The Ebb & Flow [Open]

Lymsleia had managed to haul a small horde of food back to the Healer's hall, to replenish her 'stock'. Today she was disseminating the food, to a few of the patients in her care- mostly younger children.

"You've done really well." she said to a little girl as she handed her a bright yellow fruit. "See it doesn't hurt quiet so much now, does it?" she gestures to the stitches she'd managed to place in the girl's leg, closing a nasty gash. Lymsleia herself  had washed her hands twice before and after touch the tools and fruit, and rubbed her hands. They were so dry. "Lym!" Fayleri's voice made Lymselia turn around to the Weaver-candidate. "Remeber that shirt you asked me to fix?" The dark skinned woman nodded, trying to avoid a direct starring at the other female candidate.

"Yes," Lymsleia said calmly. "I did ask you fix, it. I think It'll be the last time I use it to hold an open wound likea turniquet." she growled. The shirt had been a quick fix for an injured person, one of her few 'favorite' things from her old life.

"Why?" The weaver,Fayleri held up the mended shirt. The fix was brilliant and  Lymsleia had ripped shirt along the seams making it an east fix. "Thank you,Fayl!" Lymsleia said exitedly as she grabbed the shirt. "Sorry I can't actually pay you in marks. The Economy's a bit... rough." she said quietly. Fayleri nodded. "Not a problem." the other woman waved off the payment. "Don't worry." She handed the shirt over and Lymsleia took it and folded it, and put away, where it could hopefully not get mixed with the linen scraps for binding wounds.

  Lymsleia sank down to the small hearth, her back to the  warmth of the fire. She returned to the one measly scrape she'd found on dragon anatomy in the archives. Nothing big, but it was something to pour over until she could find other sources of information on dragon biology and physiology.

Breccan had no idea what to do with herself. Her chores had been satisfactorily completed for the day -she had the pin-pricks in her fingers to prove it- but she didn't know Katila well enough to presume to find something she could do. More importantly, she wasn't well-known enough here to be trusted with extra duties. Anyone would accept help willingly enough, but she missed Healer. There, just the sight of her blonde head bobbing past a door usually earned her a call: Breccan, thank the first shell, could you give me a hand with this?

Instead, she was at loose ends, nothing more than a pair of idle hands. She toyed with the idea of swimming, and found it pleasant enough. Autumn meant things were cooling down, but it wasn't so cool that she'd stay out of the water. There'd be time enough for a dry life in winter. Swimming it was then, but she had a more pressing task to attend to first. Asking for directions gave her an excuse to make a few acquaintances, and she'd used that opportunity as much as could be expected. By now she was starting to get sideways looks, and truth be told, she was sick of asking where this was, and where that was. She knew the Candidate Isle inside out -a long, stubborn stay had ensured that- but she didn't know the purpose of all the huts arrayed around the Square. There weren't so many left to investigate, and she resolved to meet that private goal today.

That lead her steps to the Healing Hall. Stepping inside resulted in a warm burst of pleasure. Familiarity! The rest of Katila had it in some measure, being so like to her native Ista, but here was where she really considered home. Taking in a deep breath, she absorbed the familiar smells: numbweed, redwort solution, the faint smell of the sick. Perhaps some found those scents threatening, but they brought back her time at Healer in a rush. Almost distantly, she realized just how homesick she was. That was foolish, she knew. It did nothing to either improve her position here nor get her back there, but she couldn't do anything about it. For the moment, she was set adrift by that sudden hard clenching in her gut, the longing.

The moment passed. Breccan had spent a lifetime mastering her emotions, and that practice stood her in good stead now. And then a woman shouting a familiar name ruined all her hard work. The girl addressed was just as Breccan remembered her, dark-skinned, a little shorter and younger than herself. For the moment, Breccan remained where she was, by the door, watching the little exchange. She couldn't hear all of it, but it looked like Lymsleia was comfortable enough here. She wondered how long she'd been down here. Breccan's own early promotion to Journeyman had sent her away from Healer, and she had quickly lost touch with those she'd known there. It had been, what, five turns since she'd last seen this girl? Watching her easy familiarity with the people here, with the surroundings, she had to guess Lym had been here at least a turn, maybe more.

