Writing Assignment #2
OK! Finally! Dara's guilty pleasure. I would very much like any feedback you have on this one. :)
A cold wind was blowing across the floor of the bowl, and there wasn't clothing made that could stop it. But that didn't matter to the young woman who prowled across it. Once more, she silently bemoaned the lack of cover, the lack of anything that would help her stay out of sight.
Why did she want to stay out of sight? She wasn't doing anything wrong. She wasn't even doing anything rude - everyone, at some point, had the opportunity to spend time as she was. So why was she so eager not to be noticed?
She reflected on this as she approached them. She could see them now, all of them together in a neat formation. They all looked, at a casual glance, alike. Sure, that boy was taller, and that girl there was still losing the excess weight she'd come into it with, but they all wore similar clothing, they all moved and responded the same way. They were almost one large person instead of a few handfuls of individuals.
She looked down at herself for a moment, at the clothing she wore, and smiled in some small satisfaction. While what she wore was slightly the wrong size (The shirt a bit too big, the pants a bit too small,) it looked almost the same as what they wore. Almost. The color was similar, but faded. There were no patches, no knot, nothing at all to mark her as anything other than a normal girl.
She looked back to the young dragonriders training, stopping far enough away to not be noticed by anyone involved with their training. She knelt down, the better to blend in to the bowl, to not be seen by the trainers or trainees.
She knew them all, to some degree, though she had never met them. No, she didn't know their names, she didn't know the dragons names, but she knew them. She knew that the black haired girl on the little green cheated at cards, that the sandy-haired bronzerider snuck a wineskin more nights than not, that the brownrider with the carefully shaved head did so in memory of his father. Nameless, faceless, still she knew them.
And some days, some days she could almost feel like one of them. She could picture her own lifemate, a little green gem that walked beside her, spoke to her. Oh, how she could see her. A blazing emerald, blinding in the sunlight. The adoring looks they would share, the quiet conversations between only them.
She closed her eyes, a soft smile coming over her. She could hear the Weyrlingmaster talking to them, telling them what they would do. R'vain's voice, strong and sure as he described how to mount their dragonets, how to sit on them for the first time. In her mind, she was there in the ranks, listening to his voice with the awe and respect a Weyrlingmaster deserved. How to grab hold, and climb up on her weyrmate.
In her mind she followed the instructions perfectly, and was among the first to attain a solid, stable seat on her dragon. In her mind, there was no name for her, there was no real personality to her. That would come when she did, when Dara found her and they learned and loved everything about each other. In her mind, she looked around, seeing the bowl as she saw it when she was on Korth, or Dananth, or the others she had been on.
Her eyes opened in startlement as steps paused behind her. She looked back and saw a man she didn't recognize; he wore a flight jacket, and the knot of an Igenite bronzerider. He looked down at her curiously, and his voice was gentle. "Yours overstuff herself or something, gotta stand back and watch? Well, it'll be a lesson for you, to be sure, just mind you wait for him before trying on your own." An amused smile, and he was walking away.
Dara's head felt close to exploding, and the pain that stabbed through her heart brought tears to her eyes. Part of her exploding with joy, that someone other than herself could see her as one of them. Part of her recoiling in terror, knowing that she never would be. That was a path for other people, brave people, not the coward she knew herself to be.
She took flight, then, as no weyrling would, her legs carrying her fleetingly towards the path out of the weyr; she'd not be seen in the caverns like this, dressed as she was. She'd slip into the lower caverns, into the dorms, and into the clothing she belonged in - the shapeless hand-me-downs that represented her life and future.
A cold wind was blowing across the floor of the bowl, and there wasn't clothing made that could stop it. But that didn't matter to the young woman who prowled across it. Once more, she silently bemoaned the lack of cover, the lack of anything that would help her stay out of sight.
Why did she want to stay out of sight? She wasn't doing anything wrong. She wasn't even doing anything rude - everyone, at some point, had the opportunity to spend time as she was. So why was she so eager not to be noticed?
She reflected on this as she approached them. She could see them now, all of them together in a neat formation. They all looked, at a casual glance, alike. Sure, that boy was taller, and that girl there was still losing the excess weight she'd come into it with, but they all wore similar clothing, they all moved and responded the same way. They were almost one large person instead of a few handfuls of individuals.
She looked down at herself for a moment, at the clothing she wore, and smiled in some small satisfaction. While what she wore was slightly the wrong size (The shirt a bit too big, the pants a bit too small,) it looked almost the same as what they wore. Almost. The color was similar, but faded. There were no patches, no knot, nothing at all to mark her as anything other than a normal girl.
She looked back to the young dragonriders training, stopping far enough away to not be noticed by anyone involved with their training. She knelt down, the better to blend in to the bowl, to not be seen by the trainers or trainees.
She knew them all, to some degree, though she had never met them. No, she didn't know their names, she didn't know the dragons names, but she knew them. She knew that the black haired girl on the little green cheated at cards, that the sandy-haired bronzerider snuck a wineskin more nights than not, that the brownrider with the carefully shaved head did so in memory of his father. Nameless, faceless, still she knew them.
And some days, some days she could almost feel like one of them. She could picture her own lifemate, a little green gem that walked beside her, spoke to her. Oh, how she could see her. A blazing emerald, blinding in the sunlight. The adoring looks they would share, the quiet conversations between only them.
She closed her eyes, a soft smile coming over her. She could hear the Weyrlingmaster talking to them, telling them what they would do. R'vain's voice, strong and sure as he described how to mount their dragonets, how to sit on them for the first time. In her mind, she was there in the ranks, listening to his voice with the awe and respect a Weyrlingmaster deserved. How to grab hold, and climb up on her weyrmate.
In her mind she followed the instructions perfectly, and was among the first to attain a solid, stable seat on her dragon. In her mind, there was no name for her, there was no real personality to her. That would come when she did, when Dara found her and they learned and loved everything about each other. In her mind, she looked around, seeing the bowl as she saw it when she was on Korth, or Dananth, or the others she had been on.
Her eyes opened in startlement as steps paused behind her. She looked back and saw a man she didn't recognize; he wore a flight jacket, and the knot of an Igenite bronzerider. He looked down at her curiously, and his voice was gentle. "Yours overstuff herself or something, gotta stand back and watch? Well, it'll be a lesson for you, to be sure, just mind you wait for him before trying on your own." An amused smile, and he was walking away.
Dara's head felt close to exploding, and the pain that stabbed through her heart brought tears to her eyes. Part of her exploding with joy, that someone other than herself could see her as one of them. Part of her recoiling in terror, knowing that she never would be. That was a path for other people, brave people, not the coward she knew herself to be.
She took flight, then, as no weyrling would, her legs carrying her fleetingly towards the path out of the weyr; she'd not be seen in the caverns like this, dressed as she was. She'd slip into the lower caverns, into the dorms, and into the clothing she belonged in - the shapeless hand-me-downs that represented her life and future.