Logs:Out Of Depth
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| RL Date: 18 November, 2011 |
| Who: Lujayn, Quinlys |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Quinlys is making preparations for the weyrling camping trip. Lujayn is reassuring. |
| Where: Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 8, Month 4, Turn 27 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: E'gin/Mentions, Iolene/Mentions, Riorde/Mentions |
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| Western Bowl, High Reaches Weyr The bowl's vast dirt floor extends in a rough oval from west to east, only sparse clumps of grass surviving between the crisscrossed pathways of daily traffic. To the northwest stand massive gates to the world beyond, allowing people, livestock, and tithes to pass beneath some of the seven jagged spires that stand sentinel over that area of the bowl. In late afternoons, their spindly, fingerlike shadows stretch over that end of the bowl all the way to the living cavern's hulking brass doors in the far north. Eastward, the bowl sprawls on toward the lake, sloping slightly downward to allow runoff from rain and snowmelt, but to the south it's caged by more cliffs of dark, rough-cut granite. Rocks poke up from the ground here, a few large boulders and many smaller outcroppings worn smooth in spots by time and use. A few ground weyr entrances dot the wall, the most frequented ledge set up like a patio while the largest ledge services the Weyrleaders' complex, directly beside the huge entrance to the hatching sands. A more human-sized entrance, left of that, leads to the galleries. Fog begins to coalesce in the very early morning hours and lingers throughout the day, soft and still and clammy. The weyrlings are due to set off on their expedition in another couple of hours, but preparations are already well under way for some of Cirrus wing. Despite the lingering fog, Quinlys is piling bundles together on the bowl floor, checking each off on a clipboarded list, one after another. The red-headed weyrling pauses in her labours to give the list a considering - and somewhat dubious - glance, her brow furrowing; she turns to aim a glance towards Olveraeth, who is hovering, watchful, nearby, but whatever the blue has to say, it doesn't seem to soothe her concerns. "Almost ready to go?" Lujayn materializes from the thick fog with a casual greeting, a snug scarf muffling her words somewhat. "Looks good so far.." She surveys the bundles with a faint smile, catching the faintest promise of fun and adventure that the traditional camping trip brings. "Where are the rest of you, though?" Casting a glance back and upwards over her shoulder to a faintly glimmering Rielsath on her ledge, Lu adds, "Ri was hoping to get a good look at the entire class." Reverie interrupted, Quinlys spins on her heel to face Lujayn, a smile hastily set into place. "Good afternoon, Weyrwoman. I think most of them are still packing up," she explains, indicating the weyrs lining the bowl wall with a rueful tilt of her head. "I'm just worried that we're not taking enough. I mean... I know they're all saying we can fish and whatever, but what if we don't catch enough? I don't want to starve." It's an admission that seems to embarrass her, as though she's wary of this whole experience, despite herself. "Does she want to appraise us all, then, Ma'am? Rielsath?" Lujayn regards the supplies thoughtfully, looking up to Olveraeth momentarily. "Dragons can fish for themselves and might bring you back some deepwater game that you can't get to," She reassures the weyrling. "But I see your point. It's not a reliable source unless you have industrial crews on boats. I haven't been to the island since the rescue, but does anyone think the cultivated plant life took hold? Could be a chance." Seemingly determined to be a positive little sunbeam, she smiles. "More or less, in her way. She likes watching little dragons grow up." It's a sentimental admission, but a fond one. "Neither of us are out to criticize." More to get Quinlys'gears turning, she continues: "What would your first source of food be? Supplies or fishing?" "I've no idea," admits Quinlys, of plants on the island - or most of it, it seems. She nudges at one of the bundles with her foot, as though getting it exactly in the right place will make it multiply and feed them all. "I'm completely out of my depth. I've never lived anywhere but the weyr, and I wouldn't have the faintest idea how to fish for supper. Or even cook supper." She does manage to return Lujayn's smile, adding, "I'm sure you're not. Trying to criticise, I mean. I didn't mean to imply that. She looks-- how soon will she rise, do you think? While we're away?" The weyrling shoves her hands into her pockets, continuing to add, "Fishing, I suppose. Supplies to fall back on." "That's a tough one, then. I hope E'gin and the rest are good teachers." A gentle reminder that Quinlys doesn't have to carry the entire weyrling group through the camping trip on her own. "Everyone has different strengths. It sounds like you can keep an eye on the big picture while the others do their thing. Trust and all that." Avoiding the lecture she hears in her own tone, Lujayn turns to the other visiblel subject at hand. "Her flight? Could be sooner rather than later. It's all or nothing most of the time, just a little glow and then up she goes." It's easy to talk about when her dragon isn't actively sizing up potential suitors, apparently. "I hope after, myself. Let you guys deal with one thing at a time." A grumpy little rumble echoes those words from the ledge, where a sun-dappled tail flicks irritably. Lu only rolls her eyes. "Are you looking forward to it? Could be fun." Quinlys, usually so confident, seems to droop, even as she's nodding and admitting, "I