Patrols like this weren’t most medics' favorite position; it was often far less heroic and far less exciting than standing by for emergency summons or being hired by a group of adventurers. But there was a part of Yves that enjoyed the solitude and peace that came from traversing these simpler Dungeon levels alone.

Well, not truly alone. The now familiar weight of Chercheur upon its saddle perch reminded him often that he was accompanied by at least one soul. He turned his head, glancing back at the hawk. It was tilting its head in various directions, keeping its eyes and ears out for a call for help or a courser’s body lying somewhere. When it noticed Yves looking at it, it lifted a wing and began to preen briefly; a signal Yves had come to understand meant that it wasn’t picking anything up. He turned his head back ahead of them, and felt the weight on the perch shift again; likely Chercheur adjusting its wings again after its preen. 

And this is how he and his bird had spent most of the day. They had set off early in the morning, and while time seemed to pass oddly in the Dungeon, Yves was certain it was sometime just after noon on the Surface. Likely only a few more hours before Yves could turn back and return to his quarters at the medics’ stables. Not that he’d mind getting a little overtime today; he often did on patrol days. But Chercheur was getting restless on his back today, and a grumpy bird made for frustrating work. 

“One more chamber,” Yves said to the hawk. “We’ll go through this tunnel ahead of us and circle around before going out.” Yves’ voice bounced off the bare stone of some of the walls and the ceiling, before getting muffled back again by the lush moss underfoot. He felt Chercheur shift on its perch, before giving a single high pitched keh in response. 

The deadpan courser slipped into the tunnel, moving comfortably through them. He had passed through this tunnel several times on previous patrols. He tried to keep his routes varied, but there were only so many paths one could take before delving deeper into the Dungeon, where he was not yet authorized to patrol alone. 

So it came as quite the surprise when the end of the tunnel was suddenly blocked off. Yves’ eyebrows furrowed, approaching the blockage. It appeared, in the dark tunnel, to be made of some kind of smooth, striped stone. It certainly didn’t match the cool, deep grays of the stone nearby.

Certainly not a cave-in, Yves thought curiously. He put a careful hoof up to it, pawing at the stone. It was smooth, yes, but felt oddly… Thin, almost hollow compared to the other stone. And then it shifted slightly, Yves jumping back. The blockage still did not move, settling almost immediately. Yves looked over his shoulder, back at Chercheur, who was keenly eyeing the blockage with a tilted head. 

“I think we could just turn ba-”

“HELP? IS SOMEONE THERE?” A panicked voice echoed in the chamber beyond the tunnel, muffled by the blockage. Judging by the sound of it, there was a rather young courser in the chamber, and the strain on their voice told Yves they had likely been calling for help earlier, or at least crying.

Chercheur launched from the saddle perch, skraw-ing at the blockage. Yves looked up at the hawk, fluttering around the blockage and flapping excitedly. He looked back at the blockage as he reared back on his hind legs, bringing his front ones down on the blockage roughly. His hooves made enough connection with it that some of the fragile outer coating seemed to chip away. Dark striped material gave way to a milky cream color beneath, seemingly of the same material. It felt, to Yves, like almost a mix between a thick egg shell and shale. 

The blockage began to move, inching forward out of the way of the tunnel. Once there was enough space, the small Chercheur made it through a crack between the opening of the tunnel and the blockage. It disappeared into the room, keh-keh-ing loudly. 

The blockage finally moved completely out of the tunnel, turning to face Yves. As it did, he noticed the slime trail, the mucusy foot at the bottom of the “stone”. A giant snail, nearly the size of the chamber, was quickly turning to face Yves. Within the room, two young coursers were pressed against the far wall. There had been a cave in, it seemed, in the tunnel opposite the one Yves had come through. A bag was half pinned under the rocks. 

The snail seemed to rear, rising above Yves’ head. It began to approach, coming down as though trying to crush him. He darted into the room, backing to avoid the comparatively slow attack. Once Yves’ was closer to the coursers in need of rescuing, Chercheur launched back into the air, streaking toward the snail with a sharp skwa as it attempted to raise again, approaching Yves and the young coursers. Chercheur’s talons, glinting in the warm light from one of the young coursers’ lantern, met with one of the eyestalks of the snail, and the thing seemed to groan- a deep, reverberating sound from within the shell- before lowering and fleeing slowly for the tunnel Yves and Chercheur had come through.

