Expedition The Urk Expedition: How to Save a Fox

[FinnianBrightfur]

"They put the last stich through the nose? Eughh... ...why do they do that?"

"Battles are chaos, Finn. You think someone's dead, and leave them... only to find they're still breathing an hour later."

"But still! Can't you just... shake them? Why d'you gotta... hurt'm like that?"

"You gotta be sure, Finn. If they're dead, it won't hurt them. The alternative is you risk burying them alive."

"..."

"...I know. Death is a terrible business, isn't it?"

- - -

Finn pulled himself up onto the deck of the Hide, and collapsed onto it in an undignified manner. The familiar smell of the stone scrubbed planks was so pleasant that he gave them a grateful little kiss. The planks seemed to draw his weary body downwards, and Finn found it nearly impossible to stand. Looking out along the makeshift graveyard, Finn watched the crew moving about in somber silence as they laid the fallen in neat little rows, and worked to sew their bodies up in their hammocks.

Barrett had done his best to prepare the young kit to see death. He'd told him what to expect, what it sounded like, what it looked like -- but there was nothing that could prepare you for actually seeing the strong beasts like limp rag dolls with vacant stares. Unsettled that he was laying next to the fallen, Finn pushed himself to his feet, and stood watch while the crew worked the burial rituals.

Captain Talinn was still down in the longboat, waiting to be raised up in a blanket -- and Finn could see the beasts working with the pullies to get him aboard. Mr. Barrett was supervising the process -- and turned to find Finn. "Mr. Brightfur, don't dally!" called Barrett wearily. "Come... fetch the... carry my instruments to the infirmary!"

Finn could tell there was something off with how Arthur called to him, but didn't put much stock in it. "Aye, sir!" he called in response, briskly trotting over to fetch the pine marten's surgical kit. The captain was just being lowered to the deck now, and several strong beasts were grabbing the sides of the blanket to help carry him down to the infirmary.

"Don't worry, Cap'n! We'll get you back in one piece!" he said pleasantly, the tone in his voice betraying how little he knew of the dire situation.

Barrett stumbled along with the crew, face drawn with exhaustion. His left arm clutched over his ribs to stabilize the wound on his shoulder, and his right arm rose, trembling as he braced against the bulkhead. "Set him down on the table! Clear the infirmary" he ordered in a husky voice as he stumbled over to the surgical kit. His paws fumbled with the latch, squandering precious seconds as he flipped the top lid open, exposing the precious medication. The blue bottles stared at him invitingly, but the pine marten tried not to think about them. "Finn... ...fetch a basin of warm water. I need it to... I need warm water, I need fresh towels, warm the captain!" he panted, rather out of breath. "Mr. Harper, cut the captain's clothes... we need to get down to his wounds..."

Finn's stomach dropped as he caught his first real glimpse of the captain. Shrapnel in his forearm, bones grotesquely poking out from his fur, limbs splayed out in unnatural fashion. The foxkit let out a startled cry. "M-Mr. Barrett!"

"Water, Finn! Towels!"

@Talinn Ryalor
@Gyles F. Stowett
@Darragh Harper

 

[Gyles F. Stowett]

Gyles knelt before the kit. All around were terrible screams, groans, combative roars of the sorely wounded all mingled in a smoky haze of primal fear. The young one's eyes, ears, and nose were dreadfully split between the ugly scene of the Minister and the unnerving orchestra of a dozen other wretched souls, their pain, their scent of death.

This was not the way.

Gyles found the fox's eyes with his own calm greys. "Look at me, lad. Time is indeed precious." Bigger paws enclosed Finn's, gentle and firm. "So are steady paws. The Devil an' Mr. Talinn are havin' a demmed parlay at Hellgate, an' dash the old thorny fellow if he ain't bein' mighty convincin'. It's our task to talk Mr. Talinn out of it." He need not say what "it" was.
Crossin' the river nobeast comes back over from.

He ruffled the fox's ears. "I know nothin' of finer medicine - but now you do, Mr. Surgeon's Mate. You an' Mr. Barrett know how to talk Mr. Talinn back from the Gates themselves. He's countin' on you, eh. We're all countin' on you."
He shook his head. "That's a lot to ask of anybeast. Beasts bigger an' bolder 'n you 'd have already run screamin', but you ain't. You're here in the thick of it. A true son of the Navy."

Inside, the acting Captain's belly churned with dread, uncertainty- but not a ripple was to be seen on the surface.

Gyles winked reassuringly at the young todd. "Be steady and sure, sir, an' fetch those towels. Bring the good Minister back from the Devil's doorstep. Save Talinn's life."

