Difference between revisions of "Logs:Procurer of Apprentices"

Road to Fort Hold

Stones cobble the wide stretches of road that stretch between Fort Hold and the Healer and Harper Halls, the stones petering out into into gravel instead as the main road dips and dives through fields and over slight rises away from the hold itself. During the day, the sun shines down on the meadows and fields that surround the hold, neat fences and lines of trees dividing one from the other. The many windows of the main hold are hewn out of the northward wall of the Fort palisade, facing southeast with a view of the Harper and Healer quadrangles tucked into the angle of the cliff. Cotholds of gray stone line the rampway up to the hold, from the simplest single story cot, to more elaborate three-story constructions. Beyond the rampway the road turns sharply into the palisade to the massive beasthold and stables.

Tucked into the intersection of the Hall Road and the Hold Road are the Gather Grounds where seasonal Gathers take place during the four quadrants of the year, including the renowned Turnover and Spring Gathers. The space betwen the Healer and Harper quadrangles is taken up by a series of gardens serving culinary, medicinal and decorative purposes and something is always growing here, even in winter. The road turns north beyond the hold, leading the way to Ruatha and the Reaches. Below the Halls it turns south towards Gar, Southern Boll and the Weaver Craft.

Fort Hold in the evening looks much more appealing with the soft lighting of glows and the twin moons to smooth out the worn looks. It's just on the dinner hour, so the space is less crowded than usual -- the occasional apprentice rushing to get some chore done, a Journeyman hurrying late to dinner, and apparently a rider dropping off a traveller. The slim figure that climbs down is quick to depart without much of a parting farewell, though the bronze's rider climbs down slowly afterwards, as if not so quick to leave. The fainter lighting probably makes the remnants of yellow-brown bruising along his jawline a little less noticeable, though R'hin's wincing as he leans against Leiventh's side, apparently content for now to watch the back-and-forth of life at Fort Hold. The bronze looks... well, Leiventh at least doesn't display much physical reflection of his emotional state, though eyes gleam in the evening gloom.

Madilla's departure from the courtyard of Healer Hall is timed just shortly before R'hin's passenger disappears altogether, and though the healer does seem to recognise that slim figure, she makes no move to acknowledge her. Her path, instead, takes her on towards the road, and if that takes her towards the bronzerider, it truly is happenstance and no more. Against the chill of the evening, she tightens the shawl around her shoulders - and hesitates; perhaps she's recognised R'hin and Leiventh, too. "I hadn't expected to see you again so soon," she remarks, levelly, green eyes peering through the gloom towards him.

The rider's eyes note the Journeywoman's passing, though unlike with the other figures, his gaze lingers and tracks her approach. In contrast to the chill of the evening weather, R'hin's voice is full of warmth and amusement, a perhaps welcome mixture: "I was hoping you'd sound so much happier about it, mom." He presses a hand against his chest, the other held out as if to invite her closer, though pale eyes fix on hers as a smile twitches his lips upwards. "Or at least fake it, for me?"

"Not if you're going to call me 'mom,'" answers Madilla immediately, albeit with a laugh, steps already adjusting her path so that she can approach. "Is that a... have you been fighting again?" The juxtaposition of that comment next to the reference to 'mom' is obvious even to her; she rolls her eyes, a gesture that's more or less obvious even in the dark, and digs her hands beneath the wool of her shawl. "Forget I said that. For once, I'll be neither mother nor healer, I promise."

"Doc, then," the bronzerider relents, though the brief, knowing smirk that appears as she brings up his bruising suggests perhaps the moniker was deliberate in anticipation of such a comment. "A welcome home present," R'hin murmurs with a hint of amusement, his hand dropping as she draws closer. "Are you coming or going?" he wonders, with a nod towards the Hall.

Madilla makes a face, but doesn't argue this newest moniker: no doubt it would be a losing battle. "I'm delighted to know how much Monaco missed you," she remarks, instead, tone is dry as an Igen afternoon. "You do know how to make friends, don't you? Going." The answer to his question hovers, without further explanation, for several long seconds before she adds, with a hint of ruefulness, "Definitely going."

"Back to High Reaches?" There's a moment's hesitation; politeness would dictate he should offer her a ride, and yet R'hin tellingly refrains from doing so, instead breaking the silence with: "I know how to make friends. But enemies are so much less droll. After all, I haven't a wing to keep me occupied any longer, and everyone's on edge about when Oriane's Evielth will rise." He seems to be taking it with distinct equanimity, and indeed, a droll humor to match her own: "I've also been busy searching for a new pet healer to patch me up. It's a full time job, after all, as you know," he says, with a knowing sort of grin at her.

With the offer of a ride not forthcoming, Madilla regards R'hin levelly for a few seconds more, though she refrains from making the request herself. "Back to High Reaches," she agrees, "Unless I decide to run away from my responsibilities and re-dedicate myself to the bruises your enemies so lovingly provide. Or perhaps I should simply supervise your pursuit of such a person. I have a nearly-Journeyman who is about to hate me, if you think she'd be of use. She'll want you in the race for Evielth, though."

A low, dark chuckle is R'hin's answer to the healer's suggestion of running away. "As much as I'd love to indulge the idea, I've no wish to have that droll brownrider of yours after me, nor your apt and quick daughter, the Lord's son, nor your newest babe." Not that he's been asking after her familial status or anything. A beat, then, "Your recommendation holds a lot of weight," and while his manner in general might suggest facetiousness, there's a weight to the words that suggest honesty. "Give me her name; we can negotiate the last." Which in R'hin speak suggests that's not his intention, but then he doesn't seem dissuaded from trying for all that.