She waited quietly, unnoticed, as the two women completed their business and Lym walked off alone, settling down near the fireplace. That was as good an opening as any, and Breccan moved over to join her, dropping smoothly to a cross-legged position across from her. "Hello, Lym," she greeted the girl with a crooked half-smile, "Looks like they got you too. And before me."

Her smile widened fractionally, becoming more friendly than wry. Brec's grey eyes flickered over the contents of Lymsleia's hands, a scroll of some variety. It looked like the girl was accepted well enough in the little hall, and doing some sort of research besides. Breccan could almost have been jealous. Then again, Lymsleia probably hadn't spent weeks on the Candidate Isle.

The small scrap of dragon anatomy she found had been set aside on her desk, as she pulled out a cup of juice and drank it slowly.  She inhaled and exhaled a few times, and then someone called her name. It jolted her and she toppled backwards towards the flame, though she managed to right herself and the chair in te nick of time. "aHH!" she griped the bottom of the chair, and looked like a frazzled feline.

Her dark locks tussled and her unusual eyes widen with shock. The whites clearly visible, which made the blue and grey iris dialate. "Hah... I didn't see you.. ahh.." Lymsleia struggled with the names of people. The face was somewhat familar. Older, Healer Hall, those two things stood out in her mind. She closed her eyes. She'd be an anomaly at the hall-easy to spot. But this girl with her pale hair and face, gave her pause. She tried to work through it. "Breean. Beca..... Breccan." she said finally as the name spilled from her lips  and she made a connection. "They did.  And they've been a wonderful people to me." she stretched her fingers out. "I've been a bit busy wit new edict." she gestured to a small stack of parchment weighted down by a  rock. "Births,  and pregnancies are sort of rising." she murmurs. "Its been..." she stood up  and walked around the small desk.

"Five years?" she set the scroll down for she'd realised she had been clutching it tightly.  "I've been trying to keep my sanity. Eggs on the sands, pregnancies on the rise... not enough hands. " She extended her arms for a hug. "I missed you." she murmured. "Five years is a long time not to write. I turned nineteen in spring." she announces. Five years had been far to long. She found her hands fiddling with the edge of the scroll. "Sr. Journeywoman, now are you? Welcome to Katila. The last place were dragons roam." she gestured above their heads. "Who knew..., I was swiped from the hall,actually. Well sort of."

Breccan tactfully hid her amusement when shock nearly sent the other girl to the floor. Instead, she settled for a small smile, waiting patiently as Lym struggled to remember her name. From what she remembered, the other girl had never been great with names; she didn't take it personally. Moments later, her patience was rewarded, and she smiled to be remembered.

The smile faltered when Lym claimed they'd been wonderful to her. She remembered some teasing at the Healer Hall about the girl's eyes, some silliness like that. Had Lymsleia taken that so personally that she now felt more comfortable here than she had at Fort? Surely not. Surely this was all some front, and she was planning on returning if she could. She had had a deft touch with women, Brec remembered, specializing in pregnancies or some such. Those were useful skills anywhere. Surely she hadn't been so undervalued up north that she felt she had more worth here?

Breccan was content to listen, sure that she would learn more that way than with questions. Lymsleia kept up a warm flow of talk, and Breccan accepted the hug willingly enough. She liked to be touched; it made her feel a little more stable to share the gesture. "I missed you as well. Writing kind of...got put to the side when I started Journeying. If it helps, I didn't write to anyone," she added a breath of amusement in her last statement, "For some reason it's strange that you aren't fourteen anymore." That made her grin as well. Obviously the girl would be older five turns later. Somehow it was just a shock to see it.

"Not senior just yet. I'm a ways away from the ten-turn mark. Sakes, Lym, I'm only twenty-one," she snorted, amused. She tilted her head slightly, curiosity evident all over her face. "You seem pretty comfortable here. How long ago were you taken?" she had to ask.

