Refuge [OPEN]

The morning was still young enough that the colors seemed leeched of their vibrancy as Belamie walked to the craft hall. The cool mist rising from the ground didn't help matters. It made the world around her seem pale and indistinct. The chill and humid air left the journeywoman quickening her pace-- she'd been here long enough that her body had adapted to the weather and now she felt the cold, rather than shrugging it off as she had upon first arriving.

She walked quickly enough that her breath was coming short as she arrived at the hall. Even with the other buildings around it, it felt remote and that suited her just fine. Remote meant fewer people and fewer people meant that she could allow her face to relax. She'd been in bed recently enough that her eyes felt puffy still. She knuckled at them, then stopped to run a clean rag-- kept in her pocket for just this purpose-- around the edges of her bootsoles.

The floor had been pristine yesterday when the hall had emptied out. Belamie knew this because she'd spent half an hour sweeping it. No sense in dirtying it with her arrival, though she knew she'd be spending that same half an hour at the end of day leaving the place as clean as it could be.

There was no one inside yet, as she'd expected.

Later she'd have to attend to her chores but right now, she enjoyed being able to draw a full breath as she ambled towards the space set aside for her craft. Everything was on the table, just as she'd left it-- the raw spoons that still required sanding and their final shaping, the burls to be hollowed out into large bowls and containers, the clamped planks that would eventually be a bench with a subtle striped pattern achieved by using differently aged wood glued together, the buckets full of chips both dry and soaking to be taken to the kitchens for the smokers. The scent in the air of this corner was a rich one. She took another deep breath and held it for a moment in her lungs.

It was peaceful here. But Belamie knew that the others would begin arriving soon enough. Crafters, just as inclined to early days as she was, and possibly Weyrfolk looking for their services. Best she get busy. Too damp outside for the burls, and the glue on the planks needed longer.

Hooking a stool over with her foot, she rummaged in one of the bins kept under her work table and came out with her roll of sanding files.

Spoons it would be.

The sound of woodworking and the sound of a hall springing to life. Lymsleia had forgotten what it was like to be back in the Weyr even though she'd been back for a few weeks. She breathed through he nose. This was winter in the South? Not a speck of snow- though she was from Ista, they didn't get snow- unless it was really unusual.

The sound of someone working reminded her her fishing. The one chore she sucked at. "EXcuse me?' she called out politely to the hall at large unsure if anyone was in this early. Lymselia leaned on the door way a moment. "Anyone in quiet this early?" she tried to keep her voice low. Her skills as a healer, should be needed if no one got hurt.

Indivara was up early, for various reasons and not the least of which was a loud and obnoxious Grith landing on the roof of her mother's hut, demanding Khainth come out and play. A'din had managed to send both green dragons on their way, but not before all three occupants of the small hut were wide awake. The young girl was the most put out, having been up late the night before sneaking out to the forest. The child enjoyed the gentle quiet of the trees in winter, and late at night they whispered to her. They also offered some very interesting opportunities to learn people's secrets (the forest has eyes, and they belong to Indivara.) and the girl would, eventually, exploit the more interesting ones, though even the less than immediately worthy secrets were kept close. She just had to wait for the right opportunity and Indivara considered herself a patient person. Secrets were like wine, the longer they brewed, the better they would eventually taste; or they would go sour, but she tended to ignore that. After all, Katilan Secrets were not Katilan Wine... More like Benden, perhaps.

Which, truth be told, was the entire reasoning behind her current expedition. Indivara, being a resourceful child, had discovered an opportunity: Her mother, for some reason, had taken a shine to a pretty carved box one of her friends was in possession of. General questions of a curious nature had informed the girl of the maker, and it was to that maker the child was now travelling, her breath puffing out before her though she wasn't all that cold. Born in the South, she didn't understand what 'cold' was, like some of the Northerners that bitched and moaned about Katila being so hot. She liked the warmth, it was pleasant. At any rate, while Indivara had yet to decide what it was she'd demand of her mother by holding the pretty trinket just out of her reach, she knew it would be worth it. It was that reasoning that had the child slipping into the Craft Hall and whisper on silent feet to the room where she knew the wood crafter in question was want to work. Not expecting anyone to be there, Indivara was slightly surprised when she caught sight of Lymsleia.

