Chapter Text
Ororon wiped the sweat from his brow as a small horde of young saurians jostled around his feet, pushing and shoving as they looked for a place in the trough to stick their heads in and help themselves to food. They moved like a colourful tide, pushing and pulling in many different directions as the saurians settled down around the food, letting out growls, whines, and squawks of protest when others tried to push in. The noisy mass did eventually settle down for the trough of food was large enough for all of them, their protesting noises quickly diminishing into the sounds of their own messy eating. It was only then that Ororon stepped away with the now-empty bucket in his hands, and made towards the river to rinse it out.
The young man from the Master of the Night Wind often stayed close to his home in the wilderness of Natlan to tend to his vegetable farm and the aphids he worked hard to raise, but he was not opposed to moving around when needed. Rarely did anyone seek him out specifically for a task that someone else in a more convenient location couldn't do; Granny Itzli in particular wouldn't make the long trek from her secluded home all the way out into the wilderness to find him unless she absolutely needed to (and often this came with the threat of a slipper coming down on his head over something he'd done - or not done). He was only ever specifically sought out when there was a task no one else in all of Natlan could handle, or when a particular vet from the Flower-Feather Clan needed an extra set of hands.
It was occasions like the latter that Ororon found himself on the steppes where the Flower-Feather Clan made their home, surrounded by the saurians that were temporarily under Ifa's care. Ororon didn't consider himself that frequent of a helper that he knew the ins-and-outs of handling injured saurians beyond some basic first aid, and it was as such that his duties when Ifa needed an extra set of hands, typically revolved around looking after the ones who were already progressing well in their healing. Those lots were much more energetic and rambunctious, ready to return to their usual lives, and the impatience that filled their little bodies could be rather explosive at times. Ifa couldn't always be in several places at once to look after everyone, and so Ororon was summoned during those busy times.
The last time the young Master had checked, Ifa was busy with a rather large qucusaurus that had been brought in by the clan members after a crash landing. That had been over an hour ago, and the instruction he'd been given was to just keep all of the young saurians outside out of trouble and feed them if needed. Ororon was content to do such work – he’d do anything Ifa asked of him that was within his capabilities, and perhaps even a few things outside of his usual scope if Ifa was persistent enough. After all, Ifa also returned the gesture by helping him deliver baskets of fresh vegetables to Granny Itzli when asked.
Upon returning to the saurian pen with the now-cleaned bucket in his hands, Ororon was immediately swarmed once again by peckish saurian younglings as their hungry eyes searched him for more food. “No no,” he hummed, pulling the empty bucket away as a few sets of tiny claws and talons reached for it in the hopes there was more food, “that’s all you’re getting for now. A good diet is important for healing, and it doesn’t involve gouging.”
His words clearly went right over the heads of the young saurians as they continued to investigate the bucket they had previously seen food come out of, until one stubborn yumkasaur managed to pull it out of his hands. The empty bucket rolled onto the floor, getting a few hopeful sniffs, before they finally gave up on it and began to disperse.
With a sigh, Ororon settled down onto a cut tree stump that had served as his chair while hanging out with the younglings, his eyes drifting from the saurians as they began to roll and play with each other, towards the skyline ahead. How lively it was at Ifa’s clinic with all these little souls, each one so full of energy and ready to get back to the earth and the skies. Even when it wasn’t so busy, Ifa was constantly surrounded by beings who depended on him and needed him to carry out his purpose in life. Such a life was far different from the younger fractured-soul, who spent his days in his vegetable garden wondering just what purpose he had, and if it would be to ever help someone else in a way that really made a difference. Doing little chores here and there only staved off the feeling of burden for so long, and it did not come without a little longing when he hung out with Ifa and saw what an impact his friend had upon the world around him.
The longer he sat on the stump in the late afternoon sun, the sleepier he got as the warm golden embrace swirled around him like a hazy mist of comfort. His mind had just started to drift off into a zone of emptiness as his eyes glazed over the young saurians playing before him, when all of it was ripped away by a sudden crash from inside the clinic. Ororon's head snapped towards the closed clinic door, as did the gaze of every single saurian under his care. A few confused whines came from the group, almost like they were urging their temporary caretaker to check in on things.
Ororon rose from his place and approached the door, his one exposed ear twitching as he attempted to pick up any changes. “Ifa?” He called through the door, hovering by it in case it was nothing. Sometimes the big saurians could get a little clumsy when indoors and knock things over when trying to move around – a possibility that Ororon didn't discount. “Are you alright?”
His ear shifted, trying to pick up anything through the door. There was more shuffling, the unmistakable sound of wings flapping, and then another crash. He could barely pick up Ifa's voice, but his gut urged him to go inside. Had it really been nothing but a clumsy patient knocking a few things over, Ifa would have given some kind of response.