Lymsleia allowed her acasual parusal of the other young woman to wane. She exhaled. Healer -Hall and five years seperated them in learning, but Lymsleia for her time at the hall had found Breccan to be a decent friend. She smiled. "I am sorry, its been so long since I've seen you." she says weakly. She walks behind the table and disappears. "Tea? I've got some, fresh herbs and we could catch up?"

Letting the small fire's light play with the shadows in the younger  Healer, heads to fetch a kettle and some water. When she returns she sets it carefully over the flame. She sank into the chair. "You started journeying and have a lot more experience than I, Brec. I only just got my knots, and I was stolen before Turn's End." she explains. "Because I came down here and they were celebrating the New Year, or maybe it was mid-turn for us and turn-over- for them.." she smiled at the thought. "I guess, its a bit confusing when you start to think about it. And I am comfortable here... mostly. Minus the new edict." she mutters darkly.

"This place is a fresh breeze. I can treat women, and not have to have husband's asking me to make sure their wives- or.. First Egg forbid, mistress, bear them a a kid. I had come back to the hall after one of those circuits. A short one, because I needed a few herbs that only the hall had." she explain, motioning to her back, and it was clearly herbs that were more toxic or harder to get. "I must have been slipped something, though I can't say by who, since the taste of the tea was strong." she closed her eyes blinking a few times at the thought of that tea. "Felis maybe, but who ever it was- they needed a knowledge of herbs. Enough to knock me out, move me, and get me to a dragon and drag me here. Without being noticed or seen." she harmphs.

The high pitched whistle of the tea pot reminded her of the water. "Sorry, I didn't mean to muse like that."

"Please," Breccan accepted the offer comfortably. Healer teas were always different, and she found they said quite a bit about the one brewing. She had to wonder what sort of mix Lym would choose to brew, and why. Perhaps something calming, or invigorating, since she'd said she had been busy recently. Either way, Breccan was content to take a seat near the fire, relishing the heat even on the warm day.

She waited patiently as the younger girl bustled about, and finally regained her seat. "So you have been here a while," she stated mildly, with no further inflection, "What is this new edict? I'm afraid I haven't been long out of confinement on the Isle. I don't know much about Katila's goings-on." She probed for information with interest, wondering what sort of edict could have any real effect on Lym. What would make her more busy, but also earn such a negative reaction? Perhaps they were stepping up construction efforts, or some such, something that would send more injuries to the Hall. That didn't seem so bad to Brec, but she really didn't know enough.

Breccan's eyebrows creeped up her forehead. Drugged? That was a bold move by the riders. She had been taken in her sleep, and drugged as well, but by her own hand. Occasionally she was troubled by bouts of insomnia, and took fellis to get something like natural rest. It had just been bad luck -or very good luck, for the rider- that those two circumstances had happened simultaneously. She guessed she was one of the easiest kidnappings ever accomplished. All she'd managed to do was insist blearily that she was going to jump off before simply falling back to sleep. Pathetic. Still, drugging a Healer was a bold move. Healers were the most likely to recognize a particular drug and its intended effects by taste or smell alone. Sure, drugging a Tanner or a Farmer was an excellent idea. It just surprised her that they'd used that tactic on someone knowledgeable about herbs.

The whistling of the tea pot startled her out of her own musing, and reminded her she hadn't said much. "So you wouldn't want to return to the North at all? You're that happy down here?" she asked, unable to keep all of the skepticism out of her voice. Obviously she hoped to return as quickly as possible. At this time, all she could do was gather information, and try to discover who among the other stolen Candidates would aid her, and who would try to escape as well. She simply didn't know enough to try anything yet, but her patience was wearing thin already.

The blend itself, Lymsleia had chosen was an unusual mixture of leaves. A little bit of a relaxing tea. She reached for her medicine back and seemed to not even look at it. Counting knots it seemed as she removed the pouch in particular from the bag.

