Home Again, home again

Lymsleia slumped against the hall's door. The scent of the herbs the feeling of people around her. It was near intoxicating, near arousing. She'd missed them. She'd missed the people. Struggling to stand upright under the heady intoxication of being once again in a place where there were other sentient life forms she smiled.

People. people she could talk to. She inhaled. She'd steeled herself for the eventual lecture by the leaders of the Weyr. She'd steeled herself for the eventual discussion amoung the other healers and people she knew over her dissapearance. But now she had one task, help other people. It was time to stop feeling sorry for herself and what hadn't happened.  She reached down and grabbed her bag. The weight of it felt good in her hand. Farlint, Jada, those two were at the top of her list. Where they even still here?  She wasn't even sure. She'd kept herself busy, chores anything else to avoid ending up back here at her actual job. She couldn't exactly face them? But now she had to.

Lymselia was home. This was what her life had lead her too. She was home, at Katila again. She'd held herself up in her hut to clear her head and feel somewhat whole. She flexed her hands, time to go to work.

Tyrrisath touched down outside the healer hall, eyes red in agitation.

You are not well. You should ask D'ren to give you a break the brown advised. He rarely said anything to his rider with any force behind it, but this was an exception. S'kef hadn't been feeling well the past few days, and it was becoming increasingly noticeable to Tyrrisath. The brown had been able to ignore it gracefully, but even he had to express concern eventually.

S'kef didn't need to be told to know the worry was there. Drop it he ordered, aggravated at the mere suggestion. He dismounted and walked away from Tyrrisath without a second glance, leaving the dragon alone in the gather square.

I have a job to do. I can't sit out because I have the sharing sniffles! he growled to himself. He was loud enough for Tyrrisath to overhear - or was it actually meant for Tyrrisath all along?

S'kef could not let the Weyrleader down.

You never have said the faintest voice in the back of S'kef's mind. It gave him strength to walk forward with his head held high.

He walked into the hall, storming past the larger woman who kept watch over the front desk. S'kef was there for a very particular reason, and in spite of his splitting headache, he would find her.

It didn't take long. He found Lymsleia almost immediately, slumped against the hall's door. The brownrider
paused and crossed his arms. "You," he said in his usual militant fashion. "The Weyrleader has come to a decision.  I need you to come with me."

Slow deep breatrhs. Weyr leaders to face indeed. Lymsleia stood up and locked eyes with, S'kf. Her heart sank. "You... need to... bed now." she  barked. "I'll go and see D'ren, but you need to be... in bed." she muttered. She could practically smell the sickness.

"Or.. ok,,, I'll go with you but then we need to get you into the bed, get you well, ok S'kef?" her normal maternal tone and resurfaced and flowered easily upon noting his state. She grabbed her bag and walked. "I need to follow you,huh?" she tried to sound slightly insolent, tried to hide her worry under bravado. S'kef looked  bad- at least to her eyes.

S'kef was outright surprised by Lym's assertion that he was ill.  How could she tell? Ever conscious of his outward emotions, S'kef's features just hardened behind a wicked stare. Maybe Tyrrisath was right and the illness had become most noticeable. The fact she was a healer was to her advantage in such things, but it srtill confounded him. Had his skin lost some of it's color? Has his eyes lost some of their red hot intensity?

He snorted. Just as Lymsleia hid her nervousness with bravado, he hit his own doubts with rage. He could feel a mild pressure of Tyrrisath, a moderating force reminding him of place in the Weyr. Tyrrisath was such a patient, loyal guardian. The dragon's wordless reminder brushed S'kef's mind as lightly as a fallen feather, but the ripples it created soon turned to tidal waves.

S'kef unclenched his fist.

"You don't have to talk to D'ren," he said as he turned and walked through the hallway, striding with the same force and authority he always tried to carry. Today, his gait was slightly off and his feet moved less quickly than usual, but still the inhabitants of the hall quickly made way for him. A sense of reassurance and pride swelled through him as he passed, gratified by their displays of submission.

