[G] [P] 734.11.13 | Devil in the Details

Peorray stood with hands on hips and surveyed her surroundings thoughtfully. The storeroom was in a state of cluttered mess- half the things in it still packed up from the last move, and half either being used or having been poked into piecemeal as people began to realize that the move was close and they needed one last thing.

It was somewhat funny from the perspective of one who wasn't going, to watch the rest of the Weyr flutter about like headless chickens. But it was also a remainder that she wasn't going with them, and she wasn't sure how she felt about that yet. So she did what she always did when so conflicted, and sought out work to keep her busy. It might not solve the original problem, but at least the distraction usually made her feel accomplished about something.

Today, her task was to try and sort out which supplies were destined for Telgar and which stayed here, and to make sure each were labeled clearly in an attempt to see that they actually saw their proper destination some time this decade. She'd been assured of help and quickly discovered she'd need it as she bent to peer at the tag already on one of the boxes. Her reading had vastly improved since coming to Katila, but the sloppier handwriting styles still gave her trouble. "This chicken-scratch is worse than mine- how do they expect anyone to read this?" She demanded of the air around her, annoyed at the nameless offender.

N'mor, weyrling of bronze Rhezalth

At almost twenty feet long, Rhezalth was becoming far bigger than N’mor was prepared for, and the dragonet was still growing – though he greatly disliked the baby term, and insisted that he was a dragon, thank you very much. The young rider-to-be smiled gently as he walked. With his thirteenth birthday looming in the upcoming year, N’mor had fallen headfirst into puberty, something that made the youngster feel even more awkward than he had already been feeling with the loss of his right arm.

Walking smartly, N’mor approached the area he was supposed to be assisting in – there were undoubtedly some rather lacklustre aspects to being a Weyrling – and looked around for whomever was in charge. It wasn’t long before he was marked off as arriving (his father was hardly stupid and had required all his class actually sign off.) and was pointed in the direction of where he’d be working. His eyebrows arched upward slightly as he noted Wydrith not far away, and he felt Rhezalth perk up with interest.

Leaving his dragon alone to harass Wydrith (I would never harass her!) N’mor trooped inside and glanced around before spotting the other weyrling, though surely she was close to graduation by now. Brushing his too-long hair out of his eyes with his right hand, N’mor finished approaching the woman, peering around her at the parchment as she grumbled.

“Judging by the lack of spelling, they don’t,” he answered wryly, less than impressed by the author’s attempt at spelling some rather every-day words. Of course, his attitude could be more than expected as the sun of a Harper as arrogant as B’jin; the greenrider had been sure his children excelled in writing and reading, even if he was less interested in their other areas of study. The fact that N’mor could count was of no thanks to B’jin!