Opening it she placed a a few dried leaves into the cups and brought them to the table. Pouring the water over them she settled back, and set the hot kettle aside to allow the water to cool just a bit. But the last thing they needed was a scorched kettle. She spoke up ,trying to contain her disgust when it came to the edict. "Wome are... strongly encouraged... to produce two children and for the time being... taken women from the north to stand..." she gestured out of the window in direction of the eggs which the golden Queen had laid. "Are not going to be allowed to do so." she said softly.

"They want more children in the weyr, instead of bringing people from the north and potentially growing their numbers with more able-bodied and craft oriented people. They choose to make people have children, but no way to train them beyond the basics. You and I and Talian-- we're all healers. We can teach but only so far..." she said in whispered tone. She seemed to be container her dislike well enough. "They're going to be no better than the north-men, who tell women, to keep producing children--- sometimes four or five of them with little rest in between." she growled.

  She exhaled loudly and picked up her tea taking a quick swig of it-more apparently to displace energy than to actually drink it for she coughed. "Oh not steeped long enough." she said through watery eyes. She took a few minutes trying to whipe it from her eyes.  At Breccan's question about the North, Lymsleia blinked a few time-s though it could have been the bitter taste in her mouth.  "I o not want to go back. I was ok, there but it wasn't home. I'd never get to see Falen's Hold, or find out what happened to my parents. They came south... They came here... My brother maybe here.  I miss Falen's but I also know-- that the north holds little for me. I would be just anothe Healer. Here... I can make something of myself. People will know me. For me."

Breccan watched idly as Lym started the tea, her mind wandering freely. Not much information had been forthcoming from her fellow Healer so far, but she was content to wait, allowing her brain to form tenuous associations between facts, begin to grasp at new ideas. She suspected Lym knew quite a bit about the Weyr, and would be happy to tell her, if only she knew which questions to ask. That was a fairly daunting task, and she let her mind approach it cautiously, producing half-formed questions and sorting through them.

The scent of the steeping leaves was no great surprise; relaxing seemed to be the most obvious path to take. The blend itself had a few unfamiliar smells, which Breccan patiently catalogued and resolved to ask about later. They were likely Southern plants, varietals she had never encountered or entirely new species. That was really the only saving grace for having come here. Breccan hungered for new information the way most craved sustenance or company, and often placed that need higher on her priority list than some that were arguably more crucial. Eating, for instance. To her, the South was a banquet placed in front of a starving man. It was difficult, in some ways, for her to remain so adamantly opposed to living her days out here. In others, though, it was not.

A new reason was asserting itself as Lymsleia elaborated about the edict. The absolute anger that swept through her shocked even her in its intensity, narrowing her eyes. Her inability to keep still vaulted her to her feet and set them to pacing. It would be rude to speak just now, while the other healer was still finishing, but Breccan had her hands full just with the task of keeping her lips closed around the hard words that wanted out.  Lymsleia's admission that she did not care to return north brought with it the pause she needed to burst out, and she took the opportunity with violent relief.

"You would not return even now? Are you so content to be made a broodmare to some...some dragonrider's spawn?" she spat the words. Fury was contained in every expressive line of her body and face; she couldn't have prevented that if she'd tried. "I was not brought down here to breed," she insisted, as if saying the words would make it true, "I was brought to stand, and I will." Her hands were fists; she hardly noticed as her nails bit into her palms. Nevermind that she hadn't wanted to stand in the first place, and still didn't. The fact that someone was now claiming she couldn't changed everything. If she were to stay here, Riding was her only chance at rank, at any type of control over her own life. Candidates were not exactly respected, valued members of the community. In time, perhaps, she might come to be appreciated for her healing talents, but they hardly needed her when they already had Talian. Perhaps his specialty was different, but he doubtless knew enough of plants to render her unnecessary. If she was not needed for healing, and if she would not push out squalling children upon some man's command, then she would have to be a dragonrider. At the very least, they could take a quick trip between to dislodge any new life swelling their bellies. More importantly, they had a say in things. They would be heard.

