What's Your Side?
IC Date: Day 3, Month 11, Turn 2, 7th Pass
Players: Jandor, Vanya
Location: Lakeshore
Synopsis: Vanya runs into Journeyman Jandor down by the lake, a man she recognizes from reputation if nothing else. They have a rather interesting discussion in which Jandor asks some rather poignant questions about just why she's on "administrative leave." (NOTE: This is Jandor's introductory scene on the game. Welcome!)
Southern Bowl,
Late Afternoon
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
Here the lake dominates the bowl floor, wind-scattered waves lapping at the gravel shore. A few scrawny shrubs to the southeast mark the fenced-in enclosure of the feeding grounds, bordered on its southwestern edge by the lake itself. Following the wall here will lead to the entrance to the weyrling complex and, past that, the stairs that lead to the guest weyr. On the other side of the lake is a vast, yawning tunnel curving upwards slightly, connecting to the long road leading away from High Reaches Weyr. Adjoining the exit is the high arch of the infirmary entrance. Autumn seems made for windy days such as this one. It's cool and crisp, and there are plenty of brilliantly shaded leaves to be picked up and spun about.
Fall, and the inevitable winter that tags along on its heels comes quite early to High Reaches Weyr. This day is no exception to the expected norms for said season, a clear day that is given note and essence by an ever-present chill breeze. Fortunatly, most of those who have been at High Reaches for any length of time are accustomed to the nip and life carries on this late evening as it always does. The bowl shows its typical hustle and bustle, people making their way from place to place for all sorts of tasks. The shore of the lake is absolutely no exception and even in the chill there are dragons to be found swimming in the depths and frolicing in the shadows. Men and women of all walks of life are taking evening constitutionals, making the place quiet and loud at the same time. Loud in that there is much activity, but quiet in that people typically respect others' solitude as many are there for the same reason. Upon one ragged inlet of the water is a large rock, some three or four feet out into the actual water -- a good jump by anyone's imagination. Upon that rock is sitting a small mountain of a man. Well, maybe mountain in broadness. Perhaps foothill would be a better metaphor of height. Either way, he is lounging in much of the wind -- his red braid and beard both blown back by the ambient breeze. He seems not to notice however -- both the wind or the relative chill. His attention is fixed upon a half unwrapped scroll, held in both hands as to not be torn away in the breeze. Come to be alone? Perhaps. But, from what one can tell from the distance, the drawings upon said scroll are anatomical -- done in a very steady hand.
And into the near dusk comes another of the weyr's residents, this one wrapped in a cloak against the purveying chill of coming winter. Vanya moves with purposeful steps, heading for some of those self-same rocks lining the lakeshore, but chooses one that is still land-locked, not within the water itself. It's become her habit to sit in quiet reflection of an evening, pouring over the day's events -- or, non-events as the case may be -- in order to compose herself before either going to her room, or facing throngs of people in the living cavern. There is color on her cheeks from the cold wind, and the hood of her cloak is back, revealing a face which is masked with neutrality. Apparently, her thoughts aren't unpleasant, but simply something with which to occupy herself at the moment. The man on the rock is noted, but like most of the weyr residents, left to his own devices as she seats herself upon her own perch, a flattish rock that juts a little forward and beneath a taller one, shielding it slightly from the bowl-side wind. Upon this rock is what might be considered an unusual sight. A pyramidical shaped pile of smallish pebbles, perfect for the use to which they are now put. The soft "plunk" of a pebble tossed into the water might even be lost in the sound of wind, but seems satisfying enough to the girl.
For a few moments, the man upon the rock continues his inspection of his drawings without noticing the arrival, even though her point of shelter is relatively near to his rock of solitude. And so it might continue all night, but inevitably a particularialy sharp gust of wind cuts across the lapping waters -- striking the man and blowing beard and braid back out almost horizontal. Despite having the warmth that comes with bulk he shivers somewhat and stands, and can be heard to say something along the lines of.. "Aach! Cold enough t'freeze the stones off an iron dragon!" The scroll is tucked beneath his arm and he turns towards the shore; gathering himself for a jump that seems almost comical considering his short legs. Vanya and her pile of stones are seen and noted in that moment, the latter rather than the former causing the curious purse that appears on his face. He lifts his free hand and scratches deeply at his beard, eyes passing back to the original person. Does he know her? Certainly, the face at least is familiar. But, if he does know her, what to do about it? There's no point in being shy, and so he gathers himself once again and leaps across the intervening distance to the sandy shores, beginning to make his way unhurridly towards Vanya's roost. He knows full well he is interrupting, and so takes his time -- making his approach and intent very clear and giving ample time for signs he should go elsewhere to be given.
His progress to shore noted, Vanya studies the man, brow knitted. Does she recognize him? Perhaps. At least she gives the impression she does when she nods. A face and physique like his are memorable enough, particularly the beard and color of hair. Yes, she does, and offers a neutral enough smile, though she doesn't call him by name. "It's been a while, but I remember you from the Hall," she says, her voice as neutral as her expression. "Caucus or weyr, Journeyman?" she inquires, meaning, of course, was he sent to study or to practice. If the former, it's likely she will not worry overly much this is some means by the hall of replacing her without letting her know overtly. If the latter, well, perhaps she has her answer regarding her status and standing at the weyr. And, clearly, she knows his rank, if nothing else.
Jandor has been sizing Vanya up all the while he approached. He is unsurprised at being recognized -- one of his physical features tends to spring to mind fairly easily. Either way though, his own head has been picking through names that he barely remembers -- trying to corelate this with rumors that he has heard. Verdanya? No, that's not her. "It has been awhile." He states, buying for time. His voice is much like one would expect from someone with his bredth of chest. Deep and quite resounding, having no difficulty in making itself heard over the ever-present wind. Danya? No, that's not her. "I do believe I recall you, though. Quite certain of it, actually." Janya? No, most defenatly not. Getting close, though. "I wonder, what's with t'stones? Tossin' rocks is one thing, but havin' 'em neatly piled and waitin' for you is quite a more unusual matter." Tanya? No, also not it. "Forgive me, by the way, if I'm intruding." A huge mitt of a hand, its back tinged crimson with a dusting of coarse hair is offered to her. Vanya? Yes, that's it! And hrm, hasn't he heard that name mentioned? "Posted." He says, simply -- his eyes looking up from under their overhang. A few seconds paused. "Foolin'. Caucus. I wish I was posted, though. I can't take this sitting around."