It reminded him of who he was, and why he was doing what he was doing.

He moved into one of the less populated hallways and paused. "He's a very busy man. He's entrusted me with this task, and I see no reason to bother him any more than we already have..." he said, voice formal and yet terrifyingly soft as he reached to his side.

He wasn't carrying the whip he'd used on B'jin. That was just short of a murder weapon. Instead, he carried a small runner whip. "I won't require you remove your shirt.." he said eyeing her with subtle warning, daring her to protest.

His head pounded.

She shivered, he'd brought a whip?!

A low drawn breath, she allowed herself to remain calm and a let the next words roll off her tongue. He dislike defiance, or so she found herself believe. "And if I do take off my shirt?" she asked. Normally such insolence was reserved for stupid decisions that could /alter other peoples lives/.  But here she felt strange, a need to perhaps show off.

It wasn't the need to exhibit anything, no she'd be struck plenty oftimes, by Healers in the north. People be who believed she wasn't quiet 'worth' it. Lymsleia drew herself up, how'd she /not/ seen the whip in his hand? She breathed through her nose.

She found herself with her shirt off, looking him the eye, daring him. "You're ill." she snapped the words were harsh, she knew it. Here she should practically taunting the masculine  with her delicate feminine, and trying to play the healer at the same time. She realized how it it could have looked to others. Let the rumor mill turn.

She hung onto her shirt. "I am no child to be be struck." she said. "and you need to rest, S'kef. Do this when your well."  A stay of execution perhaps?

He stopped cold as he first comment, trying to decide if she was flirting or being a brat. He quickly leaned towards the latter. "If you want to, go ahead," he said coolly. "It's just like a woman to deny a courtesy out of principle." He remembered how A'lira hated having doors held for her and the like, yet at the same time wanted to be respected as a 'lady'. It had been both maddening and charming at the time, but the girl before him was not A'lira.

No one ever would be.

S'kef scowled incredulously as Lym's protest continued. In the same breath she argued that she was 'not a child' and then pleaded with him to take a sickbed? Was she desperate? Trying to manipulate him? Or just too uppity for her own good?

"I am fine!" he snapped, lifting the whip.

He felt immense pressure from Tyrrisath, a steady reminder not to lose his balance. He stayed his hand for a couple moments, teetering just on the edge of an outburst.

"Put your hands on the wall," he ordered, knuckles already growing white. Then, after a moment for consideration, his arm snapped forward in a sudden warning blow.

He was serious.

Lymselia exhaled. She started to reach for the whip, but as he cracked it, she turned to face the wall. She breathed.
Stilled her mind
Told herself that the man behind her wasn't actually going to derive any pleasure from striking her with whip, right?

Lymsleia's lips turned into a frown. "After you're doing being my goaler, would you be willing to just talk, S'kef?" she asked simply.

She tried to clear her head, tried to think of anything but the idea of the whip coming down and striking her flesh. First Egg, that first strike was a long time in coming.

S'kef didn't mind the delay tactics, so long as she actually did as she was told. He nodded with satisfaction as she turned her back to him. "What is there to talk about?" he asked dryly as he drew his free hand across his forehead, wiping away some of the cold sweat that was popping up.

He really wasn't feeling himself. Perhaps that's why his mood was so terrible. He continued to deny it, focusing instead on the task at hand.

Crack!

It wasn't the same vicious weapon he'd used on B'jin. It wouldn't leave scars, nor would it even break the skin. It was designed simply to sting horribly and leave welts, reminders of the incident that would last for a few days at most. As he struck her a second time, he was distantly aware of stirring satisfaction. Yes, he did derive pleasure from this...though perhaps not in the way Lymsleia was expecting.

It was nice to be in control. It was nice to teach someone a lesson for their defiance.

