Difference between revisions of "Logs:Plain Truths and Impressive Fantasies"

Kitchen Gardens - Weaver Hall

Creeping vines inch their way along the low trellis fence surrounding this small garden. A set of round stone pavers spirals out from the center of the garden, with neat rows of flowers and shrubs following the path along in all directions. There is a wide space between the walls of the main building and the garden is cleared free of plant-life, with small stepping stones providing a path up to the steps. Racks and tables, useful for the drying and preparing of herbs, are placed off to one side, with small baskets of cutting and labeling tools placed on a shelf beneath. The rest of the garden is practically taken over by the endless rows of culinary herbs, and yet more rows containing herbs and plants used for dye extraction purposes. Each of these are marked by small, engraved plaques boasting the plant's name and use. A lone bench sits in the far left corner of the garden, shaded by an ancient weeping tree. The air is always heavy with the many natural fragrances wafting up from the garden beds.

Copious amounts of lecturing and reprimands have been laid upon this girl from an early age, but nothing has yet sunk in. Berit is still vain and petty, without any signs of changing. For her part however, her reasoning has good motives. "I *know* the protocol," she says in a low voice, like one imparting a secret to another, "but you.. you.. defiler of women, you have not even properly handfasted her yet!" Cue the coloring of her cheeks as she realizes her blunder. "I mean.. weyrmate her, that is what dragonriders do, right?" Living a sheltered life has its advantages and disadvantages, and knowing little outside of Hold-related news and parties is definitely to her disadvantage. She tries to bluster through, pretending as if the pink does not stain her cheeks still. "I.. yes, yes! She was from Telgar I believe and she had a pretty name from what I recall, but you are looking for ..clothes." Shaking her head and tossing her curls about, she taps her forefinger against her lips in thought. "We do have some ready-made clothing. Are you looking for maternity wear at a particular stage in her pregnancy?"

Madilla lets herself into the garden from the courtyard, a small basket slung over one arm. For the first couple of steps, she seems utterly unaware of the garden's occupants; then, the voices apparently register in her ears, and her head shoots up, her foot hesitates halfway to the ground, and there she stands, for a matter of moments, caught in indecision. Slowly, that foot sinks back to the ground, and, in a faltering, uneasy voice, the young Healer says, "Er... Should I come back later?"

"Then you are more the fool for ignoring it," T'aren's reply is terse as arms fold across his chest. "Riders-" And there's a significant pause to lend weight to his words, even though the girl has already corrected herself, "-do not handfast, for one. And two, we can't really. She's Telgari, I'm Fortian. We live it two different places. We can't share a weyr." He rolls his eyes at the ignorance of the apprentice. "And Thirdly, young lady," His voice is positively scornful here, "I haven't -defiled- anyone, I have loved -one- someone. So even 'women' is inaccurate in that statement." Always a stickler for the details. None of this is particularly meant to be insulting. "As far as I know, Juliri is the only pregnant goldrider." And he beams now with fatherly pride. "That's my baby." Pause. "It'll be easier now, I expect, because you'll have her measurements, right?" Then his hands reach to brush through his hair, and he takes this moment of indecision as a time to greet the other lass coming in the door. His smile is reserved and there's a nod. "Fort's duties to Healers," Is delivered automatically. Then confusion touches the baritone as he queries, "Why-- would you need to come back later? Are you--" He points to Madilla and then to Berit, "Here to see her? You could," This to Berit now, "direct me to someone who could help me-- figure out what I should get her?" He's a man who does not do clothes, least of all for women. "I just want something she'll like." A non-commital shrug.

Sage-green eyes narrow, lips come together in an angry purse, and her chin juts out as she glares at him. Lectures coming from the Masters are one thing, lectures from her brother another, but this? Berit deems him out of her league so she stamps a foot angrily, then rising on tippy toes to try to get to his height and in that, she fails miserably. "I am not a *fool*. I just think your behavior is revolting and ludicrous!" And because she cannot think of anymore mean words to call him that are short of cursing him outright, she drops on the balls of her feet and turns, giving him her profile so she does not have to stare at him directly. It is a small slight to most, a huge one in her eyes. Talking in a businesslike manner without fuss or pomp, she says, "We *do* but we can hardly tell the future. Some women grow forward, some women grow to the sides, some women barely grow at all, and some women become so swollen you cannot recognize who they are. Unless you know what she looks like with child from previous occasions, I am afraid we will have to guess. In which case, ready-made may more suit your needs, but *do* come back for a unique piece when she's farther along. Faranth knows she should be rewarded for nine months of being.. *fat*." With a sunny smile pasted onto her face, she raises her eyes to Madilla and nods her head in greeting. "Hello. Looking for something or someone?"