Make no mistake, Vanya's been doing a fair amount of assessing on her own, and perhaps that lack of a name mentioned might have been her own way of seeing just what Jandor knows or doesn't know, has heard or hasn't heard. "Nigh onto a turn or two, by my reckoning," she says, her voice still quiet and pleasant, the kind of voice that's encouraged at the hall to put patients at ease. Practiced long enough, it becomes standard when dealing with all people. The "posted" comment doesn't even draw a batted eyelash, but the question of her pile of pebbles? That earns a quirk of eyebrow and lips. "I'm experimenting," she explains smoothly. "I've been curious as to just how long it will take to fill in the lake, one pebble at a time. By my theory, if enough pebbles are tossed into the water by those who walk here, pause here, toss pebbles -- and I'm by no means the only one who does this, mind you -- there should be no lake here in about five hundred years. That is, of course, a speculation on my part, but judging by the number of people versus the number of pebbles tossed into the water since I arrived, that should be fairly correct." All right, that should be filed right along with the panicked essay answers on tests that contain one grain of truth and about fifty additional lines of bullcrap. "Caucus." One word, conveying so many meanings, none of them explained. "An interesting experiment all in and of itself." She takes the hand after dusting off hers, and smiles a little more. "You'll likely see enough work. Those healers assigned to Caucus are always asked to assist the weyr in times of need."
Jandor makes a face. The gesture is mostly hidden beneath his thick beard, but the motion of the skin around his eyes draws enough attention that the rest of his expression can likely be presumed by simply imagining the rest of his face. "Aww, come on. Y'can't expect me to believe that. You're way too bright lookin' t'not figure in the breakin' down of t'rocks in erosion and the washin' up of sand on the beach, where the culumative action of people and dragons breaks it down even more, but the friggin' around the lake that they do, well, they get wet and the sand stick to 'em and erodes the shore because they're takin' it into the Weyr itself." There is a few seconds pause, then the barest hint of smile. "So, c'mon. Tell me t'real reason? Pilin' stones for somethin' t'do one day t'keep yerself busy and be alone, and flingin' 'em the next? Prolly wrong, but it's as good of a guess as I got." He falls silent then, shrugging his overbroad shoulders. "It boils down to the fact that I don't need the caucus to be effective at what I do. They send people here because they expect them to be leaders. I don't want to be one, and I didn't ask to be one. I just want to be back where I belong, and doing what comes naturally."
Busted. But that doesn't seem to bother Vanya. The twitch of her lips is indicative of her amusement at the joke. "Perhaps, but then, you have to also factor in the amount of rainfall per turn, and the fact the lake is spring fed, a constant renewal. And that, my good Journeyman, is known as having far too much time on one's hands -- which I don't have." She glances at the pebbles. "Actually, I'm not the one who does this," she says, head tilting to the side. "The pyramid just appeared here one day, and I took advantage of it. It gets replenished when it starts to get small, and someone comes along and diminishes it, like me." She glances now at the water. "I simply use it as a means of coping with things that bother me, whether it's a problem or a bad 'fall. Tossing the pebbles is simple a way of counting things, sorting them in my mind. I'm not the only one who does it, but, as I've said before, sometimes there just aren't enough rocks. Nor big enough ones, perhaps." She nods, though, at the last works. "Yes, I know that feeling. I know it all too well, Journeyman Jandor. One might even say I know it intimately." And now her eyes move to the entrance of the infirmary. "I should be in there working, not out here uselessly tossing pebbles."
"Indeed." agrees the Journeyman as he studies Vanya for another moment. "But in the end then, my theroy is correct and you're not really here t'fill the lake." He turns away for a moment, pulling something from under his sleeve. With the stealth that is done with, one almost might imagine a weapon. Hardly, though. A long pipe is drawn forth and reverently he brings forth a small pouch from his waist. "But, not t'enough rocks, eh? M'heard a little bit of things on t'rumor mill. Would I be intruding if I asked for your stide of t'story? You know how things invariably become altered, or twisted somehow. Y'never get the right of it, unless y'talk to the real involved parties. And if I've asked too much, there's no harm in saying so. I won't cry." A flat spot on the rock out of the wind is found and in the shelter of that he begins the process of packing his pipe, thick fingers working with remarkable dexterity in completing it. "And, the story or not, they didn't even give y'something to do? All you have to occupy yourself is tossin' pebbles?"
Vanya's quiet, her gaze drifting back out over the lake for a few minutes. "My side." It's not a question so much as a statement. A rather wry statement, at that. "No, you're not intruding, and I don't mind talking about it, but I'm not sure what rumors you've heard. Perhaps it might be best if you could be a little specific, maybe ask me a question to indicate the line of discussion you'd wish to engage upon." She turns slightly on her rock, facing the man now. "As for not giving me anything to do, they suggested I might wish to embark upon further research or study for my specialty. In other words, just do what I was already doing, which I have been. I have made some interesting observations regarding rider injuries and preventative methods for exercises related to specific movements utilized by the riders during drills and training." She shrugs. "It's something I do every day, making notes and adding to my data and reference material. I do have to admit the records here are incredibly helpful, and far more extensive than at the hall in regards to riders, 'fall, injuries and the like."
Jandor continues packing his pipe. Whilst the motion is one that is obviously very well practiced there is something in it that can be called reverent. The motions are very precise, very gentle and very careful. After minute or so he has it complete and he turns to settle against the rock, fishing in his pocket for a match stick. It is struck against the rock and the bowl lit, a few whisps of smoke curling out of the corners of his mouth a second or two later. He takes a long pull of it and seems to sigh with contentment, straightening up and turning his gaze back towards Vanya. "Bluntly, what happened?" He asks. "I heard everything from 'improper behavior' 't 'gross incompetence' and everything along the lines and inbetween. But, even when a fella asks questions, people seem t'hold their tongues as is the right." As to the notes, drills and the like -- nothing is said, he doesn't even ask.