Her surprise didn't last long, however, and there was none of it on her mangled face as she moved up beside the confused looking woman. "Hello, Lym," she said mildly, voice neither hushed nor obnoxiously loud in the soft morning air. The girl hadn't seen much of the midwife since the Hatching, though that hardly surprised her. The girl had mostly been in Talian's care to set her face right (or as right as possible, given the horrendous scarring not even his skills could obliterate) and she could understand the disappointment of not Impressing - had felt it herself in the worse way possible. But it wasn't just that that had her out of Lymsleia's sight. that, Lymsleia's speciality was babies and all that womanly junk, that Indivara, despite her budding body (or perhaps because of it) was loath to be involved in. She had no intention of having babies, ever (D'ren could jump off a mountain cliff before she'd exchange her body for the right to stand. Damn him to Threadfall, she was a Weyrbrat! It was her birth right to Stand!) and she knew everything any Weyrbrat knew about sex. Just because she hadn't done it didn't mean she was oblivious. Her mother was a greenrider, after all. She knew what went on, and she knew between would keep her from having anyone's baby. What more could she possibly need to know?

Nothing. That's what.

When she picked up the sound of quiet work - the soft grinding of sandpaper against wood - Indivara zoned in on it, flashing a fleeting smile at Lymsleia before slipping into the room and quickly bee lining for where Belamie was working peacefully. Indivar's expression was at ease and pleasant as the young girl came to a standstill by the older woman; close enough to see and speak without getting in her space. Curious, Indivara peered with interest at the spoons that were being smoothed out, one eyebrow arching delicately, though it manipulated the scarring on her fine face in a much less delicate manner. Her blue eyes lifted to look at the young woman, gaze thoughtful and warm. "Hey Belamie," Indivara said politely, not at all unconscious of the fact that her knowledge of names and faces could creep some people out. Particularly when she'd never bothered to speak to them before, as Indivara tended to ignore the Northerners in favour of the dragonriders and Weyrbrats that were more native to their community. She couldn't handle the sulking or moaning they uttered as they whined about being stuck at Katila.

"Id like to commission a piece if work." There was certainly no point in beating around the bush, and Indivara figured Belamie would be the type to appreciate some up front communication. The child leaned back on her heels slightly, her face contorting thoughtfully as she eyed the woman in question. While she had little in the way of marks, Indivara was willing to exchange her personal assistance (running errands, or, whatever the crafter negotiated) in exchange for the work she wanted done. She knew the Journeywoman was good at the detailed and pretty work, which was exactly what her mother was after. Of course, as soon as she'd mentioned the idea to Kerrin, he'd laughed in her face (after all, since when did Indivara do anything for someone else? Especially work) which, the girl admitted to herself, was the main reason she was now standing before the wood worker. Kerrin could go suck on a clump of Thread. She'd show him!

"Excuse me? Anyone in quite this early?"

Belamie closed her eyes. Her morning's revery was over and she needed to focus, to shake off the quiet. The table under her hands and the dull leather of her apron was coated with a fine layer of sawdust and though her natural impulse was to draw a breath as she prepared herself for the day's performance, she checked that urge. She'd neglected to tie a cloth around her mouth and nose to protect herself from breathing in those particles.

The voice was a soft one, on the verge of uncertainty. Something about it tickled her memory. Who was at the door? Her mind brought her an image of dark skin and strange pale eyes. The midwife? That's right. Lymsleia. She let her hands move back into the smooth strokes required of sanding down the spoon as she considered how to best respond.

In the end, the matter was decided for her. Belamie didn't see or hear the girl approaching.

Of course she didn't. That was Indivara's way and it was far more unsettling than the scars that marked the child's face. The pulse of alarm she felt made it difficult to slide the right smile into place; it was slow in coming as she looked up from the work in hand to focus on her visitor.

It didn't surprise her that the girl knew her name. That was also her way--and Belamie's as well. "In here, Lymsleia!"

The summons was louder than she'd prefer--all of this empty echoey space did strange things to a voice accustomed to lingering in the softer ranges. But Bel kept her smile firmly in place as she returned her eyes to Indivara's face. The scars were looking better. Less vivid, even if they were no less distinctive. In a distant part of her mind, she wondered how the girl could stand the itching as they healed.

