Log: Swinging with Shanlee
RL: April 16, 2008.
VR: Day 16, month 1, Turn 16, of the Interval. It is a winter day.
(Desc and Zunaeth pros added to original log from Shanlee)
Leova and her mentor go visit a snowbound orchard and its swing. There is talk of betweening, and a special gift.
Orchards and Fields - High Reaches Hold (#2503RJa)
The orchards and fields of High Reaches Hold are some of the most beautiful on the planet. Because of the mountains, they are also some of the smallest. Every plateau available has been cultivated for crops, and some of the smaller hills have even been levelled to achieve more useable land. The hills to the east, nearer the stables, are used for grazing the animals. Orchards of cherry and apple trees, among others, line the river to the west. As the hills become steeper in the south, the vegetable plots become smaller, creating step-like gardens along the hillsides.
Three main paths lead through the countryside. The first heads north towards the River Road, the second leads south towards the Weyr Road, and the third leads east to the Stables.
It's been an easy afternoon's ride, what would ordinarily be a short flight made longer by various diversions: conifers made to lose their snow by the wind of low-flying wingbeats, a frozen waterfall to pass over three times, a smallholder out watering his cattle to wave at. The leafless orchards are their own attraction, though, and Vrianth isn't too sad about settling down for a landing. Especially since she managed to plant her rider smack in the middle of knee-deep, otherwise untouched snow. She warbles to Kaylith: look!
Shanlee's boots have barely touched ground and she's already breathing in the crisp wintry air as if it might be her last. The weyrling pair with her are almost forgotten for a split second as a small smile graces itself upon her mouth, a slow path taking her over toward the mighty tree that holds the swing. "It's at its best come spring. Trees full of apple blossoms, new grass soft underfoot," her light tone holding an almost whimsical note to it. She doesn't sit on the snow dusted swing, not just yet. Turning back to the other woman with an arm sweeping about, "So what do you think?" humor lifting out at Leova's knee-deep situation. Kaylith's return to Vrianth is an amused snort that lifts a small whirl of flakes upward. A gesture that would intimate - I know!
"Think it's hard to imagine what it's going to look like, right now," Leova calls back, still stranded on her dragon's neck. Which is tipping downward as Vrianth tries snorting several times like that too. Which would work better if the young dragon didn't then inhale the flakes blown upward, and cough, and get her rider patting her neck with more affection than sympathy. "Come here much?"
Interest colors Shanlee’s tone a brow peaking upward, “You’ve never seen seasons change from snowy winter to apple blossom spring?” But then there’s Leova still astride her green’s neck and the dragon herself inhaling cold snow. With a chuckle, “Perhaps you could get her to come more this way before dismounting?” fingers beckon to where she herself is situated on ground only lightly dusted with white. As to the last a small shrug follows the glance around the hibernating orchard, “About as much as any other place.”
"It's more like, there's just so much snow." Leova waves around her. All of that. "Running out of imagination." But she's also keeping an eye on Vrianth, who is spitting out snow, or rather what by now is snowmelt and a little extra dragon spit for good measure. Vrianth snorts again, but higher in the air, to keep from inhaling what she shouldn't and just to have her nose in the air, to boot. She crunches closer to where Kaylith had let Shanlee off, dragging her wingtips in the snow in long, purposeful furrows, and finally Leova gets to get down. "Should ask Milani about some taller boots, maybe. Not that I wouldn't have managed. But you know, it's nice when she doesn't make me have to." And that last she must be Vrianth, the way Leova looks at her so lovingly, and keeps looking as the green bounds off into the snow again.
Kaylith has already taken to scooping the snow forward with her muzzle until a great mound of the stuff is created. From there she separates out a decently sized heap and begins to patiently alternate between patting it with a forepaw and then rolling it about - a draconic style snowball in the making! Well almost, as it keeps getting flattened each time she tries what she's seen her rider do with the cold, wet stuff. Shanlee holds a leg out in front of her and gives her own almost knee-length boots a short study, "You'll definitely need longer ones when you start fighting thread," more practical advice than scare tactics. Gloves still to hands she turns back to the swing and sets about sweeping the snow off of it, "Heard you got your weyrs. Enjoying the independence?"