"Ah." Vanya nods. "Well, I can assure you, Journeyman Jandor, there was no gross incompetence involved. I was then, as I am now, completely competent in my skills. If there was error, it was in working myself to near collapse in order to save a man's life," she replies. "There was an incident upon which I speculate the reports were based, an argument between a woman here at High Reaches loosely associated -- at best -- with the Healer Craft. We had a confrontation after I'd been awake for nearly three days, and felt backed into a corner. But, I should outline things a little clearer." She takes a breath. "Wingleader E'sere was poisoned shortly before his arrest. He was meeting with me at the time, and food had been sent to my room for him. I had, at the time, no idea of his complexity in the events here at High Reaches, and had, I thought, important information to tell him. I arranged to meet him privately, with the aid of someone I thought was a friend, but was later found to be the one behind all the deaths and terror here. To make a long story shorter, she arranged for the food which was laced with aconite -- enough aconite to send E'sere into a coma for several hours, and would have resulted in death had I not worked long hours to save him."
Jandor raises a very bushy eyebrow at the mention of aconite along with the rest of his story as he puffs on his pipe. His face, interestingly enough, shows no sign of being judgemental -- just a probing for information. When Vanya finishes, he nods slightly as though formulating a response. He takes a long draw of the pipe as he thinks, coming to a conclusion with a nod. The pipe is withdrawn and without thought, offered to Vanya. Not that he thinks she'll accept, but it is the polite thing ot do. "And you were removed from your post and duties because of an argument?" He asks. "Or, because of the Wingleader and the poisoning?"
"I don't know, to be honest. Aida is the Caucus Headmaster's Assistant, and I don't even know if she was the one who reported that I was emotionally unbalanced, or in need of investigating, or what. I don't know anything concrete, just that shortly after our argument -- and I admit I had jumped to some rather wild conclusions regarding someone else, someone who had acted in a very suspicious manner regarding the rather untenable situation here, I might add -- I got placed on administrative leave for ... well, I'll let you read the letter sometime. It was, as usual, vague and sympathetic and very, very polite. Master Sonja is known for that tact." Vanya shrugs, and takes another deep breath. "At any rate, I've not fought it, though I likely could have. I was tired, and I was in need of a break. I'd just spent three days of nursing a man I'd come to respect and ... well, become emotionally attached to, back from near death. After that, he was arrested in my presence and I was distraught, to say the least. I suspect it was more my close association with E'sere which earned me the suspension, rather than the argument, although if Aida did report my loss of control, that didn't help. However, I just let things go for a bit, and have abided by the strictures and restrictions allotted me by the Hall. I have utilized the time wisely, in reflection, in study and in other work." She quirks her lips to the side in an almost ironic smile. "I've even begun studying dragon healing, since I live at a weyr. It's been rather interesting and has helped me better understand many aspects of life here."
Jandor nods lightly once again, withdrawing the pipe as he listens. One has the impression of a very boisterous man from him, nominally at least. For the current moment though he is surprisingly quiet. What is likely to be disturbing is that he has not yet given any sign -- not even the least bit of a twitch as to taking a side in the matter. Does he believe Vanya in the right? Or does he believe the Weyrfolk in this case to be correct? The answer is hidden quite deeply. "Dragon Healing is rewarding, I hear. I considered it for a time. There is a bit less work for it though in what I prefer. M'not here for someone with a cold, or a bellyache or a weyrling dragon that's not evacuatin' like he oughta. I'm a trauma specialist. My element is making decisions that nobody else wants to. Being someone that matters. And, I can't help but feel at this point that my talents are wasted here. Like I said earlier, they send people to caucus t'learn to be a leader. I don't -want- to be." He shrugs, the gesture exagerated somewhat by his spread of shoulders. "Anyway, enough about me. You're th' one with the problems. Sounds like quite a mess. And confirms what I heard about it bein' all politics here."
Vanya listens and nods herself now. "Every healer faces those decisions at one time or another, though," she counters. "I've had to do triage here and at the Hall, so, to a certain degree, we're all trauma specialists. You, however, have a reputation of being exceedingly good at the task," she comments. "And, actually, my problems have smoothed out quite a bit since the trial. Some people will always look at me and wonder if I knew whether or not E'sere was guilty all along, but I assure you, I did not. It came as much a surprise to me as to others, and I cannot say I know much more now than I did before his arrest." She regards a stream of pipe smoke rise into the sky. "Was he guilty of all of it? Probably. Should I have been more observant, likely. Do I still care about him? Yes, I do. Am I guilty of anything? Yes. I'm guilty of letting my emotions get the better of me, and of letting myself be drawn to someone for personal reasons." She shrugs again. "Being a leader means different things to different people. A healer sometimes needs to be a leader, or at least understand what leadership is all about. I dare say, the journeymen of today are the masters of tomorrow, and what is being a master about if not leading and guiding. As well as getting in there and doing?"
Jandor nods once again, his free hand ruffling his beard slightly. "So I do." He says, somewhat immodestly. There is a hint of pride in his voice, but it subsides as he takes another draw on the pipe -- exhaling a long line of thick, grayish colored smoke. "And aye, lass, you're quite right. Every healer faces them many times in their career. Not every healer seeks them out so that others don't have to." The base of the pipe is chewed on, before he looks thoughtful and turns his face back to study Vanya's face. "Not so easy as that, though, is it? 'Tis all well and good to say that you'll never be drawn to someone, or that you'll never coupulate with another person, or maybe that you'll not even entertain thoughts about another. But, sometimes they say things y'didn't expect, look at you in a way y'never thought or someone jogs your mind and blast it, they're in your head again. You can be human, and sometimes make mistakes doing it because you have a heart for people, or you can not have any associations at all?" It's a rhetorical question obviously, for he continues after puffing on the pipe for another moment or two. "Point. But, I just think I'm better off where there are shortages of personnel. I think there's more to sending me here than 'leading the people of tomorrow'."
"It's possible," Vanya replies to the last thing Jandor says. "The hall works in many and varying ways, and few of us are privileged to know the inner workings of the hierarchy. I'm sure they had a reason for it, and you /will/ see work here, I've no doubt of that. Things are peaceful here now, yes, but they won't stay that way forever. There's enough political maneuvering to incite more trouble, make no mistake of that. This is, as I told someone, merely the eye of the storm. Faranth help us when the back winds hit." As for the rest of what he says, Vanya merely shrugs again. "Caring for someone doesn't mean giving up your own identity or purpose, and I know a healer with a heart is more vulnerable than one who can divorce themselves from situations and patients. E'sere was charming and charismatic, a born leader, Journeyman Jandor. He could have been the next weyrleader here, and likely would have been very good at it. But, somewhere along the line, he lost sight that a weyr isn't just rock and stone, but people. He could have had it all, but he failed because he took shortcuts. In short, he cheated at a game he already knew he could win. Why, I don't know. He lied to those who believed in him, in his dreams. He hurt the very people who wanted him to be the leader. What made him do it, I can only guess. But I believed in his dream, and I won't abandon that dream weyr because he failed. I'm glad they left me here, because I want to help heal the wounds, and help the patient survive."