 

[Darragh Harper]

Darragh could no longer see the infirmary. Wherever he looked, things did not seem quite right. There were foxes and weasels, stoats and rats, pine martens and even one or two wildcats. Some lay clasping bunches of red roses to their chests, loose petals scattering across the floor. Others had their bellies slit open, revealing a garden of black hollyhocks and pink flowering thistles. A fox stumbled and doubled over, a stream of yellow yarrow flowers pouring from his muzzle. For Darragh, the claustrophobic little room was gone. The wooden floor was that of a stage. The walls were a black abyss. And there were eyes in the dark, watching the play unfold. The extras made way, disappearing stage left and right, as strong beasts bore in the body of…

Enter CAPTAIN RYALOR, carried in a blanket.​

The stoat playing Darragh wasn’t sure where he was, exactly. Was he on stage in an opera theatre? An opera-ting theatre? Was he in costume? Yes, he was tying a clean white rag around his muzzle, and tying up the strings on his apron. He washed his paws in a basin… or at least pretended to. It was just a play.

The doctor was calling. The pine marten playing Doctor Barrett was in costume too - a beaked mask, from the days that plague had stalked the streets of Bully Harbour. The bird-mask was ringed by black feathers, and its eyes glowed an eerie orange in the bright stage-lights.

There was a touching scene between the other stoat playing Acting Captain Stowett, and the fox kit playing Finnian. Their faces… he blinked. Their faces were just masks. Stowett’s mask was blank and white, neutral, with no expression to its eye holes. Finnian’s was Innocence Shattered, he thought. The face of a beautiful child marred by a shocked expression, and painted tears rolling down its cheeks.

DOCTOR BARRETT

Mr. Harper, cut the captain's clothes... we need to get down to his wounds...​

The stoat took the scissors from the surgeon’s table of tools, and raised them to catch the light, so the audience could see the glint of steel. He wondered if this moment was the good part of this play. The bit in Act III where everybeast cranes their necks forward, hoping to get a nice, gory glimpse of the hero’s insides.

Snip.

Snip.

Snip.

DARRAGH cuts away the straps holding together CAPTAIN RYALOR’s armour. He peels back ruined armour and torn clothes, exposing the fox’s grievous wounds. CHORUS moans in grief and pity.

DARRAGH

Ready, Doctor.​

The stoat could almost hear the seats creaking as they, the audience in the dark, collectively sat up and squinted for a better look. As well they should, for the captain’s bouquet of injuries was the most beautiful and tragic of them all.

 

[Arthur Barrett]

Barrett was filthy -- and for what needed to be done, for the slim chances he was entertaining... he didn't want to do this dirty. Drawing up to a basin, Barrett filled it with warm water from the ship's boiler, and plunged his paws straight into the mix. Red and brown instantly bloomed out of his fur. The warmth was an almost foreign relief to him, but he kept himself from indulging beyond what was necessary. Scrubbing hastily up to his elbows, the pine marten splashed water on his face, and dried himself off with a towel.

As he turned around, he was pleasantly surprised to find Darragh had made quick work of the minister's clothing and armor, leaving him bare on the cot. "Good work, Mr. Harper." Prying a vent open, hot and moist air from the engine room began to fill the infirmary. "Gonna get a little warm in here boys... But we need to keep the minister from catching a chill. He's lost a lot of blood..."

Drawing over to the minister, Arthur surveyed the fox's injuries, thinking aloud as he worked. "Shrapnel in the arm, here... We'll leave that for now, it's plugging the leaks. Mr. Harper, there's some lacerations here at the legs... Get the bandages on nice and tight. I don't want any more blood leaking out. But I don't like the way his legs are..." Arthur's voice trailed off, and he moved down towards the fox's torso.

The surgeon rested his paws on the fox's bare hips, and pressed gently. The crunch was barely audible, but Barrett could feel it through his finger tips. Whatever Barrett found, he did not like it -- and shot Gyles a look of awe. How did Talinn suffer a hip fracture? "Captain Stowett... Sir. There's a long strip of stiff canvas over in that... That..." he huffed wearily, stumbling for words. He pointed at the cabinet, and snapped his fingers in frustration. His mind was starting to fog, and thinking was difficult. "...in there. Please fetch it sir. Loop it around Talinn's waist, and tie it pleasantly snug. His... He has a hip fracture sir. We must stabilize it. Gently now, sirs, gently! The minister must be handled like a cracked egg."

