[Isaiah]

The surgeon spat out what in his mouth and let out a nasty, wet pant. Even as malnourished as the slave had been, dragging her here by her foot was still more physical exertion than the little wolf was really meant for. The air was humid here, near the springs, and Alteron's verdent green was more resplendant than ever - everything was here EMERALD. Except for his dark, greasy fur, and the body of the golden slave. They stood out. 

Isaiah was a good doctor. But the little collie he'd dragged here had many ailments. She was weak and starved, with wounds healing up all wrong. Her breath rattled and came far, far too slow. She'd lost patches of fur. Isaiah was troubled to recognize the resemblance between her and Harpe. The only real difference is that he was invested in Harpe. It wasn't possible to be invested in every single suffering soul in Alteron. There were too many. Isaiah didn't have enough kindness for that. 

So he dropped her to the ground near the springs, in a patch of soft emerald grass and deep purple flowers. And then he let out a ghastly, slimy howl - rattling and weak and eerie, and he waited for them. Aspiring healers and poisoners, kind-hearted souls and curious sociopaths. He's seen them all and wasn't impressed by much of anything Alteron had to offer. 

"This is my patient." Isaiah said darkly to whichever few arrived. "But obviously my care didn't serve her so well. Tell me - what did I do wrong?"

[Crisis]

Crisis crawled out of the hospital tower and into Alteron's lovely humid climate and drew her body out in a long yawning stretch. She'd been in there for what seemed like hours, grinding the powders Isaia had requested. And then cleaning them up when she sneezed and blew them everywhere. Oops. But the mess was all cleaned up now and no one would every know. No one. And evidently she had finished just in time, too-- she acknowledged his summoning howl with the flick of an ear. Recruits, eh? They could do with some more busy paws, she supposed.

Straightening, she trotted around the tower to the spring. Casting a knowing eye over the slave that her mentor had brought, she took a seat beside him. And then she turned around to look, amused, at the path he had carved in the underbrush by dragging this slave all the way here himself. But she just smiled and shook her head. If he'd wanted help, he knew he could have just asked, right? Of course he did. She waited silently and patiently for recruits to come, and listened dutifully to Isaiah as he posed his little quiz to them. What sorts of potential coworkers would she meet today?

[Oleander]

He needed a job.

He supposed most people seeking knew what they were after. They waited for the appropriate summons to rise into the air and drifted towards their calling like moths to a glittering light. Eager and expectant. Entreepitation dripping down to their core, for they were ready to be sorted into the position which they deemed most suitable for themselves. Their calling, their passion, and good for them really.

Truth be told however, Oleander scarcely had any of that going for him as he followed that uncanny sound which led him to the scene of his first recruitment.

Upon arriving he honestly had no idea what it was even for. Certainly, he could guess some, but that was about all. It is the sickly looking thing at Isaiah’s feet and the question he provides that tip Ollie off to what the summons is about. A healer rank, of which he should probably know the name of but━ Well, he decided that was something to figure out once (if) he got the job. That was his main focus after all.

He was a boy no longer. At ten months of age, he’d abandoned the family home and set off to make his own, and what went hand and hand with moving out? A steady line of work, of course, and Ollie had been without rank long enough to now feel it was something he was lacking.

He couldn’t be picky. This one was as good as any other within the pack, and much like those, Oleander would have to and was willing to learn.

He didn’t waste their time trying to cobble together a bull shit answer when he was sure that even if his guess was correct it would still only be mere conjecture from a novice knowing absolutely nothing about the craft in question. So he was honest.

What had Isaiah done wrong?

Ummm...

He eyed the golden-furred creature, who's pelt hardly shimmered, and who's eyes lacked the brightness of the sun. She was decrepit. Thin, weak, and in need of her vertebrae snapped...or, he supposed, some sort of "killing drug" to end her pain at this point.

Ollie had his answer and gave it. "Well, you're the doctor. Delt with people like this before, 'm sure...'s probably not your care that's the issue. I think you should've put her down sooner."  He huffed. Not trying to be harsh and edgy. Just saying what he thought judging from her looks and the fact that she'd needed to be hoisted out her, unable to even stagger like a fawn on her own. "I don't know, sorry. I'm sure I can learn, but its an answer, so there you go. Sometimes it's a lost cause. I suppose you could be more aggressive with treating her, but at this point maybe that'll send her over anyway...so save the resources for the patients who can be helped."  

He left it there and seated himself before his half-sibling and the oily man. That was the best he could do without proper training, but hopefully, somehow, his reply would suffice.

[Isaiah]

Well, Crisis showed up at least.

Isaiah met her expression with a dull resignation. Was she going to be eerily chipper again today? He supposed she probably would be. Great.

For a moment he thought she'd be the only one to show. Honestly, he wouldn't mind. The ranks of healers in Alteron had always been small, and for all he cared most Alteronians could kick the fucking bucket if they wanted. He waited for another thirty seconds more, ready to begin treating the girl himself, when a younger wolf arrived, one with familiar colors and an unexpected answer.  

"Yeah, good assessment, genius. Real great medical solution." Isaiah said dismissively, letting the slave lay there limply, her breathing ragged. "Half the kingdom would be better off being mercifully put down, but that's not really what our job is, is it?" He said, meeting Oleander's gaze with his single eye. "I assume you're trying to be practical rather than kind, but yeah, putting her down would be the right answer if Alteron was about either of those things." The scrawny little wolf sighed. He stepped around the little collie girl and ducked into a small hollow in the base of one of the trees, it's roots curving and twisting down into the hot spring. Half of the timber's body disappeared into the small crevice, and then reappeared with a basket in his mouth. 

He walked back to his pupils and set the basket down in front of the younger wolves. "Death takes what it takes, but unless YOU want to explain to the owner of this slave why you destroyed their property without their permission, then I figure you're going to want an actual medical answer to the question, not an ethical one. The best thing you did was admitting that you didn't know." There was credit in that, after all. He'd half expected his lone recruit to start babbling out guesses. At least he didn't have to waste his breath on that. 

"Here's what I did wrong." Isaiah began. "Well, it wasn't me, but for the hypothetical let's pretend it was." Let's imagine Isaiah was a tender-hearted fool who hated to see a pretty young girl in pain. Let's pretend he was an idiot who wanted to help even though it'd get him nowhere. "This girl was starving. I'm guessing hadn't eaten a real meal in weeks. Some well-meaning idiot, maybe someone who thought themselves a doctor, had sympathy for a mistreated slave and tried to feed her. Gave her a LOT of food actually, is my guess." He began shuffling through the basket, pulling out a small piece of glass that contained powder within. "When a person starves, their body acts different. Digests things different. She ate all of that food when her body was too shut down, and now she's basically getting poisoned by it. Could knock out her heart."

"Get some water from the spring there." He said to Oleander, gesturing to a small bowl sitting in the basket by where the powder had been. "Crisis, prepare to administer a solution in liquid." He sighed. The patient was tiny, it shouldn't be to hard to wrangle her into position. And they had some time, so they wouldn't have to rush. The dog was dying, but dying this way could take hours. 

Isaiah didn't really know or care how to deal with recruits or training, to be honest. He'd only dragged the patient here to get her within easy access of the water and medicine. But if Oleander and Crisis could learn something from this, they might as well.

[Isaiah]

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