Seeing this, Vrianth slows as she approaches Kaylith and starts nosing snow her way. To try and help. As opposed to just sort of crushing it up together. << Why are we doing this? >> she thinks to ask. Meanwhile, her rider has boots to look at. "Do you wear those in 'Fall?" She reaches out towards all the straps and buckles, though not quite far enough to touch. "Fancy. And I am. Even got some furniture, even if it's all in a heap still. Should take care of that sometime," but her tone doesn't speak of great motivation. "Hoping people will get things out of their system, too, weyrs and all. Soon. How long did it take your class to settle down?"
With Vrianth nosing snow her way, Kaylith does the same and she ends up almost snout to snout with the younger green. Blink. << To do this! >> she backs up to where a semi-formed roughly ball shaped lump of snow sits and gives it a healthy whack with her tail. This then sails through the air and splatters in a shower of white against a tree trunk << Its fun! >>. The swing is wide and can easily accommodate two, which is what has Shanlee slipping over to one side to make room for Leova should she wish to join her. Sticking her leg out again, “Oh, no. I don’t wear these in fall. But something similar,” it drops back down once her mentee has had time to inspect them. A quizzical expression forms on the fine features, “Settle down and get things out of their system?”
Leova hesitates, then leans her knee on her side of swing, arm looping around its chain to balance herself so she can make a rude gesture with both hands. One quite suited to the stableyard, in fact. "That. And talking about it. And gossiping about it. And reminiscing about it. And on and on and between's coming, visualization drills are picking up. You know they don't always make it." Nothing like cheerful topics for a cheerful day. At least the dragons can be cheerful. Vrianth, who has played with snowballs before but not with Kaylith, tries to whack the same trunk. Unfortunately, it's far off. Very far off. To the point of hitting another tree. Maybe she meant to do that?
Both brows shoot upward at the gesture Leova makes and then Shanlee begins to chuckle and that then deepens into laughter that continues for a few moments. Finally mirth lessening the redhead’s head shakes from side to side in continued amusement, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I just didn’t expect you to use such a mode of communication. Her next words are accompanied by a slight wrinkling of nose and a semblance of sympathy, “I never did understand why people have to go on and on about it. You want it? Go get it and keep it to yourself if you ask me,” and she’s certainly no prude. All humor slips off and her boot tips that now dangle off the ground due to her deeper seat on the swing are suddenly given long study until quiety, “We lost one between in our class.” A look is tipped up to the weyrling, “Perhaps I’daur should take them up to the weyrling memorial and remind them just how serious betweening is!” That distant thump to trunk elicits a warble of approval from Kaylith who immediately sets about making another lump of her own.
As the dragons play, Leova leans her head against the chain and just watches Shanlee laugh, not without her own mouth turning up in something very near a smirk. "Easier to do when he lasts longer than two seconds." Bitter? No. Pleased? Also no. Still, when Shanlee's mood changes, she quiets too. "Weyrling memorial," angled into a question.
One of those greens carousing around in the snow is sent a scowl and as such Shanlee almost misses the smirk that precedes Leova’s comment. She first catches her lower lip between even teeth, ducks her head to hide the expression that had threatened and once she looks up there is etched simply a smirk in mirror of her mentee’s, “Try finding a real -man-?” she stresses the last with an impishly sly flash of green eyes. And then is only too happy to glide off a slippery slope of a topic with a small clearing of throat. Nodding somberly, “Aye. Big slab of rock up in the mountains. Got the bones of a weyrling and his dragon that didn’t make it to their destination when betweening and ended up stuck in a rock.” Blunt, but then the subject isn’t one to mollycoddle over to her mind.
"Yes. Well. Recommendations?" Leova folds her arms, the chain still caught in the crook of her elbow. Even more dry is her, "Very inspiring. Especially if it was someone you knew. I'daur, was he your weyrlingmaster, or did he show up later?"
Shanlee addresses the last first with an ironic, "Bit hard to identify from bones wouldn't you say?" Leova is given a sidelong lash lowered look of wiliness, "Heard the laundry girls talk of J'tin's...how to put it...attention to detail?" a smirk forms and deepens, "Then of course there's L'ron too. Or so I've heard," the greenrider's reputation likely already preceding him - all hearsay of course. Back to the Weyrlingmaster with a nod, "I think we were his first batch of headaches?"
