Who: Timandra Starkey, Liang, and Electra Flint. What: Amber Alert, covert style. When: March 1809. Morning. Where: Dover covert, along the shore. Warnings: Theft of human beings.
First light had come and gone, and while they'd not been beholden to leave exactly at that time, Timandra could tell that things were running uncharacteristically behind schedule. Not very much, but enough that crews were edging on frantic (though no less capable), and captains were assuming that tone of voice most of them ordinarily reserved for more urgent moments. For her part, Tim wasn't going to complain of the handful of extra time. Captain Flint's Scarlet Flower, on whom she'd been running regular follow-ups, was due to depart. A well-suited perfectionist streak demanded that Tim give her one last look over before that was allowed to happen, though it no doubt would whether or not she had the chance. There may also have been an inkling of attachment; Liang was a sweet, curious creature, and Tim had begun to find herself more fond of her than was proper or wise.
Still, she would not be deterred, and they would be parting within the half-hour either way.
Nothing this morning would require her full kit, and so when she struck out to the beach it was with only a few essentials, and a thick, heavy leather bag slung across her body. Liang knew what the bag meant by now, and there was no hiding it from her, even at this distance. She would no doubt be able to smell the heat coming off it, for even Tim would catch that with ease, despite the red runniness of her nose. It hung in the chill air of late winter, a smell of heated earth and stone mingling with the aged leather, not at all characteristic of the salt sea and its surroundings. Common sense saw that she shortly wrapped her collar and hood more securely about her head, though she was loath to do so for sacrifice of that singular scent.
Yes, Liang had lifted her head on noticing Tim's approach, and by the time the surgeon reached the dragon, surrounded now by crew, captain, and all the rest, the harness was secured. It wasn't going to be so long now, but Timandra had time. She spared a nod for Flint, business-like but not cold, and stroked Liang's neck in greeting.
"I've brought a treat for you," she said, meeting the bright eye and smiling tightly. Tim set the bag heavily down and crouched to open it, rising with a smooth, hot black stone between her bare hands, gloves removed already. "We'll just have a last look at that wing joint, and I believe there will be just enough time left for this." She let the stone rest on the ground before Liang's forelegs, so that the dragon could bend and press her face or claws to it if she so wished, and gestured to the right wing. "Lift, please."