Mucking About [Open]

Well. This was going to be extremely interesting, somewhat humiliating, and definitely intensive work. It was a battle within him whether he should feel some burning shame; being here inside the quarters of people he had stood beside, or the deep abiding curiosity that was currently consuming him and setting his feet to move faster. In the very least he would be able to report to Daymar on their first-met questions of how the Weyrling Barracks were laid out on the inside, at the most he could learn so much more. Sleeping arrangements paled in comparison to how a dragon slept on their stone couch, how it was to have half of you never further than the next room. His fingers twitched on the barrow full of cleaning tools.

It wasn’t simply shame or excitement that was causing him turmoil; he also felt a small bit of chagrin that he would—in essence—be enjoying a task that was set to him as punishment. Certainly his back would not enjoy this though, correct? K’var hadn’t said he needed to be in complete penance—although it might have been implied. His teeth bit the lips that tried to grin as he pushed his way into the male side of the Barracks and stopped in his tracks to take it all in. That spicy dragon smell was so layered here that he felt he was drowning in it—and would probably reek of it by the time he was finished; it reminded him of a smell from moons ago; but far less earthy and somehow cleaner.

He peered around curiously, but thus far hadn’t heard anyone, so he simply settled into making ready. He pulled from his pocket a square length of fabric which he lashed around his brow and hair—nothing like trying to brush sweat out of your eyes only to smudge yourself with offal; he had learned that young. Now the cloth served the dual purpose of slicking moisture from his brow and keeping the trailing locks far from his eyes. That done he adopted a cheery sort of whistle and, shovel in hand, strode into the first room to begin his work—and discovery.