"Depends on how fresh they were," Leova points out with more of that cheer she's so good at today. She repeats the two names Shanlee gives her, to show she's listening, but then just shrugs the chain-less shoulder. Moving back to the bones, "Got to be hard. Losing someone like that. I mean, hard if it's someone in your class. But also if you're in charge, you know? How did it happen?"
“Old,” Shanlee responds on the bones locked in stone. As Leova repeats the names she’d so flippantly handed out the weyrsecond looks set to say more with a short inhale of breath but instead lets it out slowly as brows crease together into a frown for the serious discussion at hand. “It’s bad enough losing a wingrider,” like T’wef, “but when it’s a weyrling? Don’t blame him for drinking like he does.” Hands set to either side of her on the worn wooden surface of the swing seat, and with an awkward roll of shoulder, “I don’t know. The rest of us all got through it. I mean...” pausing to remember or fix her tone to neutrality, “Zunaeth gives good images. Clear, you know?” sighing softly now, “I’daur wouldn’t talk about it. He’s gone.” Her tone giving it all a stroke of finality. Grasshopper mind or simply trying to edge away from a dark topic? Either way the redhead unbuttons the top few buttons on her flight jacket and pulls out a brown wrapped package. Holding it out to her mentee and looking strangely enough a little shy, “I didn’t know what you’d need in your weyr so figured something personal was likely better.”
Tucked beneath the layers of brown paper is a shawl knitted of the softest of Llama yarns that have been worked into a delicately lacy pattern. Colors graduate from pale amethyst to deep purple along its three edges. Each border has then been fringed and knotted in the lighter hues with small clear glass beads attached to add a subtle glint each time light catches them.
While Shanlee's explaining, Leova slides her knee off the swing and slowly sits, at an angle so she can use the chain for a backrest instead. Once she nods. Later she agrees. "He does. Very." It must stay with her, her expression still so somber. Still, she pulls up a smile when Shanlee pulls out that brown wrapping, one that makes it to her eyes at the other woman's tone. "You can come by, you know. Maybe next time? Ask Vrianth." Who had stopped playing a little while ago, and is now watching, though Leova doesn't look back. "Thank you." She starts unwrapping, very careful with the paper, only to sigh with surprised pleasure when she sees the lace. When she touches the lace. And those little beads.
There’s a moment of silence. Shared somberness for the Weyrlingmaster, lost weyrlings and the seriousness of betweening. Shanlee’s mouth curves into a smile of pleasure to meet Leova’s, fingers wiggling toward the shawl as the other woman exposes it, “I made it myself,” sounding apologetic for that. As to weyr visits her smile deepens, sparks a glance over to Kaylith who is still plowing snow up into banks and then back to her mentee, “I’d like that. Does it have a hearth?”
"Yourself?" It's soft, wondering. Leova finds an edge, carefully starts freeing the shawl from itself, opening up the triangle. "The colors. How did you do that? It must have taken you such time." The weyrling looks up. "Thank you." But then she's back to fingering the soft yarn with hands made smooth from so many Vrianth-oilings regardless of the other work she does. And what else had Shanlee said? "Oh. Hearth. Yes. By the lake." Now she does glance back at Vrianth, when she runs the back of her hand over the lace now. Threads a fold of it lightly between her fingers. Holds it up to the light then, to better see the pattern, until her green is satisfied.
Keeping her attention turned rather to the shawl then Leova’s face, Shanlee’s fingers edge in underneath her thighs as if hiding the hands that turned to such a domestic craft, “My family are Llama farmers. Mother taught us to spin, dye, knit and embroider with their fleece. Not nearly as good as weaver trained.” That must be where the apologetic tone must have come from. Now a hand frees itself and a finger points to a section where if one looks really carefully one yarn has been attached to another, “Its how mother dyes the yarns. She dips them?” not sure if the other woman is following her she turns instead back to talk of weyrs, “Good to have a hearth. And a view of the lake too?” that appears to impress and allows her to conveniently leave off the when and where of shawl knitting as she slides forward and slips off the swing.
"Did you spin it too? Or did your mother, you mean, your mother dyed it?" Leova's still struck, and she moves to wrap it about her shoulders, but then takes a second look at her riding jacket and reluctantly starts wrapping the shawl back up again. "Beautiful." As Shanlee moves off the swing, Leova watches her with a little confusion, but pulls her knee up to sit sideways and take up the rest of the rest the space. "And yes. Just what we wanted. Sort of nervous about its being the first one, but I guess some times you just have to jump."
