Post by wit on Jun 13, 2010 20:43:43 GMT -5
Well, this was... quaint. Yes, that was one way to put. It wasn't as if her room back at the Harper Hall had been much bigger, but those extra few inches evidently made quite a difference. There had been space for the beds to be on opposite sides of the room, for example. There was none of this bunk bed nonsense. Yithel looked at the stacked beds with evident distrust and wrinkled her nose. Well, there was no changing things now. She had committed to be a Candidate, and she wanted it badly. If the process was going to be uncomfortable, so be it.
The room showed signs of already having one occupant. The top bunk wasn't made up, and there was a pile of clothes shoved into the corner that stank of sweat and manual labor. How lovely. Again, there was no helping that. The other girl wasn't around, and Yithel couldn't blame her. It was a lovely day, with just a tinge of autumn's crispness lingering in the air. Besides, she had heard strange things were afoot- dead riders in the lake, or something like that. It had happened recently, but Yithel did not know anyone well enough to ask. All she had heard had been at the Hall and came from secondhand sources, at best.
Yithel had packed lightly, most of her space taken up by her lap harp. It was the simple instrument of an apprentice, crafted out of poor wood and with an inferior sound, but it would suffice for the time being. When Yithel eventually advanced in rank (assuming she did not Impress or stay at Dalibor), she would have to construct her own instrument and it would stay with her for a lifetime. This was a plaything better suited for children, but she none the less placed it carefully on her bunk, feeling the hard mattress underneath.
Unpacking was a long process and it didn't need to be started right at that moment. Yithel wanted to explore her new home while there was still light in the sky. It was getting near late afternoon, and she was sure that her fellow Candidates would soon come trooping back from chores. She highly doubted they would even look twice at a newcomer unless she made herself known. That would be another difficult task- how could one stand out in a Weyr of standouts? Dragonriders were nearly always exceptional people- the best of Pern. Or so the ballads would have you believe. Yithel herself was Weyr born, and well used to the various idiosyncrasies one developed after some time living amongst dragons.
Closing the room door softly behind her, Yithel paused for a moment to simply take in deep breaths. She hadn't expected to come to Dalibor and become a Candidate. The fact that the dragon who had given her a ride over had suggested it just seemed shocking to her. Back at Fort, it would have been her right to stand, but she had never felt old enough. It was a choice she had regretted often since then, though being a Harper suited Yithel well. Clever twists of the tongue were her forte.
After gathering herself, Yithel set out so that she stood at the junction between where the men and women separated. The drudge who had shown her her room had explained that wher Candidates also resided there, though presumably they kept different hours. They all mingled together though as they stamped out into breakfast or dinner, pushing and shoving and laughing as young people did. For now though, it was simply quiet. The serenity was lovely, if slightly lonely. Yithel was keenly aware that any connections she had here were tenuous at best. There were other Harpers here, but no one she had counted as a friend. They were all a continent away. There was a time difference too that left Yithel yawning, not bothering to cover it. Her large blue eyes watered slightly as she did so.
Finally she called out, unwilling to stand in exile anymore. "Hello? Anyone about?" Her voice was marred by sleep and the cold of between. My singing Masters would be most displeased she thought wryly.
The room showed signs of already having one occupant. The top bunk wasn't made up, and there was a pile of clothes shoved into the corner that stank of sweat and manual labor. How lovely. Again, there was no helping that. The other girl wasn't around, and Yithel couldn't blame her. It was a lovely day, with just a tinge of autumn's crispness lingering in the air. Besides, she had heard strange things were afoot- dead riders in the lake, or something like that. It had happened recently, but Yithel did not know anyone well enough to ask. All she had heard had been at the Hall and came from secondhand sources, at best.
Yithel had packed lightly, most of her space taken up by her lap harp. It was the simple instrument of an apprentice, crafted out of poor wood and with an inferior sound, but it would suffice for the time being. When Yithel eventually advanced in rank (assuming she did not Impress or stay at Dalibor), she would have to construct her own instrument and it would stay with her for a lifetime. This was a plaything better suited for children, but she none the less placed it carefully on her bunk, feeling the hard mattress underneath.
Unpacking was a long process and it didn't need to be started right at that moment. Yithel wanted to explore her new home while there was still light in the sky. It was getting near late afternoon, and she was sure that her fellow Candidates would soon come trooping back from chores. She highly doubted they would even look twice at a newcomer unless she made herself known. That would be another difficult task- how could one stand out in a Weyr of standouts? Dragonriders were nearly always exceptional people- the best of Pern. Or so the ballads would have you believe. Yithel herself was Weyr born, and well used to the various idiosyncrasies one developed after some time living amongst dragons.
Closing the room door softly behind her, Yithel paused for a moment to simply take in deep breaths. She hadn't expected to come to Dalibor and become a Candidate. The fact that the dragon who had given her a ride over had suggested it just seemed shocking to her. Back at Fort, it would have been her right to stand, but she had never felt old enough. It was a choice she had regretted often since then, though being a Harper suited Yithel well. Clever twists of the tongue were her forte.
After gathering herself, Yithel set out so that she stood at the junction between where the men and women separated. The drudge who had shown her her room had explained that wher Candidates also resided there, though presumably they kept different hours. They all mingled together though as they stamped out into breakfast or dinner, pushing and shoving and laughing as young people did. For now though, it was simply quiet. The serenity was lovely, if slightly lonely. Yithel was keenly aware that any connections she had here were tenuous at best. There were other Harpers here, but no one she had counted as a friend. They were all a continent away. There was a time difference too that left Yithel yawning, not bothering to cover it. Her large blue eyes watered slightly as she did so.
Finally she called out, unwilling to stand in exile anymore. "Hello? Anyone about?" Her voice was marred by sleep and the cold of between. My singing Masters would be most displeased she thought wryly.