Jandor chews upon the end of his pipe thoughtfully once again, faint whisps of smoke reaching out from the bowl and the edges of his lips. "Aye." He says finally, pulling the thing from his mouth so he can gesture with it. "Right on most counts. Don't get me wrong though, I'm arguin' for the sake of arguin' on some of it. But, there are people who'd tell you that without bein' vulnerable, y'wouldn't stand a chance at enterin' into any kinda meaningful relationship anyway. So, it doesn't mean givin' up yer purpose, but it does mean trustin' someone and openin' yourself to hurt." Another gesture with the pipe before it is taken back between his lips. There's something about the way he said the last statement that suggests he may or may not believe it. Perhaps as he said, he is arguing for the sake of arguing. "Strictly psycologically speakin', if you already know you can win, sometimes hubris makes you impaitent. If you're sure y'can win, the nagging little thoughts of why wait for it come to mind." Puff, Puff, Puff.
Vanya considers this a long moment before nodding. "I can understand that, yes, and there were extenuating circumstances in E'sere's past which may have driven him harder to ... I don't know, wrest control of everything from those currently in position. He was a very determined man, and it's sad to see his potential wasted in such a needless manner." She draws one knee up, wraps both hands around it, resting her heel on the rock beneath her. "I detest lies, though, and I suppose that's the one thing I find most hurtful in the situation. I asked only one thing of him, that he not lie to me about what we shared. I can't swear he did, though I somehow doubt --" Vanya stops, looking over at this perfect stranger, a man she knows mainly through reputation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get quite so personal in this discussion. It is, unfortunately, become a habit of mine since I was constantly urged to talk of my feelings and thoughts of recent months. I am not usually given to being quite so open regarding them. It isn't always wise around here." She means because the politics can twist the truth and be used against a person, no doubt. Her expression rather gives that away. "I shouldn't bore you with the personal details, but rather stick to the facts. Suffice to say, as a student at the Caucus, you will be given ample opportunity to explore the recent history through other means than mere gossip. And, I understand the Ethics class alone is well worth attending."
It is possible, even likely that some folk would rebuke Vanya for the outburst as much as the revealing of information. But not Jandor. Instead he puffs at his pipe, listening contentendly as the last vestiges of the herb within die away. And then he is lifting a leg, tapping the spent foliage out of the bowl on the heel of his boot -- reverently slipping the pipe beneath his sleeve once again. "Then you shall be at least comforted to find out that I see no point in lying, myself. Even when it is done for reasons some might call noble, such as to give false optimism I find it useless. When it is done to decieve or cheat, I find it utterly deplorable. I am one of direct actions and little words -- yet another reason I resent being flung here into.....politics." The word when it comes out is quite distasteful. "But I do what I can. If I must attend this caucus, I will excel at it therefore, be released from my cage early." Vanya's earlier words seem to come as an afterthought and he looks up towards the sky; studying the stars as they emerge inbetween breaks of clouds. "As to your personal revelation, do not fear that I will spread it. In the end, it is none of my business and I think it would be hardly proper to meddle in something that is none of my business. Do not fear me judging you, either. I lack the information to do so, and prefer to base my own opinions. And so, apologize if you must, but you are safe with me." The last mention of the caucus causes a face to be made again.
"Thank you, Journeyman," Vanya says, nodding at the conclusion of his speech. "I prefer to be judged on my abilities and my competence, not my gender or my ... mistakes. I admit I've made mistakes, but there are few who have not. I didn't expect to be posted here to a weyr, I expected to be either left at the Hall to further my research or be posted home in Ruatha. As so many, being thrust into a new world left me somewhat off balance and prone to making mistakes." She takes a breath, squaring her shoulders then. "I have, however, gotten my feet back under me, and should the hall decide to reinstate me, I plan to continue my work here. As unorthodox as some may feel the field to be, I see a use for it, and it has proven of worth on at least one occasion. Like you, I feel a certain pride in what I do, and in what I've accomplished here. From what I can see, there has been a marked decrease in muscle strains and pulled tendons since I counseled the wingleaders on proper warm-up exercises. That, alone, gives me a reason to see the job and the research through."
Jandor fixes a thoughtful look on Vanya at this moment, leaning back slightly as though really studying her fully for the the first time. One might have the sense that he is taking in small details, from the cut of slippers to the lines of face to the way that she stands. Once he has completed all of this he gives that same nod that he used a few minutes back when she was explaining herself. "One should be judged on their mistakes." He says, quickly and with a dead serious tone. "If they do not learn from them. But if they take something away from them, even some tiny infintesimal amount of personal growth then almost anything can be forgiven, as far as I am concerned." He bends, tightening the loose laces of a boot before straightening up again. "I need to get some work done that I was assigned. But I will be taking in a drink later, and you are welcome to join me. I hope that this is straightened out for you son, one way or another. There is nothing worse than being forced into idleness." He does not mention reinstating, nor her accomplishments. Not yet, anyway.
"Oh, I have learned some very bitter and powerful lessons from my mistakes, both personal and professional," Vanya assures Jandor. "The personal mistakes may or may not ever be repeated, but the professional ones most definitely will not. On that, you may rest most assured. Not, of course, that new mistakes may be made in future, since not everything regarding healing is an exacting science. However, I am confident enough in my skills to say those mistakes were learning experiences from which I took away a great deal of knowledge." She nods to him as he stands, herself lowering her leg and rising from the rock. "I should be getting back inside myself, since I'm meeting with a fellow student of dragon healing to go over some reading I did last night. He has been very instrumental in helping me understand the physiology of dragons, since he is a rider himself." She nods with respect to the healer. "It was nice to meet you, and I look forward to future discussions, and hopefully collaboration." As for his wishes, she smiles. "I'm sure they will be. There will doubtless be a newer and even more scandalous event sometime which will eclipse my own. That's been the pattern of things, so I've noticed." Another nod. "Good day to you, then, Journeyman Jandor. A pleasure to meet you."
Players: Jandor, Vanya
Location: Lakeshore
Synopsis: Vanya runs into Journeyman Jandor down by the lake, a man she recognizes from reputation if nothing else. They have a rather interesting discussion in which Jandor asks some rather poignant questions about just why she's on "administrative leave." (NOTE: This is Jandor's introductory scene on the game. Welcome!)
