23.Jan.12, 06:38 AM
Talian practically tiptoed into the dining cavern, his tawny eyes shifting from one side to the other as he gave the room a cautionary sweep. It was quiet; mercifully quiet, as most of the weyr's inhabitants had already eaten their midday meal. Self-conscious and ultimatly very timid, the young healer inched through the threshhold and made his way over to the tables, where the food was still waiting for him. It was picked over and on the cold side, but that was perfectly fine with him. Admittedly, it was already better than what he was used to.
This was Talian's first full day off of the isle, and only his fourth day at Katila at all. For someone so miserable, he'd gotten clearance to leave awful early. The Weyrleader had even arrived to pick him up himself, once the hideous bronze dragon determined that Talian wasn't going to run away. Well of course he wasn't, why would he? To get eaten by a beast in the jungle, or maybe drown trying to swim across the ocean? How foolish.
Pragmatic as always, the boy had just accepted his fate. He wasn't happy with it, but he was alive. He hovered over the tables for a moment and sniffed the air. His stomach gurgled. He hadn't eaten anything for his first two days, so his body was still expecting expecting famine. Plus he'd spent the entire morning helping some idiot back at the weyr's poor excuse for a healing hall. Talian was in his typical mid-day slump. Some food would wake him right up.
He picked over the remaining food and quickly seated himself, choosing the end of one of the nearest tables. There weren't many other people around, so he could expect to eat in peace. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd arrived in, though he'd received some new ones and made sure the current set was washed, and again he wasn't wearing his knots. He hadn't shaved since arrival, but it didn't amount to much, just a light dusting of brown fuzz. He'd contemplated trimming it, but shards, he just didn't feel like it.
He didn't feel like much of anything. He'd yet to formally meet anyone except a few of the people he was forced to interact with at the hall. He'd only spoken to one other boy on the island, and only because the guy jammed his finger and asked Talian to check if it was broken. How riveting and eventful this weyr life was!
Bah. He took his first bite and watched as a few more people trailed out of the room, back to their lives. Everyone here seemed so vibrant so far, they seemed to fit in so well...and he felt like an extra gear that belonged in a different machine entirely. What a mess this was, and in his estimation, there would be no end to it. These dragonriders probably intended to keep him captive until the day he died, and there just wasn't anything he could do about it.
His knots were still in his pocket. They didn't do much good at home, bringing only unwanted attention and pressure. They weren't much use here, either.
This was Talian's first full day off of the isle, and only his fourth day at Katila at all. For someone so miserable, he'd gotten clearance to leave awful early. The Weyrleader had even arrived to pick him up himself, once the hideous bronze dragon determined that Talian wasn't going to run away. Well of course he wasn't, why would he? To get eaten by a beast in the jungle, or maybe drown trying to swim across the ocean? How foolish.
Pragmatic as always, the boy had just accepted his fate. He wasn't happy with it, but he was alive. He hovered over the tables for a moment and sniffed the air. His stomach gurgled. He hadn't eaten anything for his first two days, so his body was still expecting expecting famine. Plus he'd spent the entire morning helping some idiot back at the weyr's poor excuse for a healing hall. Talian was in his typical mid-day slump. Some food would wake him right up.
He picked over the remaining food and quickly seated himself, choosing the end of one of the nearest tables. There weren't many other people around, so he could expect to eat in peace. He was dressed in the same clothes he'd arrived in, though he'd received some new ones and made sure the current set was washed, and again he wasn't wearing his knots. He hadn't shaved since arrival, but it didn't amount to much, just a light dusting of brown fuzz. He'd contemplated trimming it, but shards, he just didn't feel like it.
He didn't feel like much of anything. He'd yet to formally meet anyone except a few of the people he was forced to interact with at the hall. He'd only spoken to one other boy on the island, and only because the guy jammed his finger and asked Talian to check if it was broken. How riveting and eventful this weyr life was!
Bah. He took his first bite and watched as a few more people trailed out of the room, back to their lives. Everyone here seemed so vibrant so far, they seemed to fit in so well...and he felt like an extra gear that belonged in a different machine entirely. What a mess this was, and in his estimation, there would be no end to it. These dragonriders probably intended to keep him captive until the day he died, and there just wasn't anything he could do about it.
His knots were still in his pocket. They didn't do much good at home, bringing only unwanted attention and pressure. They weren't much use here, either.