodded. "Please sit down. Let me see your wounds."

"You should rest," Fathom chided. "There is nothing you can do to help me right now."

"...Fine," Pryce coughed, and sat himself back down. He didn't really need to perform an inspection anyway – it was clear that Fathom's wounds were almost healed. "Wake me up if you need me."

"...I will."

[JOURNAL ENTRY EXCERPTS]

Day 60,

This damned sickness worsens in waves, but I think I'm finally starting to get better. I still feel weak and feverish, but at least I can do most things by myself now.

[Expedition Day 60, Mainland]

Outside, the clock tower struck noon.

"It's been sixty days," the Captain noted.

Director Kirk sighed. "So it has. And still no news of the Horizon, then?"

"None," the Captain replied stiffly. It was an old dialogue, one that they'd had many times.

"Very well, we will wait one more month," she said firmly.

"Joan," the Captain entreated, almost pleading.

"-and you may tell the operator that the message is cleared for transmission," Kirk finished.

The Captain seemed only a little placated by this, and he looked as if he would have liked to voice some dissent…but after a moment he nodded, acquiescing.

Joan smiled faintly as she placed a consoling hand on the Captain's shoulder. "Don't worry about them yet, Martin. You know the Daybreak isn't ready, and there's a thousand reasons why they might have decided to stay a little longer than we planned."

"...Of course, Director Kirk," Captain Siebert answered formally, and touched his hat as he excused himself.