Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
01.Oct.12, 03:50 PM
Twisting around at the waist where she was seated on a floor pillow, Jisralna stared up at the dragonrider who had come up to her, green-grey eyes flicking towards the shoulder knots pinned to his tunic. Her stomach lurched; bluerider. Her fingers reflexively clenched around the material in her lap and before she could think of someway to stall him, he’d reached out and snatched the tunic from her hands with little effort though she had tried to cling to the material. Her face paled as he shook out the garment, revealing the brown half finished brown dragon on the cuff of the tunic.
As he spoke again, a strangled squeak escaped her as color flooded into her pale cheeks. She was in for it now! She should’ve been more careful about where she embroidered the dragons! She should’ve just stuck with abstract designs at least then something like this wouldn’t have happened. Her eyes began to sting, certain that she was about to get yelled at, despite the dragonrider’s mild tone. She couldn’t handle yelling; not even in the least! As she began to compulsively smooth her skirts, she otherwise held very still, staring at the rider’s knee of all things. If the dragonrider didn’t yell at her, she was certain that if he complained one of the older weavers would do the honors. For the most part they’d kept their mouths shut about her little side projects but if she started stirring up trouble with mistakes such as these, she doubted they would stay silent much longer.
When the rider spoke once more, Jisra missed the humor in his eyes—staring at his knee as she was—and flinched slightly, sucking in her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Though when she finally found her voice, it waivered precariously past as it had to force its way past the terrible lump in her throat. “I did not mean to, Sir. They did not tell me it was your tunic, they just said hem the sleeves, so I hemmed the sleeves and then I remembered the brown dragon and I had some thread that was the proper shade and…I am sorry, Sir. I can redo it. I can make you a new tunic if you wish.” Her frazzled nerve shown through as she finally looked up, a misty sheen over her eyes. Had she not been so averse to yelling—if it did not make her cry—she likely would have been as calm as ever, but as it was, she’d do anything to avoid being yelled at that very moment.
With her attention on the dragonrider, Jisra was oblivious to the little verbal stand-off that was taking place just beyond the bluerider. Instead she alternately clenched her hands in the material of her skirts and then smoothed them, looking very much like an abused puppy.
As he spoke again, a strangled squeak escaped her as color flooded into her pale cheeks. She was in for it now! She should’ve been more careful about where she embroidered the dragons! She should’ve just stuck with abstract designs at least then something like this wouldn’t have happened. Her eyes began to sting, certain that she was about to get yelled at, despite the dragonrider’s mild tone. She couldn’t handle yelling; not even in the least! As she began to compulsively smooth her skirts, she otherwise held very still, staring at the rider’s knee of all things. If the dragonrider didn’t yell at her, she was certain that if he complained one of the older weavers would do the honors. For the most part they’d kept their mouths shut about her little side projects but if she started stirring up trouble with mistakes such as these, she doubted they would stay silent much longer.
When the rider spoke once more, Jisra missed the humor in his eyes—staring at his knee as she was—and flinched slightly, sucking in her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Though when she finally found her voice, it waivered precariously past as it had to force its way past the terrible lump in her throat. “I did not mean to, Sir. They did not tell me it was your tunic, they just said hem the sleeves, so I hemmed the sleeves and then I remembered the brown dragon and I had some thread that was the proper shade and…I am sorry, Sir. I can redo it. I can make you a new tunic if you wish.” Her frazzled nerve shown through as she finally looked up, a misty sheen over her eyes. Had she not been so averse to yelling—if it did not make her cry—she likely would have been as calm as ever, but as it was, she’d do anything to avoid being yelled at that very moment.
With her attention on the dragonrider, Jisra was oblivious to the little verbal stand-off that was taking place just beyond the bluerider. Instead she alternately clenched her hands in the material of her skirts and then smoothed them, looking very much like an abused puppy.