Southern Bowl,
Late Afternoon
The bowl floor is a broad expanse of gravel and dust, packed flat over decades of dragonweight landing on it. Kept free of vegetation, the only color variation across the vast hollow of the bowl are the dragons, in good weather often found sunning on low ledges or sprawled along the floor itself. The well-worn, charcoal-grey walls of the bowl are nearly vertical, far too steep for even the most adventurous climber to attempt. The rim of the bowl, marked by a rainbow of perching dragons at all times of the day, is topped with massive stone spires that stretch upwards into the blue vault of the sky. There are seven in all, great black fingers of stone that seem, from where you stand, to touch the clouds.
Here the lake dominates the bowl floor, wind-scattered waves lapping at the gravel shore. A few scrawny shrubs to the southeast mark the fenced-in enclosure of the feeding grounds, bordered on its southwestern edge by the lake itself. Following the wall here will lead to the entrance to the weyrling complex and, past that, the stairs that lead to the guest weyr. On the other side of the lake is a vast, yawning tunnel curving upwards slightly, connecting to the long road leading away from High Reaches Weyr. Adjoining the exit is the high arch of the infirmary entrance. Autumn seems made for windy days such as this one. It's cool and crisp, and there are plenty of brilliantly shaded leaves to be picked up and spun about.
Fall, and the inevitable winter that tags along on its heels comes quite early to High Reaches Weyr. This day is no exception to the expected norms for said season, a clear day that is given note and essence by an ever-present chill breeze. Fortunatly, most of those who have been at High Reaches for any length of time are accustomed to the nip and life carries on this late evening as it always does. The bowl shows its typical hustle and bustle, people making their way from place to place for all sorts of tasks. The shore of the lake is absolutely no exception and even in the chill there are dragons to be found swimming in the depths and frolicing in the shadows. Men and women of all walks of life are taking evening constitutionals, making the place quiet and loud at the same time. Loud in that there is much activity, but quiet in that people typically respect others' solitude as many are there for the same reason. Upon one ragged inlet of the water is a large rock, some three or four feet out into the actual water -- a good jump by anyone's imagination. Upon that rock is sitting a small mountain of a man. Well, maybe mountain in broadness. Perhaps foothill would be a better metaphor of height. Either way, he is lounging in much of the wind -- his red braid and beard both blown back by the ambient breeze. He seems not to notice however -- both the wind or the relative chill. His attention is fixed upon a half unwrapped scroll, held in both hands as to not be torn away in the breeze. Come to be alone? Perhaps. But, from what one can tell from the distance, the drawings upon said scroll are anatomical -- done in a very steady hand.
And into the near dusk comes another of the weyr's residents, this one wrapped in a cloak against the purveying chill of coming winter. Vanya moves with purposeful steps, heading for some of those self-same rocks lining the lakeshore, but chooses one that is still land-locked, not within the water itself. It's become her habit to sit in quiet reflection of an evening, pouring over the day's events -- or, non-events as the case may be -- in order to compose herself before either going to her room, or facing throngs of people in the living cavern. There is color on her cheeks from the cold wind, and the hood of her cloak is back, revealing a face which is masked with neutrality. Apparently, her thoughts aren't unpleasant, but simply something with which to occupy herself at the moment. The man on the rock is noted, but like most of the weyr residents, left to his own devices as she seats herself upon her own perch, a flattish rock that juts a little forward and beneath a taller one, shielding it slightly from the bowl-side wind. Upon this rock is what might be considered an unusual sight. A pyramidical shaped pile of smallish pebbles, perfect for the use to which they are now put. The soft "plunk" of a pebble tossed into the water might even be lost in the sound of wind, but seems satisfying enough to the girl.
For a few moments, the man upon the rock continues his inspection of his drawings without noticing the arrival, even though her point of shelter is relatively near to his rock of solitude. And so it might continue all night, but inevitably a particularialy sharp gust of wind cuts across the lapping waters -- striking the man and blowing beard and braid back out almost horizontal. Despite having the warmth that comes with bulk he shivers somewhat and stands, and can be heard to say something along the lines of.. "Aach! Cold enough t'freeze the stones off an iron dragon!" The scroll is tucked beneath his arm and he turns towards the shore; gathering himself for a jump that seems almost comical considering his short legs. Vanya and her pile of stones are seen and noted in that moment, the latter rather than the former causing the curious purse that appears on his face. He lifts his free hand and scratches deeply at his beard, eyes passing back to the original person. Does he know her? Certainly, the face at least is familiar. But, if he does know her, what to do about it? There's no point in being shy, and so he gathers himself once again and leaps across the intervening distance to the sandy shores, beginning to make his way unhurridly towards Vanya's roost. He knows full well he is interrupting, and so takes his time -- making his approach and intent very clear and giving ample time for signs he should go elsewhere to be given.
His progress to shore noted, Vanya studies the man, brow knitted. Does she recognize him? Perhaps. At least she gives the impression she does when she nods. A face and physique like his are memorable enough, particularly the beard and color of hair. Yes, she does, and offers a neutral enough smile, though she doesn't call him by name. "It's been a while, but I remember you from the Hall," she says, her voice as neutral as her expression. "Caucus or weyr, Journeyman?" she inquires, meaning, of course, was he sent to study or to practice. If the former, it's likely she will not worry overly much this is some means by the hall of replacing her without letting her know overtly. If the latter, well, perhaps she has her answer regarding her status and standing at the weyr. And, clearly, she knows his rank, if nothing else.
Jandor has been sizing Vanya up all the while he approached. He is unsurprised at being recognized -- one of his physical features tends to spring to mind fairly easily. Either way though, his own head has been picking through names that he barely remembers -- trying to corelate this with rumors that he has heard. Verdanya? No, that's not her. "It has been awhile." He states, buying for time. His voice is much like one would expect from someone with his bredth of chest. Deep and quite resounding, having no difficulty in making itself heard over the ever-present wind. Danya? No, that's not her. "I do believe I recall you, though. Quite certain of it, actually." Janya? No, most defenatly not. Getting close, though. "I wonder, what's with t'stones? Tossin' rocks is one thing, but havin' 'em neatly piled and waitin' for you is quite a more unusual matter." Tanya? No, also not it. "Forgive me, by the way, if I'm intruding." A huge mitt of a hand, its back tinged crimson with a dusting of coarse hair is offered to her. Vanya? Yes, that's it! And hrm, hasn't he heard that name mentioned? "Posted." He says, simply -- his eyes looking up from under their overhang. A few seconds paused. "Foolin'. Caucus. I wish I was posted, though. I can't take this sitting around."