“I did spin some when I was still at home. But this was done by mother. She’s always sending balls of yarn over, usually pinks,” a small shudder runs through the petite frame. From where attention had moved to Kaylith who now appears to be done re-arranging the snow it flickers back to Leova in time to catch her folding the item back up again. Small confusion shows up on Shanlee’s features, “The first one? First weyr?”
"Somehow I don't see you and pink," Leova says, picking up on that shudder. She slips the package into her jacket, now, careful to keep it near the front and not under her arm. "Right. Satiet took us to visit some of the ones that were open, so we could pick. And that one was first. Good big ledge, too." Vrianth prowls closer, past Kaylith, wings half shut at her sides. Gives the swing a nudge, watches Leova go, and just barely gets her muzzle out of the way before the swing heads her way on the return pass. Leova can't help but laugh. "Don't have to go, do we? Already?"
Shanlee's grin turns lopsided on the idea of her in pink, "Worn it once," a long finger held up, "since coming to the Weyr," just when is left out of the equation. Realization dawns, "Oh. I thought you were intending to move about from weyr to weyr. I don't know. Like maybe if you have carpet crawlers or something." Nodding on the size of ledges, "Aye, Kaylith's is pretty big too. But only the brave will visit," her smile turned enigmatic. Fine features scrumple into a regretful line for Leova's query, "I'm afraid I have to get back and finish off some hidework before the next wing meeting and..." pausing, "are you allowed to fly out of Weyr unaccompanied yet?" because that might solve the problem.
"When?" Leova has to ask, swinging, having to be careful so she doesn't thunk Vrianth with her boots either. "Oh. No. No weyr crawlers. And I can see that. Protective feline guardian and all," never mind the paint job. "And... you know, I don't know, but here. I'll ask." Her smile is suddenly bright: as easy as that to ask someone dragonlengths and dragonlengths away.
Zunaeth senses that Vrianth is suddenly there, very present, her thoughts immediate. She sends a swift image of snow and piled-up snow and a swing! and Leova's boots and Kaylith and, << Oh, Zunaeth. May we go back by ourselves? Kaylith must return quickly. >> Imagine the luxury of it all.
At Kaylith’s side now and looking set to mount up, Shanlee turns chin over shoulder and gives with a flat look, “Flight,” and leaves it at that. A light snort is uttered next as she reaches for straps on carpet crawlers, “Not me. You.” She’s astride her green now, waiting patiently between emerald neck ridges as Leova finds out the weyrling status on unaccompanied flights home.
At that look, Leova just can't help laughing, very low, half-hidden behind her hand. "Come on, Vrianth." She moves to slide off the swing as soon as her dragon lets her. "Tell you what, Shanlee: so you don't have to wait, how about we get going, and if he says yes along the way, you can hurry home. If it's drills, or whatever, he might be busy." And her smile broadens. "I suppose it would be wrong for you to leave us and come back after. Imagine how much Vrianth would like to see the Hold."
Shanlee's mutter in response to Leova's comment may or may not be heard by the weyrling, "Aye, funny. Wait until it's your turn," not teasing and distinctly disgruntled on that particular aspect of being a greenrider. Nodding in agreement and waving her hand in a circle for the other to mount up, "Let's be going then. I've time enough for a straight flight." There is however a wry twist of mouth for the young green's investigative nature.
Vrianth senses that Zunaeth has to consider that idea, slowly turning it over, almost roasting it over his heated thoughts. A few seconds later, though, he extends the tendrils of warmth toward the green, agreeing, << You know the way? Be careful, come straight back. >>
Whatever she does hear, it's enough to deflate at least some of the weyrling's humor. She's quick to scramble up to Vrianth, quick as Vrianth is to let her. Just as she's finishing the last strap, "He said yes!" Some pride there, for being trusted, in addition to the renewed excitement of going. And off they leap, Vrianth following Kaylith at first, then slowing into a glide to watch the older green vanish before they continue the long flight home.
Waiting was hard but worth it, Zunaeth's reply warming Vrianth with pride fit to melt a mountain's worth of snow. And the excitement of going, as ever, but mostly pride in being trusted so. << We will, >> she promises. And even mostly holds to it, following the mountain range upward, sending happy blips of images every so often along the way until they're home. Home at last. And soaking out the cold in the nice hot springs. (Vrianth to Zunaeth)
VR: Day 16, month 1, Turn 16, of the Interval. It is a winter day.