Given the sharpness of some of the words being exchanged, it's no wonder that Madilla looks as though she'd rather be backing away, back down the path and into the courtyard. She shakes her head sharply, a definite no. "No, no. I just didn't want to disturb you. Uh - Healer's duties. I'm... Assigned to the Hall healer, for the day, and just needed to--" she waves her hand in the general direction of the garden, foot sliding backwards. "I really can come back later, if you want some privacy to finish your... conversation."

"Revolting and ludicrous because I love a woman?" T'aren questions, "Faranth forbid." Then with a roll of his eyes his arms drop away from his chest. "Are you telling me marriage is more important than even love? Clearly you've never fallen." The Fortian notes further before moving on to the more pleasant subject. "She's never had any other children, so I wouldn't know." Nevermind that the goldrider in question is some fifteen turns his senior and he's certainly looks like he mightn't be right for the woman who Berit met on a previous occasion. Then he squints at the weaver girl, "Pregnant is not fat. Pregnant is a child. Its a beautiful thing. You really are a sharding idiot. And a shame to your craft, apprentice. I'll be sure to mention it. What is your name?" Of course, he thinks to ask this only after all those not-so-nice words, "I can see I'm going to need to seek out someone with greater knowledge, and manners if I'm to get any help at all." He then turns towards Madilla with a shrug, "I'll be leaving in just a moment. Perhaps she-" He pokes a thumb towards Berit. "-will be of more help to you, unless you're in love with someone also, Faranth forbid?" His tone whenever he says 'Faranth forbid' is supremely mocking.

Berit's petal-pink mouth falls open, forming a natural 'o' and her eyes nearly bulge from their sockets. She is made immobile by his words, so in shock is she. Even the other apprentices are careful not to call her names, or at least not to her face. It takes some seconds for the words to sink in and once they do, all of the emotions they incite surface in her countenance. Eyes become blazing, nostrils flare, lips are drawn into a line, brow snap together, and finally, her skin becomes flushed, with anger this time. "You you AUGH," she growls, grabbing handfuls of her full skirt. For a minute she looks like she might rush him or pummel him with her small fists, but only for a minute. That would be unladylike and an awful lot of exertion for one meaningless dragonrider. With her head down, she smoothes out her skirt and composes herself, schooling her features into her typical blank, saccharine look. She moves past T'aren, pointedly ignoring his comments and his slights. "I would not worry about it. Come, I will even help you, that way you can be about your duties faster. I have a short break and have *nothing else* to do."

"Oh, I don't need any help," Madilla assures T'aren. "Just going to... pick some herbs." Her eyes dart between Weaver and Rider, but her expression, though more confident now than it was on her immediate entrance into the conversation, is unreadable as to her impression of the discussion. Berit's words draw a smile from the healer, who notes, "That's very nice of you. Usually, I spend my breaks doing other work, but it's still my own work." As she begins to make her way towards the herbs in question, she turns back to note to T'aren, "If I may venture an opinion - that is, if you don't mind - I think a child is a wonderful thing, and you have my congratulations. But I'm safe: no love for me."

T'aren raises a brow at the testy weaver apprentice, smirking slightly at her reactions, but he holds his tongue further. He turns, however, a beaming smile at Madilla then, "The child is a truly wonderful thing. My first. Couldn't be more pleased." Then there's a gesture of one girl to the other, "And since you've no love to speak of, I feel it safe to leave you in her company then." And with that, the bronzerider moves without another word smoothly towards the courtyard once more.