Ororon turned to the young saurians, gesturing for them to stay put. “Stay there, I'll be back,” he instructed. Whether or not they understood him, he had no idea, but the growing pit of uncertainty did not leave him comfortable with the idea of not checking in on his friend. He slipped into the clinic and shut the door behind him, making his way inside the small compound towards the back.
Immediately he picked up on Ifa's voice, and how strained it was as he repeated through gasps that he wouldn't get closer. The pit of uncertainty in Ororon rapidly solidified into an iron ball as everything pointed towards something having gone seriously wrong. “Ifa?” He called again as he approached the treatment room in the back.
“Ororon,” Ifa responded, “come in here. I need your help.”
Whatever relief the young Master got from hearing Ifa's callback was shattered like glass as he entered the treatment room, finding it an absolute mess. A large qucusaurus stood on one side, pressed up against a shelf with its wings held out threateningly. On the opposite side was Ifa, with one hand over his left eye. Blood ran down the side of his face through his fingers. The two opposing forces of the room locked eyes with each other, neither of them dropping their guard even as Ororon entered.
“Ifa, your face-” Ororon started, his breath hitching at just how much blood there was. Some had even stained strands of his friend's white hair, and as it ran down the side of his face, it dripped down from his jaw and continued to stain his coat collar.
“I know,” Ifa gasped in response, forcing his voice to stay calm even as the stinging heat across his face was nigh unbearable. His one good eye flickered to Ororon for a split second, darting back to the saurian across from him as its neck lurched forward briefly upon noticing the loss of eye contact. “Take her outside and put her in the holding pen. Be careful, she's a bit spooked,” The vet instructed.
As much as Ororon wanted to argue and help his friend first, there was a firmness in Ifa's command that said it was not up for debate. He himself knew from his encounters with wild saurians that an aggravated saurian couldn't be ignored, especially one in such close proximity. Very carefully, Ororon reached out for the base of the qucusaurus's neck, planting a firm hand against it and guiding it out of the room.
The holding pens were thankfully near the treatment room, though as much as Ororon wanted to hurry back to Ifa, there was no rushing a stubborn and angry saurian. He was forced to keep his steps light and his demeanor calm until he got the qucusaurus where it needed to be, and only once it was securely back in a holding pen did he sprint back to Ifa.
Upon his return, his heart sank to see his friend hunched over on a chair, a basin of blood-tainted water pulled up next to him as he gently tried to clean the blood off his face with a washcloth that had once been blue. Even the tiniest of touches had him flinching from his own hand, an awful grimace set into the thin line of his lips and flaring into a pained baring of his teeth whenever he went over broken skin. Such an action was rewarded with the iron tang of blood on his lips, the strong taste only further adding to his contained misery. He hardly noticed Ororon’s return, until the younger man knelt down in front of him.
“Is she back in her pen?” Ifa rasped, his good eye dragging across Ororon's figure without little effort. “Did she give you any trouble?”
The young Master had no idea how to feel. Even in his poor, bleeding state, Ifa's first concern was everyone but himself. It felt wrong to feel warmed by the concern when the one giving it should have been the one to receive instead. “Yes,” Ororon replied, “what happened?” His hand slipped around Ifa's wrist and gently pulled it away to get a better look, though he quickly found out that there wasn’t much to look at when everything was still bloody. At the very least the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding or at the very least slowed, for streams of red no longer freely ran down his face. A lot of it had collected on his coat and the collar of his shirt, marring the pristine white with its stickiness. Ifa relinquished the stained washcloth to Ororon, letting his bloodied hand fall into his lap as his shoulders sagged.
“Occupational hazards, I guess,” Ifa muttered. Other people might have resorted to blaming the qucusaurus for being violent and unsafe around people in that moment as they attempted to comprehend what had happened, but nothing of the sort ever came from the vet. Not ever. His good eye softened, “she was already under a lot of stress and confusion and I scared her by accident. It happens-” His sentence was cut off by a painful hiss as Ororon pressed the wet cloth to his face, a deep undercurrent in his eye surging forth at the pressure like electricity.
“Sorry,” Ororon breathed, “you're going to have to bear with me for a bit.” Even though he was well aware that he was helping, every pained response he got only made him wonder if he was making things worse, and if he should just find a real doctor. It was truly a shame that one of the best ones he knew was the one he was tending to. “Maybe I should get one of the healers from my tribe-”
A dry laugh escaped from Ifa at the notion, rasping away at his throat with whatever genuine humour he could muster. “You really wanna go all the way there? Hey, you got this, it's not that bad. Just help me clean off as much blood as you can, and get me a mirror and some gauze.” Even through the pain, a smile found its way onto his lips. Perhaps it was one just to keep himself from thinking too much about the damage done to his face, or to keep Ororon on track, but it was a smile nonetheless.