know, I know. And they'll be teaching the rest of us. I'm just not used to-- this." All of it. Some of it. Something. "I'm sure it'll be fine. Maybe it'll be fun. It's not as though we can't just come home if it all goes wrong, right?" Rielsath's grumpy rumble draws the weyrling's attention, though not Olveraeth's: he's too busy watching a handful of dragons flying at drills above them. "We might be far enough away to miss it altogether," she offers, with a twisted smile. "Not, I suppose, that it will impact me either way. Do you think Ysavaeth is old enough that she'll need to go away? They're not completely full grown, just yet." Lujayn sighs herself, reaching out to give the girl a pat on the back. "You'll be okay. If you run into real trouble - which I seriously doubt - no one will let you starve. And by the looks of this, everyone has a good idea of what's needed. Better to travel light." She acknowledges the hard work put into the list and accrued supplies with a curt nod. It's not a stretch for her to answer the girl's questions, either, and she does so openly. "I don't think Ysavaeth is old enough. I was more worried about the bronzes and browns." Or for their riders, more like. "First chase, first camping trip, these two things don't seem to mesh well together." Quinlys takes comfort and reassurance where she can get it, it seems, and manages another smile as Lujayn pats her on the back. "I know you're right," she says. "I mean - realistically, I know you're right. It's just harder to let things go. I guess that's part of why we're doing this, though, isn't it? Taking some of us out of our comfort zone." The answer about Ysavaeth seems to satisfy her, for she nods firmly; the rest draws her mouth into a twist. "Mm," she agrees. "No, that would probably be-- poorly timed. The poor things. I don't know that any of them have even chased a green, let alone a queen. It's got to be pretty intense. Glad it's not me." Beat. "Just when we think we've covered all the lectures, there's something new to experience. I guess that's why we have senior weyrlinghood." "Absolutely," The junior confirms both of Quinlys' ventures in one go, "It's okay to be a little hesitant. For you and a lot of the other weyrlings, the trip is a completely new way of living. You might surprise yourself, the both of you," Throwing Olveraeth into the mix for good measure, Lujayn has to smile. "Count yourself lucky for now. He hasn't been interested in the greens?" Not particularly surprised given the blue's age, just curious. The blue glances back at the two riders as he's mentioned, but he seems unconcerned by that particular topic of conversation. "Not Olly," says Quinlys, cheerfully: she, too, seems unfazed by mention of flights. "I know he will when he's ready, and that's no problem to me. I'm weyrbred; I guess I know better than most what I'm in for, you know? I guess it's only fair, that I'm comfortable with so much, except for this whole camping thing. Time to swap things around." Accepting that, however, is still pretty different from becoming comfortable. Lujayn grins. "That's a good way to look at things. Making the situation a little more equal, if only a little." The supplies look good, along with the weyrling's spirits now bolstered. "I always like a little optimism. You're not expecting any other kind of trouble, are you?" She noses around, semi-aware of potential personal difficulties. "Outside of supplies." Quinlys rubs at her nose with one, fog-damp hand, and shakes her head. "I don't think so. Not more than usual, anyway." There are always some problems; Quinlys is not going to try and pretend that there aren't. "I think Riorde is sore about something, and there are always a few difficulties between... the two camps. Even when we try really hard. But I hope it will be okay. It's going to be okay." More firmly, that time. And-- "Well, even if it isn't, it's only for a little while. Nothing can go too wrong. Right?" RIGHT? "You've done as much preparing as anyone can do. For anything." That's as close as Lujayn can come to echoing Quinlys' last word, but her own tone is calm. "I'm glad that no one's out for blood." Because a deserted island would be such a convenient place to accidentally lose someone. "If anything goes wrong, you'll only learn from it. Not die from it." RIGHT! 'Die from it', even said in the negative, makes Quinlys' expression twitch just slightly. Even so, she's valiant in her smile and confirmed, "That's true. It'll be fine. We'll all be fine. And the storm season should be over, so that's an other thing we don't have to worry about. We'll just-- we'll be fine." She sounds as though she's convincing herself with each repetition, though she smiles, too, with obvious gratittude for Lujayn's reassurance. "Next week, we'll probably be complaining about how boring shadowing other wings can be." Lujayn tightens her scarf a little, satisfied that both the gathered materials are what's called for and that Quinlys might go off on a camping trip looking a bit sunnier for the conversation. "I'd better be on my way, get some oil on Rielsath to keep off the fog. So she says." Nodding to encourage the repetition of such convincing statements, Lu offers one last cheering thought: "You'll do us proud. We'll see you off, in all probability, so until then." She excuses herself none too hurriedly, but the retreating footsteps beat a path through the fog and back to Rielsath's waiting presence. "Thank you, Weyrwoman," says Quinlys, after the retreating Lujayn, the genuineness of the sentiment so obvious in her grateful tone. She does seem relieved, even as she's getting back to work with the sorting and organising - before the whole weyrling group is ready to head off into their adventure. |
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