A petulant expression overcomes everything else and Berit folds her arms over her chest, glaring holes into the bronzerider's back until he's out of eyesight. "Some nerve, coming in here like that and lecturing *me*," she huffs, obviously to the healer girl, though by no means is she looking at her. "I would like to tell my cousin about *him*." Removing the unpleasant man and his visitation from her mind, she turns towards Madilla and wrinkles her nose, staring pointedly at those little.. vine-thingies growing near her shoe. "What all do you need to collect?" She ventures a prod at the strange plant with her shoe, recoiling with dislike. How she expects to help without wanting to *touch* the plants is anyone's guess.

Madilla watches after T'aren as he leaves, her expression thoughtful as Berit huffs. "What's wrong with him getting her pregnant?" she wants to know, curious, though her tone is light. "Babies are good things, I think. And it's good that he cares to buy her nice things, too. Lots of men don't really care." She sets her basket down, kneeling beside the rows of herbs, and points out a couple of pushes - "Basil, and some thyme, some fennel, and a little bit of oregano. All cooking herbs, but good for medicines, too."

"That is not the point," Berit says as she kneels down, using her dress as cushioning for her knees, and delicately touches some of the basil leaves. "Babies are good as heirs, but he is not even her weyrmate. Nooooo, he says, 'this is for my to-be-baby's momma'. He could have at least said her name and spoke it with some respect." Her eyes roll skyward as she plucks one of the fragrant leaves, rubbing it with her fingers reflectively. "If it was that nice woman from the other day, I pity her. She was very kind, even offered to carry my basket." She shakes her head, but tries focusing on the herbs she is supposed to be helping collect. "Which is which?" she questions, green eyes curious as she looks over the plants framing the pathway.

"Oh," says Madilla, apparently thinking this over. "You've got the basic, there," she tells the weaver, as she reaches out and, with a small knife, cuts away a bundle of thyme. "And this is the thyme," she continues, then, with her knife, indicates - "Fennel. And this last one is oregano." She places the thyme into her basket, then continuing, "It's better for babies to come with marriage - or, er, weyrmating, I guess. But Riders are different, aren't they? Not like Hold and Craft folk. But I take your point on the respect. Men should have some respect for women, at least when they're carrying their child."

Plucking and collecting herbs is an altogether new experience for the spoiled Hold-bred girl. She looks askance at the basil plant nearest her, her mouth puckered, and asks, "What does one do with basil?" Without waiting for an answer, she lifts the leaf to her nose and sniffs, then makes a face when the odor appears to be pungent. "I would not want a perfume made out of that. I will stick to lavender." Her nimble finger start picking more leaves off the plants, slowly but with care, making sure not to tear the leaves unnecessarily. As a pile starts to collect on her skirt, she responds with the tone of one who knows something and is explaining it to someone who does not, "I had heard that dragonriders weyrmate, which is close to handfasting, but not quite the same. He did not seem the least bit bothered by the way he talked about her.. as if.. if, she were only the pot to boil his water in!"

"Stomach pains, vomiting, headaches and anxiety, and sometimes for poultices on insect stings," recites Madilla, as if straight from a lesson on the subject. "It's not supposed to smell perfumey-- most herbs don't. I do like lavender, though, too. And violet." She uses her knife to gather a bundle of fennel, chopping carefully so as to avoid getting her fingers in the way. "Oh," she says, of the rest of Berit's explanation, not taking offense at her tone. "Lots of men do that. At home, at the holding I'm from, that's pretty normal. It's not that they don't love them. It's just... they're women. Men make all the decisions."

Each of the illnesses gets a face from Berit, who blatantly finds talk of maladies as unpleasant as talking to rude dragonriders. "Do you like lavender? I will have to let you see my collection before you leave. I have perfumes, scented soapsand, and even lavender scented sheets. It is my very favorite, though my brother says he hates the smell," she says conversationally, warming up to her task of collecting basil; it is not unlike picking flowers as she used to do back at Four Sons. "Well! I can be certain that whomever *I* handfast shall not treat me so dismally. Even if a man does not like his wife, he should at least treat her with respect due her status. Why, my very own brother and his wife have not an heir to claim, but he would never think of slighting her so horribly."

"That would be nice," says Madilla, of the lavender, smiling. "I'd never thought of using it to scent so many things! We never had much by way of luxuries, at home, and healer apprentices are not that way... gifted." She laughs, at Berit's handfasting comment, agreeing, as she bundles some more fennel into the basket, "I'd like to be respected by my husband, too. I don't think the men at home /disrespect/ their wives... it's just, they know better about things. I think maybe it's different, in larger holds, and in crafthalls. My Uncle makes all the decisions, at home, because those decisions make the difference between there being food for everyone, or not."