He went easy on her, by his own standards at least. Ten blows plus an extra one for good measure - he'd later claim to have miscounted - and he was finished. He spared none of his strength, however.

"There. Now perhaps you'll think twice before running off again," he said with hollow gentleness, imitating the sort of genuine regret D'ren felt when he had to do something unpleasant. S'kef didn't mean it for a moment; he was just being a politician.

Each welt , each sting on her back she intone acrime, or a name. Someone she'd failed to help.  Farlint had been one of the names, D'ren and B'jin and even Talian had been others. As the elenvent lash touched her.  "S'kef." she grasped as her legs buckled and she found herself kneeling on the floor.

She put her shirt,back on thankful for its somewhat muted body warmth. She winced as the feeling of cloth against her skin. She  turned back to him. "So lets talk, about you..."

S'kef stepped back, slowly admiring his handiwork as the girl sank to the floor. He placed his whip at his side again and crossed his arms, a skeptical and inquiring expression creeping across his face.

He wasn't exactly proud of what he'd done, just satisfied. It lacked the personal spin that came from getting ahold of someone like B'jin, but the girl's indignation had really gotten under S'kef's skin. He'd done the Weyr a service!

"Talk?" he asked incredulously, like it was the strangest request he'd ever heard. He ran his fingers down the sides of his chin thoughtfully. No one would extend a friendly hand to someone who'd just beaten them. He assumed as much, at least. She must have been up to something, and the lack of visible motive was a warning bell to S'kef. Had he not yet done enough?

While his natural inclination was to walk away, he decided to wait. "What do you mean 'talk about me'?" he asked cautiously.

"I should at least know the nature of the man who has whipped me." she breathed quietly. "I wanted to know about you. D'ren sent you after me, not B'jin, not... anyone else. But you his ... Second- yes?" she questioned him quietly.

"I want to know more about the people around me. We're a small group and each person I come in contact as a healer, affects... everyone else. Its a ripple in a pond. I want to be the stone which starts that effect." she pondered a moment. The words she knew were muddled, in her mouth. Her brain was struggling through the pain of the welts in her back.

"As I said, I'm Lymsleia.  Journeywoman Healer."

Her words had little visible effect on him, positive or negative. His muscles drew up a bit and a distant stirring of confusion appeared in his eyes, but he kept most of it to himself. He'd never had someone approach him in such a way, and it all honesty it was maddeningly strange.

"What are you up to?" he demanded instinctively. There was no way she just wanted to 'know his nature'. Wasn't that written plainly across his face?

A bitter expression settled in. "You're one of those who thrives off of acting mysterious, aren't you?" he asked in a low, velvet tone laced with the subtlest impatience. "And I know your name. I was told it before I came to find you."

She breathed though her nose, because she didn't quiet trust herself to open her mouth, and not want to strike this rider.

"I don't thrive on being mysterious." she said quietly. " I really do just want to get to know you. Most of those I knew- and didn't know became riders. You at least are.. .accessible." she says through gritted teeth as marks on her back stung. She shifted a little bit.

"I am tired of being alone. Tired ofbeing just a healer. I need allies, people who can help me... The Weyrleaders have their duties..." she exhaled. " Sorry, S'kef. I shouldn't be tossing my ideas at you like a dart board."

The brownrider set his jaw and leaned against the nearest doorframe, his expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief. What an odd girl she was, speaking so directly about such ambitions to a figure such as himself. "Allies?" he asked, suspicious of that choice of word. Lymsleia had run away; that made her untrustworthy in his eyes, though he recalled her claim that she'd gotten lost rather than actually trying to run away. He supposed that was possible, but he didn't see any reason to outright trust the claim, either.

Surely she had some friends, or something? Why the shards was she singling out someone like himself for this...was it an offer? A request? What the shards was it?

"Don't isolate yourself by doing stupid things like running away, then," he mumbled. He felt like should ought to tip him for his sagely advice.