Make no mistake, Vanya's been doing a fair amount of assessing on her own, and perhaps that lack of a name mentioned might have been her own way of seeing just what Jandor knows or doesn't know, has heard or hasn't heard. "Nigh onto a turn or two, by my reckoning," she says, her voice still quiet and pleasant, the kind of voice that's encouraged at the hall to put patients at ease. Practiced long enough, it becomes standard when dealing with all people. The "posted" comment doesn't even draw a batted eyelash, but the question of her pile of pebbles? That earns a quirk of eyebrow and lips. "I'm experimenting," she explains smoothly. "I've been curious as to just how long it will take to fill in the lake, one pebble at a time. By my theory, if enough pebbles are tossed into the water by those who walk here, pause here, toss pebbles -- and I'm by no means the only one who does this, mind you -- there should be no lake here in about five hundred years. That is, of course, a speculation on my part, but judging by the number of people versus the number of pebbles tossed into the water since I arrived, that should be fairly correct." All right, that should be filed right along with the panicked essay answers on tests that contain one grain of truth and about fifty additional lines of bullcrap. "Caucus." One word, conveying so many meanings, none of them explained. "An interesting experiment all in and of itself." She takes the hand after dusting off hers, and smiles a little more. "You'll likely see enough work. Those healers assigned to Caucus are always asked to assist the weyr in times of need."
Jandor makes a face. The gesture is mostly hidden beneath his thick beard, but the motion of the skin around his eyes draws enough attention that the rest of his expression can likely be presumed by simply imagining the rest of his face. "Aww, come on. Y'can't expect me to believe that. You're way too bright lookin' t'not figure in the breakin' down of t'rocks in erosion and the washin' up of sand on the beach, where the culumative action of people and dragons breaks it down even more, but the friggin' around the lake that they do, well, they get wet and the sand stick to 'em and erodes the shore because they're takin' it into the Weyr itself." There is a few seconds pause, then the barest hint of smile. "So, c'mon. Tell me t'real reason? Pilin' stones for somethin' t'do one day t'keep yerself busy and be alone, and flingin' 'em the next? Prolly wrong, but it's as good of a guess as I got." He falls silent then, shrugging his overbroad shoulders. "It boils down to the fact that I don't need the caucus to be effective at what I do. They send people here because they expect them to be leaders. I don't want to be one, and I didn't ask to be one. I just want to be back where I belong, and doing what comes naturally."
Busted. But that doesn't seem to bother Vanya. The twitch of her lips is indicative of her amusement at the joke. "Perhaps, but then, you have to also factor in the amount of rainfall per turn, and the fact the lake is spring fed, a constant renewal. And that, my good Journeyman, is known as having far too much time on one's hands -- which I don't have." She glances at the pebbles. "Actually, I'm not the one who does this," she says, head tilting to the side. "The pyramid just appeared here one day, and I took advantage of it. It gets replenished when it starts to get small, and someone comes along and diminishes it, like me." She glances now at the water. "I simply use it as a means of coping with things that bother me, whether it's a problem or a bad 'fall. Tossing the pebbles is simple a way of counting things, sorting them in my mind. I'm not the only one who does it, but, as I've said before, sometimes there just aren't enough rocks. Nor big enough ones, perhaps." She nods, though, at the last works. "Yes, I know that feeling. I know it all too well, Journeyman Jandor. One might even say I know it intimately." And now her eyes move to the entrance of the infirmary. "I should be in there working, not out here uselessly tossing pebbles."
"Indeed." agrees the Journeyman as he studies Vanya for another moment. "But in the end then, my theroy is correct and you're not really here t'fill the lake." He turns away for a moment, pulling something from under his sleeve. With the stealth that is done with, one almost might imagine a weapon. Hardly, though. A long pipe is drawn forth and reverently he brings forth a small pouch from his waist. "But, not t'enough rocks, eh? M'heard a little bit of things on t'rumor mill. Would I be intruding if I asked for your stide of t'story? You know how things invariably become altered, or twisted somehow. Y'never get the right of it, unless y'talk to the real involved parties. And if I've asked too much, there's no harm in saying so. I won't cry." A flat spot on the rock out of the wind is found and in the shelter of that he begins the process of packing his pipe, thick fingers working with remarkable dexterity in completing it. "And, the story or not, they didn't even give y'something to do? All you have to occupy yourself is tossin' pebbles?"
Vanya's quiet, her gaze drifting back out over the lake for a few minutes. "My side." It's not a question so much as a statement. A rather wry statement, at that. "No, you're not intruding, and I don't mind talking about it, but I'm not sure what rumors you've heard. Perhaps it might be best if you could be a little specific, maybe ask me a question to indicate the line of discussion you'd wish to engage upon." She turns slightly on her rock, facing the man now. "As for not giving me anything to do, they suggested I might wish to embark upon further research or study for my specialty. In other words, just do what I was already doing, which I have been. I have made some interesting observations regarding rider injuries and preventative methods for exercises related to specific movements utilized by the riders during drills and training." She shrugs. "It's something I do every day, making notes and adding to my data and reference material. I do have to admit the records here are incredibly helpful, and far more extensive than at the hall in regards to riders, 'fall, injuries and the like."
Jandor continues packing his pipe. Whilst the motion is one that is obviously very well practiced there is something in it that can be called reverent. The motions are very precise, very gentle and very careful. After minute or so he has it complete and he turns to settle against the rock, fishing in his pocket for a match stick. It is struck against the rock and the bowl lit, a few whisps of smoke curling out of the corners of his mouth a second or two later. He takes a long pull of it and seems to sigh with contentment, straightening up and turning his gaze back towards Vanya. "Bluntly, what happened?" He asks. "I heard everything from 'improper behavior' 't 'gross incompetence' and everything along the lines and inbetween. But, even when a fella asks questions, people seem t'hold their tongues as is the right." As to the notes, drills and the like -- nothing is said, he doesn't even ask.