(Desc and Zunaeth pros added to original log from Shanlee)
Leova and her mentor go visit a snowbound orchard and its swing. There is talk of betweening, and a special gift.
Orchards and Fields - High Reaches Hold (#2503RJa)
The orchards and fields of High Reaches Hold are some of the most beautiful on the planet. Because of the mountains, they are also some of the smallest. Every plateau available has been cultivated for crops, and some of the smaller hills have even been levelled to achieve more useable land. The hills to the east, nearer the stables, are used for grazing the animals. Orchards of cherry and apple trees, among others, line the river to the west. As the hills become steeper in the south, the vegetable plots become smaller, creating step-like gardens along the hillsides.
Three main paths lead through the countryside. The first heads north towards the River Road, the second leads south towards the Weyr Road, and the third leads east to the Stables.
It's been an easy afternoon's ride, what would ordinarily be a short flight made longer by various diversions: conifers made to lose their snow by the wind of low-flying wingbeats, a frozen waterfall to pass over three times, a smallholder out watering his cattle to wave at. The leafless orchards are their own attraction, though, and Vrianth isn't too sad about settling down for a landing. Especially since she managed to plant her rider smack in the middle of knee-deep, otherwise untouched snow. She warbles to Kaylith: look!
Shanlee's boots have barely touched ground and she's already breathing in the crisp wintry air as if it might be her last. The weyrling pair with her are almost forgotten for a split second as a small smile graces itself upon her mouth, a slow path taking her over toward the mighty tree that holds the swing. "It's at its best come spring. Trees full of apple blossoms, new grass soft underfoot," her light tone holding an almost whimsical note to it. She doesn't sit on the snow dusted swing, not just yet. Turning back to the other woman with an arm sweeping about, "So what do you think?" humor lifting out at Leova's knee-deep situation. Kaylith's return to Vrianth is an amused snort that lifts a small whirl of flakes upward. A gesture that would intimate - I know!
"Think it's hard to imagine what it's going to look like, right now," Leova calls back, still stranded on her dragon's neck. Which is tipping downward as Vrianth tries snorting several times like that too. Which would work better if the young dragon didn't then inhale the flakes blown upward, and cough, and get her rider patting her neck with more affection than sympathy. "Come here much?"
Interest colors Shanlee’s tone a brow peaking upward, “You’ve never seen seasons change from snowy winter to apple blossom spring?” But then there’s Leova still astride her green’s neck and the dragon herself inhaling cold snow. With a chuckle, “Perhaps you could get her to come more this way before dismounting?” fingers beckon to where she herself is situated on ground only lightly dusted with white. As to the last a small shrug follows the glance around the hibernating orchard, “About as much as any other place.”
"It's more like, there's just so much snow." Leova waves around her. All of that. "Running out of imagination." But she's also keeping an eye on Vrianth, who is spitting out snow, or rather what by now is snowmelt and a little extra dragon spit for good measure. Vrianth snorts again, but higher in the air, to keep from inhaling what she shouldn't and just to have her nose in the air, to boot. She crunches closer to where Kaylith had let Shanlee off, dragging her wingtips in the snow in long, purposeful furrows, and finally Leova gets to get down. "Should ask Milani about some taller boots, maybe. Not that I wouldn't have managed. But you know, it's nice when she doesn't make me have to." And that last she must be Vrianth, the way Leova looks at her so lovingly, and keeps looking as the green bounds off into the snow again.
Kaylith has already taken to scooping the snow forward with her muzzle until a great mound of the stuff is created. From there she separates out a decently sized heap and begins to patiently alternate between patting it with a forepaw and then rolling it about - a draconic style snowball in the making! Well almost, as it keeps getting flattened each time she tries what she's seen her rider do with the cold, wet stuff. Shanlee holds a leg out in front of her and gives her own almost knee-length boots a short study, "You'll definitely need longer ones when you start fighting thread," more practical advice than scare tactics. Gloves still to hands she turns back to the swing and sets about sweeping the snow off of it, "Heard you got your weyrs. Enjoying the independence?"