Madilla's gaze holds momentary surprise for that recitation of her familial status, though surprise is replaced quickly by a more mirthful twitch about the corners of her mouth. "I suppose they'd be less than pleased," she allows. "Not to mention my Hall." There's a moodiness lurking beneath the more superficial good humour in her tone, though it's difficult to discern: she is, after all, more jovial and joking with R'hin than she is with most people. "Jinja, though. She's got a romantic's view of the world, but she's quick, beneath the fripperies. But she'll never be content in my Infirmary, without influence, or... scope."

"The Hall was the least of my concerns," comes R'hin's mirthful response, pale eyes lingering on the healer as if detecting that more understated mood. "Scope," he echoes, visibly intrigued. "Well -- that could be arranged. Jinja. She's based at High Reaches?" More statement than guess, though it could be marked otherwise. His gaze flickers past her, towards the harper side of the complex, then back. "Tell you what. I'm sure we have enough... time. In return for introducing me to Jinja, I'll take you anywhere without question. Steal a moment of time to yourself; I won't tell. Leiventh, neither," he adds, after an grin over his shoulder; the bronze appears unmoved by his sudden inclusion in the conversation.

Madilla glances back over her own shoulder, though it's certainly the healer complex she's giving her consideration to - for one beat, two beats, three. "I recommended they post her somewhere else, once she's walked," she murmurs, as she turns her gaze back towards R'hin. "And I expect they'll send her back home to Nabol, and she'll hate that; and me. Making the introduction is as much a benefit for me as you, I promise. She'd do better. Everyone wins. Besides, where would I ask you to take me? I wouldn't know what to do with myself, for all that it's a generous offer."

"Nabol?" R'hin echoes, in one might express the sentiment oh the horror, though there's amusement lit in his regard. At her latter question, his gaze goes to her shawl. "Somewhere warm. Somewhere that does drinks. A secret rendezvous with your lover? I won't judge. Consider it a debt owed, if things work out with Jinja."

"Jinja," explains Madilla, without a hint of censure for her apprentice, despite probably countless broken rules, "has gained an appreciation for the freedoms of Weyr life. And the advantages of being away from one's parents." Half-unconsciously, she adjusts her shawl all over again, her exhale hinting at a laugh even as much as it sounds appreciative. "A secret lover is, of course, exactly the kind of thing I have plenty of time for. I admit, though, the prospect of someplace warm is not an unpleasant one. How quickly summer disappears. Are you glad to be home, R'hin?"

"Everyone should have an opportunity to stretch without their parents shadows hanging over them," R'hin says, in apparent sympathy for Jinja. Or -- with the subtle flick of gaze towards harper -- perhaps not so much about the healer. His expression twists oddly at the last, a kind of sardonic tone that is probably not intended to be audible in his uninformative response, "The weather is certainly a welcome change. It's an adjustment for many of my... of the former Savannah Wing."

Madilla, her chin lifted just slightly, seems to have caught that flick of R'hin's gaze; the corner of her mouth turns up, more rueful than smiling. "My eldest daughter will be apprenticing as a harper, next turn. It's more difficult than I expected, preparing to let go. I hope they don't send her back to High Reaches, ever, almost as much as I desperately hope that they do." Exhaling, she considers the bronzerider levelly for a few moments before finally nodding. "Of course. Change always is. And... a turn is a long time to be away."

"A harper," R'hin echoes, though he doesn't sound surprised, as if this is not news to him. Then, after a moment's silence, "The best we can hope for is that they are happy." There's sympathy and understanding in the bronzerider's expression as his gaze returns to the healer. "It is," he acknowledges the last, a little more gruffly than perhaps he means, which might be why he glances at Leiventh again for a beat, before stretching a hand in Madilla's direction. "Straight to High Reaches, then?"

"Happy," repeats Madilla, her tone imbuing that word with a plethora of indistinct emotions. It's complicated, and so is the glance she aims at the bronzerider, cataloguing his reactions, gruff words and all, in an obvious, thoughtful way. His hand, at least, turns the corners of her mouth up again; she withdraws her own from the folds of her shawl, extending it to meet his. "Straight to High Reaches," she agrees. "If you can stand to visit again so soon."

"It will be a short visit," R'hin says, as if it's a trouble to be borne, escorting her the two steps to Leiventh's side, before climbing up and helping her into place. He's relatively taciturn throughout this process, and it's only when Leiventh touches down in the High Reaches bowl that he regards her with a parting smile and the words, "If you find any other stray apprentices look for adventure, make sure to send them my way."

Madilla is silent, after that first remark, quite as though she has genuinely no idea what to say in answer-- indeed, it leaves her expression studiously neutral, though she's gracious enough in thanks for the escort. His parting smile, at least, is easier: she has her own in return, genuine in its brightness. "I'll keep an eye out for you," she promises, faithfully enough. "Madilla: procurer of adventurous apprentices. Thank you for the ride, R'hin. Good luck with..." Everything. Nothing. Something.

"A useful thing to have in one's arsenal," R'hin says by way of response, a smile flicking upwards at the last, though no verbal response given. Leiventh waits until the healer's safely to the ground and far back enough before he launches skywards, disappearing between after the second sweep of wings.