Watching and not moving was maybe the most difficult thing Cremsden could ever do. Healers got trained for this, Healers practiced this, Healers reminded each other of this before every sharding Hatching. A Healer in the wrong place risked a dragon. More, a Healer in the wrong place risked being torn limb from limb himself. And Cremsden was certainly old enough to know better, had nearly made that mistake once with Elphith.
Shells, though, he could see the boy bleeding out. Seconds felt like hours, Cremsden bit down on his lower lip until his mouth tasted of blood unable to look away.
You go now, you risk the dragon and yourself. You know this.
He knew it, but Faranth, just watching.. With a curse his legs started to move despite himself, pressing forward, desperate to intervene.
Cuylar almost did not see Cremsden moving, so focused was he himself on waiting for that critical moment when the little green – it was hard to think of her as little with what she was doing – had tired and moved on.
But he did see. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the movement, and his arms snapped out before he even saw who it was to grab onto a shirt, an arm, whatever he could get.
"Are you daft, you'll kill them both and yourself – oh, it's you. Shells! What are you thinking?"
“If we go now we could save him.” Cremsden’s gaze was still fixed on the injured boy, unable to look away. He pulled on his captured arm, trying to free himself. “We can’t just let this happen.”
Cuylar stepped closer without letting Cremsden get any further away and pulled him close as much as he could.
"He's already dead." Even if they went now, there was no way the boy could hope to live. Even if they had him a moment after she had sunk those claws into the boy's gut. Cuylar would try. But not now, not yet.
"She'll kill you, too."
Truth hurt. Cremsden exhaled shakily, still watching, watching as the kid -- shells, he had apprentices older than that -- flailed at the green with one arm. There was another kid, a girl, on the Sands and shells, that amount of blood should really still be in the body not outside of it.
Breathe in. Breathe out. Feel every muscle straining to break away from Cuylar despite the fact that Cuylar was undoubtedly right, that right now was not the time.
There were two kids over there hurting. If he went.. He could at least make the hurting stop faster. Cremsden’s knuckles were white, hand clenched around his bag. “Feck.” An entire audience of people, just standing and sitting still, watching children die. “Let me help, Cuylar.”
"We'll both go as soon as she leaves him," said Cuylar. "The girl," he saw her, too, "needs our help, too. We'll go. Just as soon as she lets him go, please, I can't let her kill you, please."
Another shaky breath and Cremsden nodded, stopped pulling against Cuylar’s hand. “You go to the girl,” he directed. “I’ll take the boy if--” One drop of fellis for pain, two for drowsiness, five to stop pain in such a way that the patient never felt anything again. The supplies were there in his bag. He hadn’t thought he’d need them for a Hatching. “I’ll do it, if needed.”
Cuylar nodded. And then slowly released his grip on Cremsden. At least, he thought, if Cremsden went anyway, Cuylar might have delayed him long enough that the killer green would have lost interest. She would not even remember. She would forget entirely how she drained the life out of this boy. He knew for a fact that her rider and all of the others who saw this never would.
Cremsden stayed, though it was easy to feel his alertness, like a runner waiting for a starting shot. The moment the little green released her grip he was off, bolting at a speed he hadn’t even known he was capable of, racing towards them before the boy had even hit the Sands. Hoping to get there in time for him to still be alive, or hoping that his pain had stopped already? He wasn’t sure himself. The first was..pointless, and yet still purest instinct.
And as instructed, Cuylar led the charge to help the girl. She was in no small amount of danger herself with the blood she was losing. But they would get a tourniquet on it and get her off the Sands, and she would be fine.
Cremsden… might need some help with not drinking later. Or maybe one drink would not hurt.
Was the boy alive? Most likely not but time wasted checking was time a patient was in immeasurable amounts of pain. Cremsden’s face was grim but his hands were steady, administering the required amount of fellis, gently closing the lad’s eyes before he gave the nod to those who had already arrived with a stretcher. Other people would get them back to the Infirmary, would decide what needed to be done with the girl (those arms, could they save those arms) and do..whatever respectfully needed to be done with what was now only a body. Their job was only the immediate triage, what needed to be done to safely remove a Candidate from the Sands.
((You need to get to the upper cavern. There's been another injury,)) Elphith said urgently to Cuylar, and he was moving before she finished.
"You and you, come with me. There's been another injury upstairs." Shells. What was this Hatching? This clutch, this Turn?
"Cremsden! Can you come? There's another one," he called to Cremsden.
“Shards, you’re kidding?” But Cremsden was standing up as he said it, wiping sweat away from his forehead with a bloody hand. Shells, they all looked like they’d attended a murder already - and in a way they had. “Right, where to?” His voice sounded surprisingly calm as he followed along, ready now for-- well, just about anything really.
Blackadder: I mean, what about the people that do all the work?
Baldrick: The servants.
Blackadder: No, me; *I'm* the people who do all the work.