Lymsleia breathed. "I wasn't running away, S'kef.  I told you that much. why would I run from  the only place that.. has felt like 'home'. I am sorry but you have no idea what it was like in the Healer up..." she made a gesture skyward as if to say 'north'.

"It was not that great. And I  have felt more at home here than  I have in ages." she moved her shift carefully, stiffening as the welts from the lashing were brushed by the the shirt. "At least be my friend. I am trying to make more friends, than those who were candidates. I can't hope to be friends really, with them right now. They have a duty to their... dragons." she exhaled quietly. "Want to go see Jada?" she asked.

Lymselia tried to keep her voice steady. Her head was swiming. Some of the Vinter's wine right now would feelt goood. She smirked at the thought of the course Katilian vintage.

“Don’t be stupid, girl,” J’ver’s voice, currently a degree colder and far more annoyed than usual, filtered over the threshold of the room before the man himself stepped in. He had been lingering in the hall nearby, making sure no one bothered S’kef while he carried out the punishment for running away. Personally, he felt it wasn’t enough. How would these selfish brats learn if they got off easy with a light whipping and in so few a number? That was neither here nor there, however, as it wasn’t the reason for finally showing himself after eavesdropping on the odd conversation held after.

“Like S’kef has time for a whiny little Candidate who doesn’t even seem to know what she wants.” He knew S’kef enjoyed the company of women but there had to be standards to uphold and this woman, while no doubt an extremely easy conquest, babbled on in no particular order and couldn’t be trusted. J’ver was already convinced the girl was so desperate for a friend that she would get pregnant in order to lock a man into her life. Pathetic! “Know your place, girl.”

Dismissing Lymsleia with a wave of his hand, J’ver turned to S’kef, a rueful smile in place, “it’s time for your next appointment, S’kef. As fun as it would be to make them wait, I believe it’s better to be on time for this one.” The girl didn’t need to know any details about their lives or even their jobs and so J’ver kept his words vague.

J'vier's voice. She jumped and spiralled around to face him. Who was he? Her eyes followed to the line of shoulders. Knots. Knots, was her wearing Knots? rank ,dragon color?

The remark about knowing what she wanted ,made Lymsleia momentarily lived. "And you do? You life was decided whe nyou impressed." she spat the words back, almost happy to have someone else to focus on. S'kef made her.. twitchy. She couldn't think. Not in a lusty way, but in a terrified way, for some reason, s'kf had brought to the surface the nagging fear of not belonging that she'd thought she'd killed.

She stood up, and strode towards J'vier. "Know my place, Rider?" she spat the words with more venom that she was intending and it surprised her. Her eyes focused on him. "Know my place?  As  healer, I know my place is in that infirmary. But I also know that I want more than to just be a healer. I do one day want to be a rider. I want to do something wild and exciting. "

J'ver clicked his tongue in annoyance and spun back around to face the healer, potentially cutting off any remarks S'kef wanted to make in the process. He wasn't concerned; the brownrider knew how he was and would appreciate the show. "Are you truly that dense that you cannot tell when you have been thoroughly dismissed and deemed a waste of time?" He shook his head with a brief gleam of pity in his pale blue eyes. Women were such fragile little things that still insisted on acting tougher than they were.

J'ver listened with all the patience of an insolent child being lectured without actually listening or taking a single word to heart. He was seconds away from tapping his foot in annoyance, hoping she would stop with her charade in which she believed she was intimidating and could hold her own against him. When at last her babbling dribbled to a close, J'ver continued his efforts in silencing the little bimbo into submission. "Do you even think before you speak? Do you hear the words that spill in every direction from your mouth?" He was convinced she didn't have a clue about what she said.