Between, though, was not the only option for a woman who had been kindled. Lymsleia could help with this small rebellion. "Could you spread word quietly among women? I mean, are there enough women here you trust?" she asked quietly. If the news spread to men, or specifically, to whoever had authorized the edict, the ramifications would be dramatic, likely for both her and Lym. "We could be...instrumental in removing the power of the edict, we two. I know enough contraceptives and abortives, and you know women and pregnancy." She fell silent, allowing the other girl to draw her own conclusions.

Having a plan was calming. Being able to do something against an order so clearly unethical was better. She returned to her seat, brushing hair back to its place behind her shoulders. She poured a cup of tea and set it alongside her, the picture of sudden serenity. She had only to see what Lym thought of the idea, and then, perhaps, to recruit Talian. Abortives were dangerous, and might require the skills of someone trained in emergency care. It occurred to her that she was threatening all of them in this, but once the idea was there, she would not deny it its hold in her mind. Perhaps her motives were not as pure as Lym's would undoubtedly be, but she would do what it took to regain some measure of control over her life. She would certainly not get pregnant, at the very least. And then, she would find some way to stand.

Lymsleia turned to Breccan and listened to her speak. Her voice was careful and slow. "Breccan, I wouldn't return to the North, because I have nothing to go back to. My parents-if either are still alive are here. In the South. My brother possibly- he's a rider." she explains. "Also, I wouldn't be forced to push out any 'dragonrider's spawn' as you so call them. I will have children. And be happy with my life. My loves and the children I bare. I resigned myself to live here..." she gestures to the area around them. "Because I don't want to be a brood mare, and I don't want to see one more man---, yell at me for giving their women  a contraceptive.. or advising her not to have one more child." she sighed at the thoughts of those men yelling at her. Mostly young lord holders or holder's heirs who were married.

"I've continue to do my duty. Advising the women. When the Weyrleader said that no more women would be brought south and that any who were not standing were expected to produce two children.. I spoke up!" she focused her eyes on her friend. "I didn't. The Weyrleaders aren't budget. We do need the population and its not a 'forcing'. It's..." she rolled the words around in her mouth as she spoke. "It is strongly suggested."

She took at sip of her tea. "We..." she gestured at herself and Breccan. "Are going to stand. I've continually spoken to omen and told them- defy it- if they are not ready. Most of those who came with the riders in.. 215...were older and had children. There are younger kids, even Volfetti's had one child. The Leaders are worried about not enough population growth. But they don't want to ..expose themselves to the north."

She clutched her cup carefully. "Breeccan, I need someone who can help. Right now, I understand both sides of it. The Women of the Weyr need their choice, just as the men have their choice. Believe me, Breccan. I've spoken with women and a few are ready to have children, and have already conceived. I am considering going to the Weyrleaders with plans." she smiles.

"The plan is simple. We send people to find holdless and tell them' we ave place' a cot hold, far away and we'll make it worth your while, with shelter, and work and food." the smile on her face was wide. "Bring them south, they want food and shelter, and work, why not bring the men and women to a place that needs them- as well as any children. Bring the young holders or third or fourth sons and daughters or the ones who they have no chances. Bring them and that will bolster population quicker and more intelligently than having women just push out child, after child." she brought her hand down on the table. "I thought Weyrs were supposed to be places were women were not broodmares."

Breccan listened. She had spent her anger as she usually did, with a quick outburst, and it was no great struggle for her to stay calm. It was interesting to discover that Lym's family was in the South. She had no idea why that would be true, but if her family were here, if her brother was a Rider, doubtless she was exposed to the good parts of Katila, and not so much of the bad. She knew the dragons were the biggest draw to make stolen Candidates want to stay. It had half-worked on her already. Part of her hungered for that dragon-bond even though she knew little about it, even though she adamantly wanted to return to the North.

'Strongly suggested' was certainly better than forcing. It sounded like she would not be encouraged or required to bed a man to try and produce children unless she stopped standing. That wasn't so bad. It sounded, too, like the women were more than happy to reproduce in many cases. Breccan's interest here had been more personal than anything; she did not truly care if other women were 'strongly suggested' to push out children. As long as she, personally, wouldn't be forced into it, than it was not a very big deal. Of course, she'd be happy to use her knowledge of contraceptives to aid any women who didn't want that for themselves, and she did object to her gender being the one required to carry all the burden. For the most part, though, she was simply relieved she was not required to.

