Logs:A Weyrlingmaster's Preparations
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| RL Date: 17 July, 2014 |
| Who: Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Everything is ready for the new-weyrlings-to-be. |
| Where: Weyrling Barracks, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 12, Month 4, Turn 35 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Meara/Mentions |
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| The barracks were clean... and empty. The walls had been washed; the floors, too. Clean bedding was laid out on cots, and fresh rushes in couches; enough for ten. They'd put Hraedhyth's clutch on the left side of the barracks, and in a couple of months, Iesaryth's would line up on the right. It wouldn't be quiet in here for long. Quinlys meandered down the middle of the room, then veered off towards the right, counting off the couches; one to ten. She tidied the edge of one of the blankets, and then fluffed up a pillow. It didn't matter: the weyrling who ended up here wouldn't notice. Quinlys noticed. Further down the aisle, she came to a halt, footsteps carrying her there without conscious thought. This one; she knew it, even now, would always know it. It wasn't the graffiti carved into the stone depression, and it wasn't the uneven bars on the cot. It was... her feet just knew the way. She sat down, mindful of the dip in the mattress, and closed her eyes. The first time she'd sat on this cot was nearly nine turns ago, now; she remembered it like it was yesterday. She remembered what it had felt like, sitting here on that first day; she remembered what she'd thought about, after Olly had fallen asleep, after it had all begun to sink in. She remembered how lost some of those exiles had seemed, and how superior she'd felt. She remembered... In a couple of days, there would be ten new pairs in here; ten new new lives. It was exciting; exhilarating, too. She liked those first moments-- they were hard, always, and exhausting, but it was her favourite part of it all, too. How could you not be excited by it all? She wiggled her toes, deep within her boots, and smiled. Sometimes she felt overwhelmed, in this job. Sometimes she missed Meara; missed the greenrider's experience, her confidence, her quiet compassion. Quinlys had always wished to emulate her; she'd idolised her. But she couldn't be Meara. She wasn't calm and knowing and soothing; she didn't have it in her. She had other strengths, and they were good, useful strengths. "I'm a good weyrlingmaster," she said, out loud, telling the empty room. "I'm very good at what I do." (In the back of her head, she felt Olveraeth's smug satisfaction, and his agreement.) Still, sometimes... Sometimes she felt the pressure of it, and wondered how people had coped, when there was thread to fight. How could a weyrlingmaster cope? She felt the pressure. She felt the challenge, too. She wiggled her toes. She was ready. |
Comments
Azaylia on 07:47, 17 July 2014 said...
This was awesome. Quinlys being pumped got me pumped! The pressure and excitement was really tangible, by the end.
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