"Ah." Vanya nods. "Well, I can assure you, Journeyman Jandor, there was no gross incompetence involved. I was then, as I am now, completely competent in my skills. If there was error, it was in working myself to near collapse in order to save a man's life," she replies. "There was an incident upon which I speculate the reports were based, an argument between a woman here at High Reaches loosely associated -- at best -- with the Healer Craft. We had a confrontation after I'd been awake for nearly three days, and felt backed into a corner. But, I should outline things a little clearer." She takes a breath. "Wingleader E'sere was poisoned shortly before his arrest. He was meeting with me at the time, and food had been sent to my room for him. I had, at the time, no idea of his complexity in the events here at High Reaches, and had, I thought, important information to tell him. I arranged to meet him privately, with the aid of someone I thought was a friend, but was later found to be the one behind all the deaths and terror here. To make a long story shorter, she arranged for the food which was laced with aconite -- enough aconite to send E'sere into a coma for several hours, and would have resulted in death had I not worked long hours to save him."
Jandor raises a very bushy eyebrow at the mention of aconite along with the rest of his story as he puffs on his pipe. His face, interestingly enough, shows no sign of being judgemental -- just a probing for information. When Vanya finishes, he nods slightly as though formulating a response. He takes a long draw of the pipe as he thinks, coming to a conclusion with a nod. The pipe is withdrawn and without thought, offered to Vanya. Not that he thinks she'll accept, but it is the polite thing ot do. "And you were removed from your post and duties because of an argument?" He asks. "Or, because of the Wingleader and the poisoning?"
"I don't know, to be honest. Aida is the Caucus Headmaster's Assistant, and I don't even know if she was the one who reported that I was emotionally unbalanced, or in need of investigating, or what. I don't know anything concrete, just that shortly after our argument -- and I admit I had jumped to some rather wild conclusions regarding someone else, someone who had acted in a very suspicious manner regarding the rather untenable situation here, I might add -- I got placed on administrative leave for ... well, I'll let you read the letter sometime. It was, as usual, vague and sympathetic and very, very polite. Master Sonja is known for that tact." Vanya shrugs, and takes another deep breath. "At any rate, I've not fought it, though I likely could have. I was tired, and I was in need of a break. I'd just spent three days of nursing a man I'd come to respect and ... well, become emotionally attached to, back from near death. After that, he was arrested in my presence and I was distraught, to say the least. I suspect it was more my close association with E'sere which earned me the suspension, rather than the argument, although if Aida did report my loss of control, that didn't help. However, I just let things go for a bit, and have abided by the strictures and restrictions allotted me by the Hall. I have utilized the time wisely, in reflection, in study and in other work." She quirks her lips to the side in an almost ironic smile. "I've even begun studying dragon healing, since I live at a weyr. It's been rather interesting and has helped me better understand many aspects of life here."
Jandor nods lightly once again, withdrawing the pipe as he listens. One has the impression of a very boisterous man from him, nominally at least. For the current moment though he is surprisingly quiet. What is likely to be disturbing is that he has not yet given any sign -- not even the least bit of a twitch as to taking a side in the matter. Does he believe Vanya in the right? Or does he believe the Weyrfolk in this case to be correct? The answer is hidden quite deeply. "Dragon Healing is rewarding, I hear. I considered it for a time. There is a bit less work for it though in what I prefer. M'not here for someone with a cold, or a bellyache or a weyrling dragon that's not evacuatin' like he oughta. I'm a trauma specialist. My element is making decisions that nobody else wants to. Being someone that matters. And, I can't help but feel at this point that my talents are wasted here. Like I said earlier, they send people to caucus t'learn to be a leader. I don't -want- to be." He shrugs, the gesture exagerated somewhat by his spread of shoulders. "Anyway, enough about me. You're th' one with the problems. Sounds like quite a mess. And confirms what I heard about it bein' all politics here."
Vanya listens and nods herself now. "Every healer faces those decisions at one time or another, though," she counters. "I've had to do triage here and at the Hall, so, to a certain degree, we're all trauma specialists. You, however, have a reputation of being exceedingly good at the task," she comments. "And, actually, my problems have smoothed out quite a bit since the trial. Some people will always look at me and wonder if I knew whether or not E'sere was guilty all along, but I assure you, I did not. It came as much a surprise to me as to others, and I cannot say I know much more now than I did before his arrest." She regards a stream of pipe smoke rise into the sky. "Was he guilty of all of it? Probably. Should I have been more observant, likely. Do I still care about him? Yes, I do. Am I guilty of anything? Yes. I'm guilty of letting my emotions get the better of me, and of letting myself be drawn to someone for personal reasons." She shrugs again. "Being a leader means different things to different people. A healer sometimes needs to be a leader, or at least understand what leadership is all about. I dare say, the journeymen of today are the masters of tomorrow, and what is being a master about if not leading and guiding. As well as getting in there and doing?"
Jandor nods once again, his free hand ruffling his beard slightly. "So I do." He says, somewhat immodestly. There is a hint of pride in his voice, but it subsides as he takes another draw on the pipe -- exhaling a long line of thick, grayish colored smoke. "And aye, lass, you're quite right. Every healer faces them many times in their career. Not every healer seeks them out so that others don't have to." The base of the pipe is chewed on, before he looks thoughtful and turns his face back to study Vanya's face. "Not so easy as that, though, is it? 'Tis all well and good to say that you'll never be drawn to someone, or that you'll never coupulate with another person, or maybe that you'll not even entertain thoughts about another. But, sometimes they say things y'didn't expect, look at you in a way y'never thought or someone jogs your mind and blast it, they're in your head again. You can be human, and sometimes make mistakes doing it because you have a heart for people, or you can not have any associations at all?" It's a rhetorical question obviously, for he continues after puffing on the pipe for another moment or two. "Point. But, I just think I'm better off where there are shortages of personnel. I think there's more to sending me here than 'leading the people of tomorrow'."
"It's possible," Vanya replies to the last thing Jandor says. "The hall works in many and varying ways, and few of us are privileged to know the inner workings of the hierarchy. I'm sure they had a reason for it, and you /will/ see work here, I've no doubt of that. Things are peaceful here now, yes, but they won't stay that way forever. There's enough political maneuvering to incite more trouble, make no mistake of that. This is, as I told someone, merely the eye of the storm. Faranth help us when the back winds hit." As for the rest of what he says, Vanya merely shrugs again. "Caring for someone doesn't mean giving up your own identity or purpose, and I know a healer with a heart is more vulnerable than one who can divorce themselves from situations and patients. E'sere was charming and charismatic, a born leader, Journeyman Jandor. He could have been the next weyrleader here, and likely would have been very good at it. But, somewhere along the line, he lost sight that a weyr isn't just rock and stone, but people. He could have had it all, but he failed because he took shortcuts. In short, he cheated at a game he already knew he could win. Why, I don't know. He lied to those who believed in him, in his dreams. He hurt the very people who wanted him to be the leader. What made him do it, I can only guess. But I believed in his dream, and I won't abandon that dream weyr because he failed. I'm glad they left me here, because I want to help heal the wounds, and help the patient survive."