"So my life was decided for me when I Impressed yet you seem to crave that for yourself. Are you so incapable of thinking for yourself that you need a dragon to decide your path in life, or that you should even bother to continue living? But if you truly know your place and you believe it to be a healer, then you should improve on your skills and show everyone you're worth keeping and the fool that brought you here didn't completely mess up." Not that it would make a difference. J'ver believed the girl a lost cause, too wrapped up in her hormones and trying to get laid to truly care about her profession. He was also convinced there wouldn't be a dragon desperate enough to bond with her so she truly was a waste of time and space.

S'kef had no idea what to say to Lymsleia. Did that girl have a death wish? What did she see in a man like him that made her so desperate to be friends?

Did she actually think friendship worked that way? That you simply walked up to someone - evidently anyone - and made a request?

"I've no interest in seeing Jada," he said with an edge of muted, cold frustration. "She needs to recover from her wounds, and I'm certain a visit from me would only dist-"

Suddenly, J'ver. S'kef was irritated that Tyrrisath didn't inform him of the greenrider's approach, but S'kef was always at least happy to see him. The brownrider wiped his forehead, suddenly aware of just how hot and dizzy he felt. His argument with Lymsleia had distracted him from it - or was it contributing to his foul mood?

Why was he so aggravated with J'ver all of the sudden? S'kef set his jaw, silently admitting that he didn't quite feel like himself.

He watched the exchange between the two with half-interest, his expression never changing from a look of bland aggravation. He stepped closer to J'ver and tapped the whip against the smaller man's forearm. "You're as observant as ever," S'kef breathed, trying to keep his voice steady in light of his sudden faintness. After getting over the initial stab of annoyance that J'ver had appeared unannounced, S'kef realized why. He was feeling awfully weak...and the master never displayed his weakness to his servants. How unfitting, for J'ver to see him like this! Good thing S'kef was good at covering up such things...He just hoped he was good enough. He wasn't sure he could tolerate comment from either of them at this point.

Lymsleia breathed. This was too much. But then realized how unnatureal her actions had seemed, in retrospect. It was a few moments but it was all she needed when S'kef recognized J'ver. The young woman didn't fade int othe background oh no. She used it as a perfect opurtunity to run. IT was better than staying here and being herassed and hounded.

Why had she done this. Why had she opened her mouth. Each stepp away from the pair seemed to make thinking easier. Maybe the week in the woods in fall had affected her. Maybe it had... driver her a little mad.  She came to a hault, it was sudden and sharp.  I am not crazy. She told herself. I a... out of touch with myself, and who I thought I was.

J’ver stared at the retreating form of the woman that seemed like she would rather take her chances dodging Thread in an open field than continue trying to match wits with him. He’d say it was disappointing but he didn’t expect much out of a lowly female ex-Candidate. Still, she could have at least had the decency to concede defeat with some verbal statement; even an ‘I hate you!’ as she ran away crying would have been a nice thrill. Instead, J’ver sighed and shook his head slowly in pity. Women.

“Well that was dreadfully dull.” J’ver had barely even begun and he could tell S’kef was only mildly entertained, meaning the fight was found lacking. Speaking of things that were dull, S’kef’s colouring seemed to be slightly off, though who could blame him when he had a female throwing herself at him. One day his companion would realize the errors of his ways and finally renounce the so-called fairer sex and stick with only men, which was clearly where his true passion lied.

“Shall we return to your hut? I think your fellow brownrider will understand the skipped plans in order to punish an insolent green,” J’ver smirked and ran his hand down S’kef’s chest in a daring move of initiative, showing his devious mind was up to no good, and he would in fact misbehave in order to prove that statement correct. It would also serve as a distraction and a good way to make S’kef believe the only reason to get the brownrider home was for sex and not because J’ver worried just the slightest about what might be causing the older man to behave oddly.

He certainly didn’t need anyone thinking he was capable of caring or showing concern

THe tears were hot, and it did feel good to cry, but as she left the room, she lingerd, pressing her back against the door way  on the outside and breathing slowly. Sometimes people alone could be more interesting. She heard herself breath and tried to focus on stilling her breathing. He'd driven her to tears, she hadn't expected it but the cathartic release of crying had felt good.