Ororon was ready to balk at the statement. It's not that bad. The basin of water had turned an uncomfortably deep shade of red from rinsing out the cloth over and over, and he didn't like how Ifa's face had notably gone paler, but what his injured friend didn't need was him letting slip that he was somewhat internally panicking. He still had no idea just how deep the cuts were or if they had ripped past the thin skin of his eyelid; if he'd even be able to see after that. What was he going to say if he found out that his own lack of ability to heal resulted in the loss of an eye?
Ifa's rough hand brushing over his arm brought Ororon back to reality, and he was once again met with that same smile. It was still warm, even if a little tight as the broken skin continued to sting with exposure to the air. Ororon couldn't help but marvel inwardly at just how good Ifa was at staying cool. “Right, mirror and gauze,” Ororon mumbled the reminder to himself, pushing the wet cloth into Ifa's hand, “hold that to your eye while I get one.” Ifa silently obliged, unaware that Ororon had noticed his smile falling away as he tended to the wound.
It didn't take long for Ororon to find what he needed amidst Ifa's things, silently appreciating all the times he had come over in the past that led him to knowing where everything was stored. He had no idea how much gauze he needed, so he formed a generous pile in his arms and brought it back. When he set his collection down, Ifa chuckled, “Wow, that's a lot. You're almost making me think things are worse than I thought.”
“I don't know,” Ororon admitted, “eye injuries are pretty serious, and that was a lot of blood we just cleaned up.” His gaze drifted back to the basin, which looked to be filled with nothing but blood. It was a sight that could make anyone queasy.
Ifa sighed as he picked up the mirror, observing the wound and very carefully pulled his damaged eyelid open slightly. Ororon winced at how red his eye had become, the blood vessels having flared up with irritation. His teal iris, once contrasting against the whites of his eye, was barely visible against the redness. Ifa huffed, “Could be worse. Doesn't seem like I lost my vision. Kinda blurry though, but I bet it'll clear up.”
“Are you sure you don't want a healer checking you out?” Ororon pressed. While it was a relief to hear Ifa's own initial diagnosis, there was still the tiniest nagging feeling that maybe things were being downplayed. The Masters of the Night Wind had plenty of talented healers who wouldn't be opposed to making the trip to the Flower-Feather Clan. How Ororon tightened his hand, digging his nails into his flesh and silently scolding himself for not being one of those particularly talented healers; that the basis of his medical knowledge mostly spanned fairly basic skills. Cuts, scrapes, and stings from thorny bushes and serrated leaves while gardening were one thing. A qucusaurus attack to the face was another.
He got a questioning look in return. “What, you don't trust my own judgement? Besides, I got you right here. That's all the help I need. Don't gotta go running off to your tribe and bothering people for old Ifa.” When Ororon went quiet, Ifa sighed, “You don't think you've done much, do you? That's the Ororon I know, always wanting to do more. Well if it makes you feel any better, you can help me bandage this up and close up the clinic for today. Don't think I'll be getting any more work done like this.”
“What about the qucusaurus in the holding pen?”
Ifa waved his hand dismissively. “She'll be fine, I was almost done with her anyway. She can stay in the pen for tonight, don't really want her near the others until she's fully calmed down anyway. C'mon, help me out here.”
A silence fell between them as Ororon worked swiftly to secure the gauze and bandages, only pausing occasionally to brush Ifa's hair aside. Once again, Ororon realised he was doing little tasks again to stave off the feeling of not truly contributing. It wasn't like he had magically fixed Ifa's eye or turned back time to prevent the incident from even happening. All he had done was help clean up, and none of that changed the fact that his friend was still injured. And sure, he'd help close up the clinic and move all the young saurians outside back in, but what was all that but small gestures anyone else could have done? His thoughts continued to simmer as he finished up, satisfied that the bandages were securely in place.
“You aren't that busy, are you?” Ifa asked suddenly.
Ororon hummed thoughtfully about his garden and aphids. “Not really, why?”
"Hm. Might need you to stay here with me for a few days and help me out. At least until I can use both eyes again.”
Ororon couldn't help but wonder if Ifa was a mind reader. Suddenly his garden didn't seem so important. It was well watered before he left and the aphids had plenty of food. They could look after themselves for a few days. He nodded in agreement. “Okay. You should probably rest anyway. I'll bring the saurians back in and close up.”
“Yeah, alright. I trust you know what to do. Here.” He produced a key Ororon had come to be familiar with. Normally it would have been tossed towards him or even thrown across a room, but this time Ifa simply extended it and dropped it into Ororon's waiting hand. “Lock up when you're done. I'm gonna go clean my hair and take a nap.”
Ororon allowed Ifa to pass, unable to take his eyes off the slight drag in his steps as the vet made for the door. He hovered by the doorway and cast a glance back at the young Master, the same smile tugging at his lips once more. “Oh and before I forget, I appreciate the help. Really, I do.”
Even long after Ifa had left, Ororon still chewed on his words. Perhaps he'd been to harsh on himself, and his greater purpose was not to permanently change Natlan for the better on a scale that affected all, but just help one person out when they needed him most.