Briskly, Barrett moved back to Talinn's head, and felt gently about his skull, looking for any deformities or bleeding. Fingers deftly felt around the back of his neck to check his spine, and the marten seemed to be more pleased with these findings. Pressing his fingers up into his lips, Barrett peeled them back. The normally pink gums were gray, almost white as his teeth.

His trauma assessment done, Barrett hurried back to his surgical chest, and drew up the golden portion into a syringe. A rogue thought struck him, however. What good would the minister's potions do if there was no blood to circulate it? Talinn was almost a lost cause. He looked hopelessly at the minister -- then to Gyles, to Darragh, and finally to Finn. The poor kit was staring at the Captain's broken body as if he were thousands of leagues away, despite the reassurance from Gyles.

"Come here, Finn... I need to speak with you."

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn was running on pure adrenaline at this point. Barrett had done a good job steeling the young kit to tolerate the sight of grisly injuries, and desensitizing him to cries of pain. In one way, you simply "othered" the beast in your care -- they weren't you. Alone, that would be cruel. However, it was paired with something more significant: boresight on the problem, and figure out how to solve it. Finn was a natural problem solver, and the challenge to help his fellow seabeast filled him with resolve.

More difficult to prepare for, however, was watching someone you care about suffer. Worse yet, not being able to do anything to relieve their suffering. Whatever training Finn had received fled, and the kit sat there frozen, helpless. Finn's gaze at the wounded captain was broken as Gyles stepped in. The normally tidy kit was filthy with grime, dirt, blood, and a trail of tears down the bridge of his face. His nerves were too shattered to cry though, and frightened eyes met Gyles briefly, before anxiously looking away. The captain had surely seen this look before -- a despairing beast that had given up hope.

Though Gyles had meant to reassure him, the effort seemed to have mixed results. Finn tried to pull away, and the ear ruffles seemed almost caustic. A true son of the navy. The genuine compliment was one of the dearest Finn could have received -- but at that moment, Finn was watching his father figure perishing for a second time. Dwelling on filial relations was more than he could bear. But Gyles was right about one thing -- running was out of the question.

Without a word, Finn pulled away from Gyles, and drew near to Talinn's side. Privacy and modesty were things that were forsaken out of necessity in the infirmary -- and Finn dispensed of his own dignity without shame. Leaning down, he burried his head alongside Talinn's on the cot, and did his best to return the hug given to him months ago in the hold -- as much as one could to a beast in such a fragile state. "C'mon..." came a hoarse whisper.

"Finn... Finn. Come here." Prying the kit away from Talinn was not an easy task, but something told him that Barrett wasn't sending him out of the infirmary this time. With only a lingering delay, Finn stood, and came to Arthur. The pine marten looked down at the him hesitantly.

"...the captain has lost a lot of blood, Finn. I don't know if there's much I can do for him, even with the minister's potion. But there is... there's something you might be able to." The pine marten looked hesitantly to Gyles, and then back down to the young todd waiting in anticipation. "There's some research that shows that..." Good heavens, Finn doesn't know what research is... "There's a way for you to give some of your blood to the captain."

The foxkit instantly seemed to know what this entailed, and cowered slightly.

"To the best of our knowledge, this procedure is only effective from the same species, and when the donor is younger. I can't promise it will work, but... it might be the only thing that could give him a chance."

Finn swallowed hard, and hesitated. There really was no other way, was there? He nodded.

"You still remember how to shave?" said Barrett, a wry smile appearing on his face. Finn nodded again as a faltering smile struggled to establish itself. "I need a patch from here to here... nice and wide," he instructed, gesturing an area about the size of a playing card on the inside of his elbow.

Finn nodded again, and set off to the cupboard to fetch the razor.

Turning back to his surgical chest, Barrett braced himself against the wall, and looked down at the array of blue bottles in the top of his surgical chest. He'd put off the potions, unsure of what effect it would have on him... but his thinking was getting more and more foggy. There was only one shot at this, and he couldn't afford to make any mistakes. Picking one of the small vials up, Barrett popped the cork with his thumb, and downed it's contents like a shot at a bar.

Let there be a robust youth, healthy and full of vigorous blood; let there stand by him one exhausted of strength, thin, lean and scarce drawing breath; let the master of the art have silver tubes fitting into one another; let him open an artery of the robust person, insert one tube and secure it; let him immediately open an artery of the sick man and insert the other tube; then let him fit the two tubes together and let the blood of the healthy person leap, hot and vigorous, into the sick man and bring the fountain of life and drive away all weakness.

Libavius, 1615