"Holdless would not be so bad," she admitted grudgingly, but she had an aristocrat's objection to living with such rabble, "Unless they're the criminals and exiles they're supposed to be. We hardly need to bring anyone here interested in robbing us blind. Third or fourth sons sit better with me. I know enough of them to know that they would grasp at any opportunity thrown their way."

She sipped her tea, exploring the flavors with interest. "The holdless might be more effectual, though. Few Holders' children know how to mend their own clothing, much less build a life for themselves. And I doubt they'd be suitable for dragons. Half of them are utter dolts," she spoke with disdain. As a Lord's illegitimate child herself, she'd known she'd have no chance of power, but her birth had resulted in plenty of association with those in more direct lines to rank. For the most part, she'd been unimpressed. Instead of Healer, she could have married one of them and hoped their elder siblings would die off, but as a group, they were so ineffectual she had never been able to stomach the idea. Controlling her husband was not something she wanted, but she knew it would have been easy as breathing. These men had few original thoughts and relied so often on others to solve their problems. She doubted that mindset would thrive in Katila. Perhaps criminals would do better. After all, weren't some of the dragonriders here little more than kidnappers? A criminal would probably feel right at home.

Lymsleia's anger had finally cooled, though it was clear that she might not be done. But as she held the cup in her hands. She breathed evenly through her nose. Those eggs and the potential of family where her becon of hope in this heated jungle. THose were the only things keeping her here.

"Personally, I think the Holdless are our best option. THey 1) Have no homes, 2) have a a wide variety of skills. They may not be all hall-trained, but what's life without some space. And we can train them 'our way'. I think they'd be grateful just to have food, shelter and perhaps a community." She runs her finger around the rm of the cup. "I rant into a couple of Holdless one time, just because I was going from one place to another and I offered my help. Most are not exiled or shunned people. Most are the children of those people, who cannot re-enter society because of their families history. Hard to go home, when the only life you've known is without a hold." Lymsleia grinned wildly as  Breccan shared her thoughts on the Holdless and Holders. "I admit, the richer, and more decadent ones don't know a sewing needle from a shepard's crook." she nodded her head. "So we want people who would be useful, and intelligent. That and holdless aren't going to 'complain' about work. They'll probably throw themselves into it. Just as we have."

The wry twist of Breccan's mouth spoke eloquently of what she thought those 'skills' would be. Perhaps Lym was right about the Holdless being the off-spring of criminals rather than criminals themselves, but she remembered plenty of petty thievery when a traveling caravan had tried to sell some baubles to the folk of Fort Hold. One man had even woken to find his best runner gone, and nothing but wheel-tracks left of the caravan.

"I'm not as confident as you are that they'd even want to be trained in our way. From what I understand, they have a sense of community all their own," she answered, her tone non-committal. She took another sip of tea, enjoying the heat outside and in. This branch of the conversation held no immediate profit for her, so she abandoned it with a sigh.

"Have you met many of the dragonriders? I'm curious what sort of people steal Northerners from their homes," she said, her light tone belying her critical words. After a pause, she found another question. "Did you have any positive reactions at the Touching? I assume the purpose of the whole thing is to give us a sense of how we might do when they finally break apart. I'm not as confident about all that 'bonding with the eggs.'" She snorted lightly. Certainly her own experience had been a wash. She could not say, necessarily, that one of the shells had reacted negatively, only that she had disliked the reaction, and formed very strong opinions on bonding the young inside either of the shells she'd touched. One had dismissed her out of hand; the other had been simply mad. She had no desire to be bonded life-long with a mad dragon. Even imagining it was unpleasant, and she quickly pulled her mind away from that.