Seeing this, Vrianth slows as she approaches Kaylith and starts nosing snow her way. To try and help. As opposed to just sort of crushing it up together. << Why are we doing this? >> she thinks to ask. Meanwhile, her rider has boots to look at. "Do you wear those in 'Fall?" She reaches out towards all the straps and buckles, though not quite far enough to touch. "Fancy. And I am. Even got some furniture, even if it's all in a heap still. Should take care of that sometime," but her tone doesn't speak of great motivation. "Hoping people will get things out of their system, too, weyrs and all. Soon. How long did it take your class to settle down?"
With Vrianth nosing snow her way, Kaylith does the same and she ends up almost snout to snout with the younger green. Blink. << To do this! >> she backs up to where a semi-formed roughly ball shaped lump of snow sits and gives it a healthy whack with her tail. This then sails through the air and splatters in a shower of white against a tree trunk << Its fun! >>. The swing is wide and can easily accommodate two, which is what has Shanlee slipping over to one side to make room for Leova should she wish to join her. Sticking her leg out again, “Oh, no. I don’t wear these in fall. But something similar,” it drops back down once her mentee has had time to inspect them. A quizzical expression forms on the fine features, “Settle down and get things out of their system?”
Leova hesitates, then leans her knee on her side of swing, arm looping around its chain to balance herself so she can make a rude gesture with both hands. One quite suited to the stableyard, in fact. "That. And talking about it. And gossiping about it. And reminiscing about it. And on and on and between's coming, visualization drills are picking up. You know they don't always make it." Nothing like cheerful topics for a cheerful day. At least the dragons can be cheerful. Vrianth, who has played with snowballs before but not with Kaylith, tries to whack the same trunk. Unfortunately, it's far off. Very far off. To the point of hitting another tree. Maybe she meant to do that?
Both brows shoot upward at the gesture Leova makes and then Shanlee begins to chuckle and that then deepens into laughter that continues for a few moments. Finally mirth lessening the redhead’s head shakes from side to side in continued amusement, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. I just didn’t expect you to use such a mode of communication. Her next words are accompanied by a slight wrinkling of nose and a semblance of sympathy, “I never did understand why people have to go on and on about it. You want it? Go get it and keep it to yourself if you ask me,” and she’s certainly no prude. All humor slips off and her boot tips that now dangle off the ground due to her deeper seat on the swing are suddenly given long study until quiety, “We lost one between in our class.” A look is tipped up to the weyrling, “Perhaps I’daur should take them up to the weyrling memorial and remind them just how serious betweening is!” That distant thump to trunk elicits a warble of approval from Kaylith who immediately sets about making another lump of her own.
As the dragons play, Leova leans her head against the chain and just watches Shanlee laugh, not without her own mouth turning up in something very near a smirk. "Easier to do when he lasts longer than two seconds." Bitter? No. Pleased? Also no. Still, when Shanlee's mood changes, she quiets too. "Weyrling memorial," angled into a question.
One of those greens carousing around in the snow is sent a scowl and as such Shanlee almost misses the smirk that precedes Leova’s comment. She first catches her lower lip between even teeth, ducks her head to hide the expression that had threatened and once she looks up there is etched simply a smirk in mirror of her mentee’s, “Try finding a real -man-?” she stresses the last with an impishly sly flash of green eyes. And then is only too happy to glide off a slippery slope of a topic with a small clearing of throat. Nodding somberly, “Aye. Big slab of rock up in the mountains. Got the bones of a weyrling and his dragon that didn’t make it to their destination when betweening and ended up stuck in a rock.” Blunt, but then the subject isn’t one to mollycoddle over to her mind.
"Yes. Well. Recommendations?" Leova folds her arms, the chain still caught in the crook of her elbow. Even more dry is her, "Very inspiring. Especially if it was someone you knew. I'daur, was he your weyrlingmaster, or did he show up later?"
Shanlee addresses the last first with an ironic, "Bit hard to identify from bones wouldn't you say?" Leova is given a sidelong lash lowered look of wiliness, "Heard the laundry girls talk of J'tin's...how to put it...attention to detail?" a smirk forms and deepens, "Then of course there's L'ron too. Or so I've heard," the greenrider's reputation likely already preceding him - all hearsay of course. Back to the Weyrlingmaster with a nod, "I think we were his first batch of headaches?"
"Depends on how fresh they were," Leova points out with more of that cheer she's so good at today. She repeats the two names Shanlee gives her, to show she's listening, but then just shrugs the chain-less shoulder. Moving back to the bones, "Got to be hard. Losing someone like that. I mean, hard if it's someone in your class. But also if you're in charge, you know? How did it happen?"
