Wine Dark Sky

The young man's thin lips quirked into a smile again at the Healer's apparently enthusiasm for hearing about what he did. Of course, Lymsleia was not the first woman to be enchanted by beautiful trinkets, and Allendris felt it wasn't too arrogant for him to say that it his work in particular had been very popular among their female patrons. If only he had something to show the girl... that quality of work would be impossible here at Katila. Indeed, it was impossible anywhere but in the crafthalls of Ista, as far as he was concerned. "Yes," Allendris answered, amused and perhaps a little flattered by the girl's intent curiousity, but finding the question not unlike one a child would make. Well, he reminded himself, he hadn't known much more than that about glass before he'd begun his apprenticeship, either. "But we can't use just any sand. It needs to be very pure. The best is from Ista, of course."

"Of course it depends on your purposes," he admitted, leaning back from the fire as he thought a moment on the various mineral properties of the scant sand he'd seen in the southern continent so far. Common beach sand would not result in a quality product, but then very few things at this Katila Weyr were quality products. The living here was crude, and if he were to fashion a slightly off-colored or brittle piece of work, he doubted anyone would notice over the various other inconveniences the weyrfolk endured on a daily basis. Perhaps this girl was more clever than he'd given her credit for...

But then, there was still one problem. "I just don't have the equipment," the glass-smith concluded with a sigh, and the hopeful light of excitement that had begun to dawn in brown eyes faded again, overshadowed by the harsh reality that he was stick here and without a job until some dragonrider took pity on him enough to steal him a glass-pipe.

The transition in topic caught Allendris by surprise, though mercifully off the subject of the work he already missed so much. "Offspring?" he repeated, for a moment unable to make the connection between the mother and himself, until it dawned on him that Lymsleia was referring to the coming Hatching. The one they had both been taken from their homes for. He coughed quietly, and answered her honestly. "I'm not sure. I still know so little about the weyr and its dragons, I don't even know what to look forward to..."