06.Jan.14, 02:39 PM
Sennia hit the edge of the small landing clearing, noting the direction she was going so they’d not get lost, before starting her trek through the brush. It wasn’t particularly cluttered and most of the vegetation was in dormancy. This would make finding the numbweed and needlethorn bushes especially easy. If they were lucky, they might even stumble on some klah trees. Getting such a haul would not only be useful for medical reasons, but klah was always a welcomed gather. These things were something the former farmer was well versed in finding. She took an almost casual air about her in the forest. This was easy, relaxing, and there wasn’t anyone around to judge her. Subconsciously, she was already carrying herself straighter than she did in the weyr. Her eyes didn’t have a tendency to stare at the ground. Rather, she was looking at everything with open, unbridled curiosity. This would be the most relaxed anyone that knew her could say she was.
Gathering she knew. Dragons, weyrlife – all of that was still being figured out.
The chill was the best time to gather needlethorn. The bush wouldn’t shoot out its poisonous load while dormant and much of the leaves growing around them would have been shed. Easier to find and even easier to gather.
Sennia mused on his remark about her name day. She didn’t have to look back at him to know he’d be making some sort of facial expression to suggest that company might be less than innocent. She saved herself the tinge of embarrassment such a smirk would prompt by watching the path she was picking through the forest. “No, no. I’ll probably go out on my own like I usually do.” It sounded lame even to her after she said it. So many people in the weyr that celebrated life and the events that came with it. And Sennia would be wandering off on her own. Rather typical, to be truthful. Who would she spend it with anyways? S’bel? The idea he’d be the sort to cater to such a personal holiday was amusing.
Which made her frown. Sennia shrugged a shoulder, shaking off the thoughts as she paused by a promising cluster of bramble. It was easy to find for the twiggy growth, though the thorny greenery had been shed for the cold. Some pear-shaped leaves clung to the gray-green branches. It would be easiest to pick now that she could see the thorns and the leaves, scattered around the clump of brush, provided a cushioned place to kneel. Sennia set her sack to the side and began the task of twisting off the still supple branches. They’d be gathered now and boiled down to a salve back at the weyr. “What do you do you do for your name day?” Seemed a good way to steer off from her lack of social life. Surely S’bel had one they could talk about.
Gathering she knew. Dragons, weyrlife – all of that was still being figured out.
The chill was the best time to gather needlethorn. The bush wouldn’t shoot out its poisonous load while dormant and much of the leaves growing around them would have been shed. Easier to find and even easier to gather.
Sennia mused on his remark about her name day. She didn’t have to look back at him to know he’d be making some sort of facial expression to suggest that company might be less than innocent. She saved herself the tinge of embarrassment such a smirk would prompt by watching the path she was picking through the forest. “No, no. I’ll probably go out on my own like I usually do.” It sounded lame even to her after she said it. So many people in the weyr that celebrated life and the events that came with it. And Sennia would be wandering off on her own. Rather typical, to be truthful. Who would she spend it with anyways? S’bel? The idea he’d be the sort to cater to such a personal holiday was amusing.
Which made her frown. Sennia shrugged a shoulder, shaking off the thoughts as she paused by a promising cluster of bramble. It was easy to find for the twiggy growth, though the thorny greenery had been shed for the cold. Some pear-shaped leaves clung to the gray-green branches. It would be easiest to pick now that she could see the thorns and the leaves, scattered around the clump of brush, provided a cushioned place to kneel. Sennia set her sack to the side and began the task of twisting off the still supple branches. They’d be gathered now and boiled down to a salve back at the weyr. “What do you do you do for your name day?” Seemed a good way to steer off from her lack of social life. Surely S’bel had one they could talk about.
Come along now, come along with me