Jandor chews upon the end of his pipe thoughtfully once again, faint whisps of smoke reaching out from the bowl and the edges of his lips. "Aye." He says finally, pulling the thing from his mouth so he can gesture with it. "Right on most counts. Don't get me wrong though, I'm arguin' for the sake of arguin' on some of it. But, there are people who'd tell you that without bein' vulnerable, y'wouldn't stand a chance at enterin' into any kinda meaningful relationship anyway. So, it doesn't mean givin' up yer purpose, but it does mean trustin' someone and openin' yourself to hurt." Another gesture with the pipe before it is taken back between his lips. There's something about the way he said the last statement that suggests he may or may not believe it. Perhaps as he said, he is arguing for the sake of arguing. "Strictly psycologically speakin', if you already know you can win, sometimes hubris makes you impaitent. If you're sure y'can win, the nagging little thoughts of why wait for it come to mind." Puff, Puff, Puff.
Vanya considers this a long moment before nodding. "I can understand that, yes, and there were extenuating circumstances in E'sere's past which may have driven him harder to ... I don't know, wrest control of everything from those currently in position. He was a very determined man, and it's sad to see his potential wasted in such a needless manner." She draws one knee up, wraps both hands around it, resting her heel on the rock beneath her. "I detest lies, though, and I suppose that's the one thing I find most hurtful in the situation. I asked only one thing of him, that he not lie to me about what we shared. I can't swear he did, though I somehow doubt --" Vanya stops, looking over at this perfect stranger, a man she knows mainly through reputation. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get quite so personal in this discussion. It is, unfortunately, become a habit of mine since I was constantly urged to talk of my feelings and thoughts of recent months. I am not usually given to being quite so open regarding them. It isn't always wise around here." She means because the politics can twist the truth and be used against a person, no doubt. Her expression rather gives that away. "I shouldn't bore you with the personal details, but rather stick to the facts. Suffice to say, as a student at the Caucus, you will be given ample opportunity to explore the recent history through other means than mere gossip. And, I understand the Ethics class alone is well worth attending."
It is possible, even likely that some folk would rebuke Vanya for the outburst as much as the revealing of information. But not Jandor. Instead he puffs at his pipe, listening contentendly as the last vestiges of the herb within die away. And then he is lifting a leg, tapping the spent foliage out of the bowl on the heel of his boot -- reverently slipping the pipe beneath his sleeve once again. "Then you shall be at least comforted to find out that I see no point in lying, myself. Even when it is done for reasons some might call noble, such as to give false optimism I find it useless. When it is done to decieve or cheat, I find it utterly deplorable. I am one of direct actions and little words -- yet another reason I resent being flung here into.....politics." The word when it comes out is quite distasteful. "But I do what I can. If I must attend this caucus, I will excel at it therefore, be released from my cage early." Vanya's earlier words seem to come as an afterthought and he looks up towards the sky; studying the stars as they emerge inbetween breaks of clouds. "As to your personal revelation, do not fear that I will spread it. In the end, it is none of my business and I think it would be hardly proper to meddle in something that is none of my business. Do not fear me judging you, either. I lack the information to do so, and prefer to base my own opinions. And so, apologize if you must, but you are safe with me." The last mention of the caucus causes a face to be made again.
"Thank you, Journeyman," Vanya says, nodding at the conclusion of his speech. "I prefer to be judged on my abilities and my competence, not my gender or my ... mistakes. I admit I've made mistakes, but there are few who have not. I didn't expect to be posted here to a weyr, I expected to be either left at the Hall to further my research or be posted home in Ruatha. As so many, being thrust into a new world left me somewhat off balance and prone to making mistakes." She takes a breath, squaring her shoulders then. "I have, however, gotten my feet back under me, and should the hall decide to reinstate me, I plan to continue my work here. As unorthodox as some may feel the field to be, I see a use for it, and it has proven of worth on at least one occasion. Like you, I feel a certain pride in what I do, and in what I've accomplished here. From what I can see, there has been a marked decrease in muscle strains and pulled tendons since I counseled the wingleaders on proper warm-up exercises. That, alone, gives me a reason to see the job and the research through."
Jandor fixes a thoughtful look on Vanya at this moment, leaning back slightly as though really studying her fully for the the first time. One might have the sense that he is taking in small details, from the cut of slippers to the lines of face to the way that she stands. Once he has completed all of this he gives that same nod that he used a few minutes back when she was explaining herself. "One should be judged on their mistakes." He says, quickly and with a dead serious tone. "If they do not learn from them. But if they take something away from them, even some tiny infintesimal amount of personal growth then almost anything can be forgiven, as far as I am concerned." He bends, tightening the loose laces of a boot before straightening up again. "I need to get some work done that I was assigned. But I will be taking in a drink later, and you are welcome to join me. I hope that this is straightened out for you son, one way or another. There is nothing worse than being forced into idleness." He does not mention reinstating, nor her accomplishments. Not yet, anyway.
"Oh, I have learned some very bitter and powerful lessons from my mistakes, both personal and professional," Vanya assures Jandor. "The personal mistakes may or may not ever be repeated, but the professional ones most definitely will not. On that, you may rest most assured. Not, of course, that new mistakes may be made in future, since not everything regarding healing is an exacting science. However, I am confident enough in my skills to say those mistakes were learning experiences from which I took away a great deal of knowledge." She nods to him as he stands, herself lowering her leg and rising from the rock. "I should be getting back inside myself, since I'm meeting with a fellow student of dragon healing to go over some reading I did last night. He has been very instrumental in helping me understand the physiology of dragons, since he is a rider himself." She nods with respect to the healer. "It was nice to meet you, and I look forward to future discussions, and hopefully collaboration." As for his wishes, she smiles. "I'm sure they will be. There will doubtless be a newer and even more scandalous event sometime which will eclipse my own. That's been the pattern of things, so I've noticed." Another nod. "Good day to you, then, Journeyman Jandor. A pleasure to meet you."