Chercheur rose into the air, preparing to dive again for the fleeing beast, but Yves whinnied at a specific pitch, and Chercheur turned to glide back to its perch on Yves’ saddlebags. The snail continued to exit the room as Yves’ turned to the young coursers. 

“I-Is it gone?” Whimpered a chestnut mare. She appeared certainly to have been crying, her voice raw and her eyes red. “It h-hadn’t hurt us, b-but we were cornered, and-” 

Yves’ snout was ruffling through his pack as the mare spoke, pulling out a variety of supplies. He raised his head to interrupt her sentence. “Stop talking. Please.” Yves added the last part, hearing his overseer’s chastising as soon as the first two words left his mouth. “Your voice sounds rather raw. Let’s not exhaust it.”

The chestnut mare nodded, seeming tired and grateful regardless of Yves’ blunt tone. He pulled out a small leather orb, nudging it toward the mare. “Put the neck of this in your mouth and press enough honey into your mouth to cover the entirety of your tongue. Then take your waterskin and wash it down. That should help with your throat while I investigate your companion.” 

The mare followed his instructions carefully, cringing at the bitter taste of the honey, which had been cooked in with several additional medicinal herbs. Yves waited for her to begin drinking her water before turning his eyes off of her, and to the young sooty buckskin lying still on the ground. Yves was relieved to see his chest rising and falling. He began to investigate with hoof and snout, trying to figure out the injury points. 

“Has he been awake this whole time?” Yves asked. “Answer with your head.” He added, seeing the mare’s mouth open. She shook her head no. “Alright. Now, answer carefully. When did he fall asleep?” 

“About 30 minutes ago, I think?” The mare said softly, her voice still sounding somewhat raw, but now thick as well from the honey still coating her throat.

“And was it the cave in that did this?” The mare nodded this time. 

“He had cracked his ribs, dodging a trap, but we were walking back to get help.” She answered again quietly. She glanced back at the cave in, her eyes darkening when they met the pinned bag. “My-”

Yves moved to stand in front of her, breaking her eye contact. “Rest,” Yves said in a tone he prayed sounded gentle. “You can grieve your losses once we get you and your companion to the Surface again. And we’ll send someone down to retrieve them, if we can.” 

The chestnut mare’s eyes began to water again, but she simply nodded, drinking more water from her ‘skin. Yves returned to his investigation. A few more quiet moments later, he began to unpack medicines from his pack. 

“He’s broken his back left leg, for certain. He has a few broken ribs; somewhere between 2 and 5. That’ll be an issue for a Surface medic to figure out, since they’ll have more resources at hand. He’s also beginning to catch a fever; might be a reaction to something you encountered deeper in, could be a sign of something more serious. I can’t diagnose that now, but I can give him pain killers and inflammation medication, as well as a small elixir to help keep the fever from developing further. I’m going to need your help though, since he’s still out.” 

The mare nodded, standing and coming to join Yves alongside her companion’s head. Yves looked up at her, trying to keep his expression from being too cold and serious looking. “Is the honey helping, by the way?” 

The mare nodded again. “It is; thank you.” Her voice sounded a fair bit better, and Yves offered her a small, carefully practiced smile. She smiled back. 

“Good. Now, please, turn his head carefully and hold his mouth open.” Yves’ expression became serious again, and the chestnut took this as a moment to focus. She did as he said, and Yves began to place two infused chalk tablets onto the buckskin’s tongue. He then pulled the cork from a small elixir bottle with his teeth, setting it aside carefully before grabbing the vial with his mouth and tilting it carefully into the sleeping adventurer’s mouth. Once the small vial was emptied, Yves set it down on the ground.

“Close his mouth now,” Yves instructed. As soon as the chestnut had done so, Yves began to lick at the awkward stretch of skin just above the neck down to the middle of it. Once he felt the courser swallow, hard, he stopped. Yves cleaned up his materials, setting his pack into a slight disarray as he didn’t have time to reorganize it. 

“Are you strong?” Yves asked, eyeing the mare’s back.

“Not enough to carry him out of here,” she said, looking down at the ground. 

“No worries,” Yves reassured her. “I only need your help getting him draped over my back. I should be able to get him at least to the entrance.” Yves began to kneel down beside the buckskin. “Mind the perch.” 

With enough lifting and wiggling beneath the body, Yves stood finally with the adventurer draped over him. Yves let out a huff, the weight being a bit denser than he was expecting. Still, he could make it. “Alright,” Yves said with careful, measured breathing. “Follow me.”