"You don't have to be as confident, Breeccan. I am almost insanely optomistic. And they may not want to be trained in our way, but it'll be trained or go hungry. There is no infrastrucutre here they can't trade or much as there are no holds." she points out. Sitting back in the chair she blinked when Breccan changed the conversation to Dragonriders.

"I've met a few, D'ren- the male leader of the Weyr-kind of like the Lord Holder- only better more intelligent-minus the edict." she growled. "Anyway he's nice his dragon.. Ronarth, is a sweetheart. Warm and big kind of like a hug... I know it sounds crazy." She reaches for the cup again and drink it. "Ok, this is cool and unappealing.." She puts the kettle back over the hearth.

"Postivie, I do not know if I call them positive, Curious, intelligent, exciting mysterious. They felt so.. alive." she begins. "So new, so innocent, and yet as old as the mountain. I think they'll make right companions for whom ever they choose. Though here is hoping.." she winked.

Breccan fought a second twisting of her lips. She had some opinions on optimism, as well. When it seemed unwarranted, it was only foolishness, as far as she was concerned. Beliefs that whatever would go well or poorly were a waste of mental energy. The world moved with little regard for how the people in it felt about it, in her opinion. She'd long ago realized that the only thing she had control over was herself, and perhaps that was why her kidnapping rankled so. That control had been, in many ways, usurped, and she didn't appreciate it.

"D'ren of Ronarth," she repeated quietly, committing the name to memory. If he was the Weyrleader, Ronarth was likely a Bronze. she'd learned enough about the Weyr to know that much. Well, she would meet D'ren of Ronarth. Somehow she doubted an enormous dragon was much like a hug, but she decided to reserve judgement. It'd be silly to argue with Lymsleia over something like that when she had no real information, anyway. Perhaps it would be pleasant to meet Ronarth, and perhaps not. No way of knowing and no point in thinking about it. She stirred her cooling tea with a finger absently.

"Mmm. Mine were a little less exciting," she answered, sighing heavily, "One was insane and the other simply didn't like me. I must have done a poor job of choosing." It was clear Lym had no reservations; she wanted to Impress, and badly. That sort of clarity was to be envied by Breccan's way of thinking, but she couldn't aspire to it just yet. Impressing was both a guarantee of freedom and a trap. It would, after Weyrlinghood, allow her to take back control of her life, but it would also mean staying in Katila all her days. She wasn't quite ready to resign herself to that, not when she still felt there was hope of returning. Perhaps she didn't have a family or a man and children waiting for her, but all that she'd worked for counted for little enough here. It was as if everything she'd ever done had simply been erased, leaving only her memories and what knowledge she carried in her head.

With a decisive gesture, she tossed back the rest of her tea, making a face at its temperature. "I'm sure I'll see you again long before the Hatching, but I do wish you the best of luck," she offered, with a faint smile, "I think I'm going to go." She wasn't sure where she was headed, but she needed a bit of time to herself, to consider what she'd learned. All her thinking was best accomplished in solitude.

LYmsleia thought back to her experiences with the eggs. "One made.. paths." she began quietly. "I know it sounds crazy. But one made, everything clear- like a glass-crafters lense. One of those very fine ones. Than can make things bigger but is precise. I saw... patternes." she closed her eyes and tried to recall the feeling it kept slipping away just as she grasped it though. "One made  it, o there was a path , I could see things suddenly become straight and clear. IT was beautiful. I'd been so lost before and that little one-- somehow made a clear road for me." she ran her hands through  her hair as she spoke, braiding it almost nervously.

"The other, I don't know if I could describe it. " she shrugs. "You said you found an 'insane' one?" she raised an eyebrow. "Brecca, perhaps that little one, like Erisi- who's just mean- has a wall up? Perhaps its worried, or scared, or maybe something startled it? Who knows. I don't think an unhatched dragon can be.. insane."

As Brecca concluded and rose to leave, Lymsleia stood. "We should talk more Breccan." she began. "Start planning for the future? And sure. I have some things I need to finish here. I'll be around for a few more  candlemarks." Lymsleia cleaned up the dishes- placing them into a small bucket to carry them off when she got the chance.