A thin figure came around thew corner, attracted by the commotion in the hall. Talian appeared, his slender figure recoiling in a bit of surprise as he saw Lym before him. "Lym?" he asked, eyes widening. She was crying? What could have happened?

Emotional and delicate by nature, Talian was at a loss for what to do. He was no stranger to tears, but he was usually the one doing the crying. He could be a good listener, but he was better with lingering problems than...outbursts, or whatever the shards this was! He was surprised to see Lym at all, and the vindictive part of him that had grown since hi arrival at Katila couldn't quite forget the ugly things Lymsleia had said to him - perhaps even unintentionally - last time they spoke.

That didn't mean he would leave her to cry in the floor, but it did add to his indecision over what to do. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. "Um, Lym? Are you...okay? What happened?" he inquired tentatively.

"Tal?" her voice squeaked, breaking her 'cover' from  behind the door, where she clearly was attempting to lsiten to Sk'ef and his companion, but the appearance of the healer made her smile. "Talian." She  worked her way towards him on her hands and knees- not trust ing herself to stand as the  pain across her back and the upper thights stung her body.

She'd been crying- truth her eyes were rimmed with red at their whites, her breathing was shallow, but labored- almost as if she were hyper ventaliting only moments ago. "Tall.. TAl.. Talll." she sobbed. Even Lymsleia didn't know what triggered her sudden outburst of crying but it was  hard to stem the flow. "Sk'ef... whipppp..." she swallowed and tried to still her mind and her breathing in order to talk.

"Sk'ef wipped me- for 'running away' after the hatching. Apparently on D'ren's orders." she breathed.

Talian flinched, his entire body drawing up defensively as he watched.  He'd never seen someone in such a fit of sorrow before. He'd never even imagined a girl like Lymsleia crying! He swallowed hard and took a step forward, bold in spite of his nervousness, his timid nature overcome by the healer's desire to help.

He slowly seated himself on the floor, sliding against her and tentatively twining one arm around her shoulders, albeit loosely. "He did?" he asked breathlessly. Hardly surprising. The dragonriders were no longer successful in gentle temptation-based control, so of course they would resort of such barbarous methods. "That's because these people are monsters, Lym..." Tal said in a shallow, jaded way. His usually gentle eyes glazed over, his body shuddering in distaste. "...We're not guests to them. We're not privileged. I'm not sure if we're even people to them, Lym." Tal pessimism was coming out full force, but in those moments he found himself more furious with the dragoners than he'd been in a very long time.

He hoped the plague came back. He hardly noticed the thought pass, but once he did and he realized what exactly he'd entertained, he was a little sick with himself.

"...I'm sorry," he whispered, hugging her gently so as to avoid hurting her. What else could he say?

She felt her voice breaking as she struggled tocontrol herself and her emotions. She was weak, it seemed and it  scare her more when Talian re-inforced that. "I don't think so. " she breathed trying to be optomistic one. "Its more like.. like.. like.." she struggled to get the words out, as a studder one that she'd not seen in a very long time emerge, she bit her tongue, shocking her system but regaining her composure.

"They have us trapped, Tal, its not like we'd survive or get away. I think it was because I abandoned my duties here.. at the Weyr. S'kef made it clear it was  to make an example of me.. " she shifted her shirt. "I let me have a go at the actual flesh." sehe said in a strangely proud manner. "THey need us, though Tal... " she sgestures around them. "THey can't build o work, with their dragons. They need unbonded people."

"Well, yeah," Tal mumbled. He felt the same way, but his own perception of it was much darker. "This is a prison. They treat us like it's supposed to be a privilege or something exciting for us, but all it is is captivity," he said. He spoke in an even tone, free of his usually dreariness. He wasn't lamenting their position, he was stating a fact. There was even a hard edge about his tone, filled with stoic resignation. In his mind, he was trying to show her the truth.