"Indivara," she said quietly, letting the name stand as a greeting. When she saw her eyes focused on the spoon, Bel set the sandpaper down and carefully brushed the object off before offering it to the girl for study. Children liked to hold things, to study them close, even those on the borderland between childhood and adulthood like this one. And touching soft, worked wood like this was a pleasure that might incline the girl favorably towards herself--it was rare that people didn't respond positively to the tactile sensation when they really studied a well made piece.

"I'd be happy to take a commission, of course. You just have to tell me what you'd like and I'll tell you if it's possible. Some of the better wood is still seasoning."

Indivara didn't bother to look and see if Lymsleia was going to come in. What the woman did was up to her, and it wasn't so much that Indivara didn't care about Lymsleia, so much as Indivara didn't really care much for anyone but herself. Always looking out for number one, and Indivara was unquestionably her own number one. The attitude was further boosted by her preteen attitude that she was top shit, and well, everyone else was not. Instead, the child gently accepted the item Belamie offered to her, taking the spoon into delicate fingers, which (for once) were clean. Likely the early hour, and the extended bath under taken the night before. They wouldn't be clean within a few hours.

The child wasn't really one to understand the inner workings of the craft the woman before her was a part of, or have much interest in it, if she were honest. Indivara didn't have much interest in any craft, as dragons controlled her every thought and desire. She couldn't comprehend a world where dragons didn't exist, or where someone wouldn't want to Impress them. They were, after all, the embodiment of all that was amazing in the world they claimed as their own. Why wouldn't someone want to be bonded to such an amazing creature? (of course, then there were dragons like Grith that were about as bright as a wet lump of wood, or Larrikith, who were far too clever for their own good. But Indivara liked to ignore the extremes.) Dragons were everything the child dreamed of, and everything she would one day truly be a part of. It was just a matter of time.

Preferably a short time!

"It's lovely." It was more a statement of fact than a coo of delight, as the girl fingered the wood almost absently, thinking over the crafter's agreement and statement. Of course she would need to know what the child wanted, but Indivara wasn't entirely sure how to describe it. To her, it was just a silly little box with a lot of carving in the side that her mother was childishly attracted to. She didn't see the reason for it, herself, and figured it was liable to simply gather a whole lot of dust. Waste of time, waste of space, waste of effort. But - it would win a favour out of her mother (as yet still undetermined by the sly little girl) but one she was sure she could use. Eventually.

"Mother has taken a fancy to a small box, about yay big," she held her hands up, gripping the spoon delicately between her last two fingers and her palm as she used her hands to indicate a rough size. "A hollowed out box, with a lid that sits on top. It is carved with a scene, from the North I think? Perhaps that is why Mother likes it so much. But I thought she might like one of her own." No need to tell the woman she had a plan to reap the rewards eventually. She didn't really care what Belamie thought, or even what her mother would think (A'din wouldn't be surprised at all) but rather she was worried about Par'a finding out. That woman could be dangerous when she wanted to be, in the same way Indivara supposed she could be dangerous.

Knowledge was a weapon, and Par'a had a lot more practice at wielding it, even if she did seem like a scatter brained, sex addicted greenrider! Indivara had spent enough time around her baby sitter to not trust her as far as she could throw her - not when it came to pieces of information.

Lymsleia stepepd inside, "Bela." she greeated he wood worker with a pleasant happy voice. THe echoing of the voice around the  empty hall mae her freeze. She reminded herself that woodcrafter were not healers and so could sleep. "I was wondering when you had some time ,and some spare wood, could I get a few... decorative peices?" Lymsleia felt silly asking for something like that but it was the thought that counted right?

As Lymsleia found herself watching the wood worker. Indivara caught her attention. "Looking good, Indi-vara." she finished slowly, as if she had caught herself memntally that she couldn't call the young woman 'indy'  at all. The facially scared girl was actually more deserving of her respect. "How are you today?" she asked .

"Ahh about my peices, well a box, actually something to put things in and maybe a few wooden dragons? something decorative. I sort of want to briighten up the infirmary." she licked her lips. She felt stupid and slow, speaking now. Out of touch with the Weyr and its reality.