“Old,” Shanlee responds on the bones locked in stone. As Leova repeats the names she’d so flippantly handed out the weyrsecond looks set to say more with a short inhale of breath but instead lets it out slowly as brows crease together into a frown for the serious discussion at hand. “It’s bad enough losing a wingrider,” like T’wef, “but when it’s a weyrling? Don’t blame him for drinking like he does.” Hands set to either side of her on the worn wooden surface of the swing seat, and with an awkward roll of shoulder, “I don’t know. The rest of us all got through it. I mean...” pausing to remember or fix her tone to neutrality, “Zunaeth gives good images. Clear, you know?” sighing softly now, “I’daur wouldn’t talk about it. He’s gone.” Her tone giving it all a stroke of finality. Grasshopper mind or simply trying to edge away from a dark topic? Either way the redhead unbuttons the top few buttons on her flight jacket and pulls out a brown wrapped package. Holding it out to her mentee and looking strangely enough a little shy, “I didn’t know what you’d need in your weyr so figured something personal was likely better.”
Tucked beneath the layers of brown paper is a shawl knitted of the softest of Llama yarns that have been worked into a delicately lacy pattern. Colors graduate from pale amethyst to deep purple along its three edges. Each border has then been fringed and knotted in the lighter hues with small clear glass beads attached to add a subtle glint each time light catches them.
While Shanlee's explaining, Leova slides her knee off the swing and slowly sits, at an angle so she can use the chain for a backrest instead. Once she nods. Later she agrees. "He does. Very." It must stay with her, her expression still so somber. Still, she pulls up a smile when Shanlee pulls out that brown wrapping, one that makes it to her eyes at the other woman's tone. "You can come by, you know. Maybe next time? Ask Vrianth." Who had stopped playing a little while ago, and is now watching, though Leova doesn't look back. "Thank you." She starts unwrapping, very careful with the paper, only to sigh with surprised pleasure when she sees the lace. When she touches the lace. And those little beads.
There’s a moment of silence. Shared somberness for the Weyrlingmaster, lost weyrlings and the seriousness of betweening. Shanlee’s mouth curves into a smile of pleasure to meet Leova’s, fingers wiggling toward the shawl as the other woman exposes it, “I made it myself,” sounding apologetic for that. As to weyr visits her smile deepens, sparks a glance over to Kaylith who is still plowing snow up into banks and then back to her mentee, “I’d like that. Does it have a hearth?”
"Yourself?" It's soft, wondering. Leova finds an edge, carefully starts freeing the shawl from itself, opening up the triangle. "The colors. How did you do that? It must have taken you such time." The weyrling looks up. "Thank you." But then she's back to fingering the soft yarn with hands made smooth from so many Vrianth-oilings regardless of the other work she does. And what else had Shanlee said? "Oh. Hearth. Yes. By the lake." Now she does glance back at Vrianth, when she runs the back of her hand over the lace now. Threads a fold of it lightly between her fingers. Holds it up to the light then, to better see the pattern, until her green is satisfied.
Keeping her attention turned rather to the shawl then Leova’s face, Shanlee’s fingers edge in underneath her thighs as if hiding the hands that turned to such a domestic craft, “My family are Llama farmers. Mother taught us to spin, dye, knit and embroider with their fleece. Not nearly as good as weaver trained.” That must be where the apologetic tone must have come from. Now a hand frees itself and a finger points to a section where if one looks really carefully one yarn has been attached to another, “Its how mother dyes the yarns. She dips them?” not sure if the other woman is following her she turns instead back to talk of weyrs, “Good to have a hearth. And a view of the lake too?” that appears to impress and allows her to conveniently leave off the when and where of shawl knitting as she slides forward and slips off the swing.
"Did you spin it too? Or did your mother, you mean, your mother dyed it?" Leova's still struck, and she moves to wrap it about her shoulders, but then takes a second look at her riding jacket and reluctantly starts wrapping the shawl back up again. "Beautiful." As Shanlee moves off the swing, Leova watches her with a little confusion, but pulls her knee up to sit sideways and take up the rest of the rest the space. "And yes. Just what we wanted. Sort of nervous about its being the first one, but I guess some times you just have to jump."