Maybe she was happier being delusional, but Tal saw no difference between what he'd said and what she was saying. She was just choosing to pretend like it wasn't what it was. Tal wished he could trick his own mind into doing that.

"I'm pretty sure they have every intention of trying to bond all of us. Just think, Lym..." he said. "...Once we're dragonriders, there really won't be any way to resist them again. We'll be stuck with them forever, no matter what happens. Their plan is perfect, really...there's no way for us to escape."

That made him hate them even more.

"Im sorry, Lym. Would you like me to have a look at it? I can at least get you some numbweed..."

She nodded her head. "i'd like that.." she squeaked. "He didn't break the skin persay, but the welts are starting to form and they sting." she began to winces ashe let the pain wash over her. She blinked. It wouldn't have been bad if it was one or two strikes, but the lashes had been, fifteen? More? She'd lost count of the pain and each strike. "Niumb weed, and some seriously strong wine..." she said with a slight smile. "What would you like to do Talian? Running only get's you whipped... and maybe your right they're trying to imprision us..." she gestures to an invisible something. "This sugared treat tempts you int believing fake hospitality." * she said gesturing to the air.


"Actually do we have anything sweet?" she tried to keep her mind distracted as she got to her feet. "And if the dragons don't bond, they die... I think I understand their plight. I think they'd do better to isstead of stealing us... making a point to open themselves up to the north again..."

"Oh," Tal said softly, "I understand it. Necessary evils and all that..." Tal did realize the dragonriders were in a difficult position, but their decision to stay south was purely idiotic. They would pay for it in the long run - he knew it. The northerners would reject them, at least the plague generation who'd so cruelly kidnapped their children. The dragonriders were digging their own graves and arming the generation that would bury them there.

It just made no sense to him. Then again, someone like Tal found it hard to relate to others. He didn't know the fear and paranoia that drove the dragonriders to make that horrible, foolish decision. He knew it, but he couldn't understand it. In his mind, nothing like fear would ever make hurting other people like this okay. Perhaps that was just as well, too. He was not the only one.

Regardless of his fleeting spite, he knew the riders had a place in the world. He didn't have it in his heart to forgive their cruelty, though.  Especially not when the evidence of it was right before him.

"There's no doubt about it," he said as he rose, holding one hand out for Lym. "This is just a prison." Just as healer hall had once been. Tal sounded wretchedly indifferent, as if he were rattling off formulas or reciting passages from a textbook. Business as usual. Some things in life were facts, and facts were what he was most comfortable with. The sky was blue and dragonriders were evil.

Most of them anyhow. That mild distinction brought a brief smile to his face, though he kept its source to himself. There were flickers of hope, though he wasn't particularly good at noticing them. Lymsleia's optimism seemed idiotic to the young man, but maybe it was her way of coping? For Talian, coping usually meant thinking about B'jin. Maybe Lym coped by pretending things would be okay?

Tal didn't understand it, but he would let it be just the same. He didn't want to think about it anymore, either.

"I'll get your back for you, then. I'm sure it would be uncomfortable to have to reach yourself," he muttered gently. He straightened his back out and stretched. "And...I don't have anything sweet, but I'm sure there's something in the dining hall...They usually do, on that last table in the back."

Strange, how this place had become so familiar.

Lymsleia grasped the prooffered hand. She reached for it and clunched. It felt good to hold onto something solid and real. Her fingers tightened as she focused on Talina. A rocky out cropping a storm. She breathed a few times focusing on Talian- though bitter, it was better than being alone in the darkness with her optomism.

She breathed quietly focusing her eyes on Talian's hand." Worse than that.. they're dragons are limited, There's less than 200 hundred'd I say. Pern's too ig for jsut... what according to the records one wing to protect." She got to her feet and fingered her her hair. "Thank you, again Tal. And maybe we should get something sweet later?"