"I am tired!" Drake protested loudly, looking up at Alina as if betrayed by her very existence. "Not sick! Tired is normal! Everyone gets tired! Even mountains get tired. Rocky said so!"
Mada Thistle slowly closed her book with deliberate precision.
"My, my," she humd, adjusting her glasses so they sat perfectly on her nose. "When a dragon announces he is not sick before I even examine him, that is already suspicious. Very suspicious. Highly suspicious."
Drake gasped, genuinely offended. "That is unfair. That is profiling. You are profiling based on my defensiveness."
Alina tried not to laugh and mostly succeeded.
Mada Thistle slid down from her chair with surprising grace for soone her age and walked over, her soft shoes making almost no sound against the wooden floor. She moved like a cat, unhurried and deliberate.
She circled Drake once.
Then twice.
Drake turned slowly with her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Why are you orbiting ? I am not a planet. You are not the sun."
"I am observing," she replied simply, not breaking her stride. "Observation is the first step of diagnosis."
She reached out and gently lifted one of his wings, inspecting the mbrane like a tailor examining fabric.
Drake flinched dramatically. "That is my wing. Personal wing. Attached to ."
"Yes," she said calmly, completely unfazed. "I have noticed. The attachnt is quite secure."
Alina covered her mouth to hide her smile, her shoulders shaking slightly.
Mada Thistle tapped lightly along his scales with her fingernails, listening to the sounds they made. Then she pressed her palm briefly against his back, just below where his wings connected. Her brows lifted almost imperceptibly.
"Hmm."
Drake stiffened imdiately. "What does ’hmm’ an? That is not a diagnosis. That is a sound. Sounds cannot diagnose."
"It ans hmm," she replied enigmatically.
"That is not helpful," Drake said flatly. "Zero helpful. Negative helpful."
Mada Thistle chuckled softly, a warm and crinkly sound.
She leaned closer to his face and peered into his eyes, studying his pupils with intense focus.
"Do you feel weak?" she asked.
"No."
"Heavy?" she pressed.
He hesitated. "...Maybe."
"Slow?" she continued.
He hesitated longer. "...Possibly."
Alina gave him a pointed look.
Drake sighed dramatically, his whole body deflating. "Fine. A little slow. A tiny bit slow."
Mada Thistle nodded thoughtfully, filing this information away.
"Any pain?" she asked.
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"No."
"Any sudden urges to breathe fire at inappropriate monts?"
Drake blinked. "That is just normal Tuesday."
Mada Thistle nodded again, as if this were a perfectly reasonable answer.
She did not rush. She moved at her own pace, thodical and calm, gathering information like pieces of a puzzle.
After circling him once more with those sharp, experienced eyes, she suddenly pointed toward the tall examination bed in the corner of the room.
"Go sit there," she instructed calmly, pointing with one gnarled finger.
Drake followed her finger and then looked up at the bed.
It was... high.
Very high.
Higher than it had any right to be.
The mattress lood above him like a mountain peak. The little wooden step beneath it looked woefully inadequate.
He swallowed with as much dignity as he could muster.
"Of course," he said bravely, walking toward it with the posture of a dragon about to climb Mount Everest in slippers.
He placed one foot on the little wooden step beneath it.
Slipped imdiately.
Recovered with a flail.
Coughed to cover his embarrassnt.
Alina pretended very hard that she did not see this. She studied the ceiling with intense interest.
He tried again, lifting himself with a determined grunt. His wings fluttered slightly for balance, but they drooped halfway through the effort. He was feeling weak, and it made him frustrated. He wanted to fly up like he usually could, but his wings felt wrong, strange, heavy. They would not cooperate. They would not lift him.
Before he could attempt a third heroic ascent that would almost certainly end in disaster, Alina stepped forward.
"Wait," she said gently.
And without ceremony, without asking permission, she slid her hands under his arms and lifted him up onto the bed like he weighed nothing.
Drake froze completely.
His wings stiffened. His tail twitched. His eyes widened so much they nearly sparkled with shock.
For a full two seconds, he forgot how to blink. His brain seed to have short-circuited.
Alina settled him properly on the soft mattress, adjusting him carefully so he would not slide off. She propped a pillow behind him and smoothed his wings so they rested comfortably.
"There," she said warmly, stepping back to admire her work.
Drake’s cheeks turned a faint pink. Actually pink. Visible pink.
"I... I could have done that," he muttered, staring straight ahead at the wall with intense focus. "I was about to do that. I had a plan."
"Mm," Alina humd softly, not believing him for a second.
Mada Thistle observed the entire interaction over her glasses, her lips twitching with barely contained amusent.
"Such a brave dragon," she comnted dryly. "So independent. So self-sufficient."
"I am extrely brave," Drake replied imdiately, though he still looked slightly stunned from being carried like a baby. "Bravest dragon. Very brave..."
His tail curled awkwardly around his leg in what was clearly an unconscious gesture.
Alina noticed and stepped forward again, smoothing his wing gently where it had folded oddly during the lift.
"Comfortable?" she asked.
"Yes," he said too quickly, his voice slightly higher than normal.
Mada Thistle approached the bed and tapped the side lightly.
"Back straight," she instructed.
Drake straightened like a soldier receiving orders from a general, his small spine perfectly aligned.
She placed one cool hand against his forehead, then his chest, then lightly along the base of his wings where they t his shoulders. Her fingers pressed gently, feeling for sothing only she understood.
He tried very hard to look serious and dignified.
His cheeks were still pink.
"Heartbeat steady," Mada Thistle murmured, half to herself. "Temperature slightly elevated, but not concerning for his species."
"I am fire," Drake reminded her, grasping at normalcy. "Fire is hot. This is normal."
"Yes, yes," she waved dismissively. "We are all aware of your elental affiliation. You do not need to announce it."
She pressed gently along his shoulder and down his arm, feeling the bones and muscles beneath. Drake winced slightly when she reached a particular spot near his shoulder blade.
"Sensitive?" she asked, pausing.
"Maybe," he admitted reluctantly, not eting her eyes. "A little. A tiny bit. A small amount."
Alina’s brows furrowed with concern.
Mada Thistle nodded slowly, as if confirming sothing only she understood. Her expression was thoughtful but not alard.
"Interesting," she murmured. "Very interesting."
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