“I did spin some when I was still at home. But this was done by mother. She’s always sending balls of yarn over, usually pinks,” a small shudder runs through the petite frame. From where attention had moved to Kaylith who now appears to be done re-arranging the snow it flickers back to Leova in time to catch her folding the item back up again. Small confusion shows up on Shanlee’s features, “The first one? First weyr?”
"Somehow I don't see you and pink," Leova says, picking up on that shudder. She slips the package into her jacket, now, careful to keep it near the front and not under her arm. "Right. Satiet took us to visit some of the ones that were open, so we could pick. And that one was first. Good big ledge, too." Vrianth prowls closer, past Kaylith, wings half shut at her sides. Gives the swing a nudge, watches Leova go, and just barely gets her muzzle out of the way before the swing heads her way on the return pass. Leova can't help but laugh. "Don't have to go, do we? Already?"
Shanlee's grin turns lopsided on the idea of her in pink, "Worn it once," a long finger held up, "since coming to the Weyr," just when is left out of the equation. Realization dawns, "Oh. I thought you were intending to move about from weyr to weyr. I don't know. Like maybe if you have carpet crawlers or something." Nodding on the size of ledges, "Aye, Kaylith's is pretty big too. But only the brave will visit," her smile turned enigmatic. Fine features scrumple into a regretful line for Leova's query, "I'm afraid I have to get back and finish off some hidework before the next wing meeting and..." pausing, "are you allowed to fly out of Weyr unaccompanied yet?" because that might solve the problem.
"When?" Leova has to ask, swinging, having to be careful so she doesn't thunk Vrianth with her boots either. "Oh. No. No weyr crawlers. And I can see that. Protective feline guardian and all," never mind the paint job. "And... you know, I don't know, but here. I'll ask." Her smile is suddenly bright: as easy as that to ask someone dragonlengths and dragonlengths away.
Zunaeth senses that Vrianth is suddenly there, very present, her thoughts immediate. She sends a swift image of snow and piled-up snow and a swing! and Leova's boots and Kaylith and, << Oh, Zunaeth. May we go back by ourselves? Kaylith must return quickly. >> Imagine the luxury of it all.
At Kaylith’s side now and looking set to mount up, Shanlee turns chin over shoulder and gives with a flat look, “Flight,” and leaves it at that. A light snort is uttered next as she reaches for straps on carpet crawlers, “Not me. You.” She’s astride her green now, waiting patiently between emerald neck ridges as Leova finds out the weyrling status on unaccompanied flights home.
At that look, Leova just can't help laughing, very low, half-hidden behind her hand. "Come on, Vrianth." She moves to slide off the swing as soon as her dragon lets her. "Tell you what, Shanlee: so you don't have to wait, how about we get going, and if he says yes along the way, you can hurry home. If it's drills, or whatever, he might be busy." And her smile broadens. "I suppose it would be wrong for you to leave us and come back after. Imagine how much Vrianth would like to see the Hold."
Shanlee's mutter in response to Leova's comment may or may not be heard by the weyrling, "Aye, funny. Wait until it's your turn," not teasing and distinctly disgruntled on that particular aspect of being a greenrider. Nodding in agreement and waving her hand in a circle for the other to mount up, "Let's be going then. I've time enough for a straight flight." There is however a wry twist of mouth for the young green's investigative nature.
Vrianth senses that Zunaeth has to consider that idea, slowly turning it over, almost roasting it over his heated thoughts. A few seconds later, though, he extends the tendrils of warmth toward the green, agreeing, << You know the way? Be careful, come straight back. >>
Whatever she does hear, it's enough to deflate at least some of the weyrling's humor. She's quick to scramble up to Vrianth, quick as Vrianth is to let her. Just as she's finishing the last strap, "He said yes!" Some pride there, for being trusted, in addition to the renewed excitement of going. And off they leap, Vrianth following Kaylith at first, then slowing into a glide to watch the older green vanish before they continue the long flight home.
Waiting was hard but worth it, Zunaeth's reply warming Vrianth with pride fit to melt a mountain's worth of snow. And the excitement of going, as ever, but mostly pride in being trusted so. << We will, >> she promises. And even mostly holds to it, following the mountain range upward, sending happy blips of images every so often along the way until they're home. Home at last. And soaking out the cold in the nice hot springs. (Vrianth to Zunaeth)