"Oh, it is very nice, let me assure you. We get it transported from Nabol, where they grow the 'best lavender' or so my sister says," Berit explains, a small smile curving her mouth as she works over the brush. "If you have an extra bottle handy somewhere, I could probably lend you some. I brought three with me, but my brother says he will send more once I run low." For a time she works in companionable silence, listening to the other girl speak, but then she pauses, hands resting on her skirt. "Where is your uncle's holding, can I ask? I am from Four Sons myself, just outside of Fort Hold. My dad used to run it, but since he has died, my brother Leoren has taken over." Maybe they have more in common than she originally thought, so she watches Madilla curiously, her smile a little wider.

"Your holding must be affluent, then," Madilla comments, tone suggesting that she finds this a little impressive. "I-- I'm sure there's a bottle in the infirmary I could take. I would appreciate that." She's smiling, as she says this, sitting up a little straighter, obviously very well pleased. "I don't know Four Sons," she tells Berit, "though, of course, I live near Fort Hold, now. Our holding is near Peyton Hold. Just a small one. We grow crops."

The one bush that Berit has been working on is starting to look sparse, but the girl does not notice, continuing plucking the leaves from the overworked plant. "It is a far cry from some like Fort, but we are fairly well-known in the area. My father used to throw the best parties! Now Leoren says they are impractical and nonsensical, blah blah blah," she says, rolling her eyes and moving her mouth in a mockery of her brother. "But I think he has improved the general state of the Hold and my sisters say we are wealthier than ever." She shrugs her shoulders upward, affecting a sigh as she finishes, "I have seen no new dresses or shoes however, even though they say this. I should not be surprised though. He was always stingy." As she works, she shows some interest in the other girl's tale, because clearly, anyone who has any ties to Holds at all is higher in her book than others. "Crops? How dreadful. I hope you never had to do *work*."

Madilla's expression seems to suggest that she's not far off Leoren's opinion on the subject, though she schools it gently, leaving a blander expression in its wake. "How about you move on to this plant," she suggests, indicating the pink-flowering bushy Oregano plant. "Just the leaves, though - flowers can stay. Your clothes," she continues, giving the other girl a glance, "Look lovely already. Do you really need new ones? Oh, we all worked hard. Had to. It surprises me how little work a lot of people try and do, at the Hall. Some of the apprentices don't seem to have any concept of how lucky they are. Have you been with the weavers long?"

Good thing Berit is doing all of this pruning and picking, because she may have been hurt had she seen the other girl's expression. She scoots over to the other plant, lifting her skirt a respectable degree, and then kneels back down, pushing the basil leaves to one side of her skirt. "What is this again? The thyme? Or the Oregano? You have a good memory to remember what each teensy weensy little plant is called and looks like." Sucking in her bottom lip, as she is prone to do when she is concentrating, she begins to dissect this bush as well, though in a timelier manner. Her voice is all real and expressive with none of the fake conversation and tones she uses on everyone else, "Do they not? I especially love this yellow skirt. However, one must keep up with the fashions, especially if one wants to make connections. Would I be well received by the Lady Holder of Ista if I, say, wore a drab, soiled frock? Or would I make an impression in a lovely gown of sapphire satin? We have to always be conscience of our appearance before someone gets the wrong impression." She laughs at the last, tilting her head towards Madilla, "I am sure you enjoy being at the Healer Hall much better than working in the dusty crops. Really. Pretty girls like us should be inside, not outside doing what a farmer should." What she says, she says in open opinion with no deceit or insult, though it may turn around and do just that. "Not long, no. I have been here about two sevendays. It is pleasant, or more pleasant than listening to my brother extol on the benefits of saving marks. What about you? Have you been at Healer Hall for very long? And the better question is, do you truly like it?"

"Oregano," confirms Madilla, smiling, and adds, "You can put all of that into my basket, if you like. We have to remember it all. Some herbs can mean the difference between life and death - though no one trusts me with /that/, yet. I hadn't thought of all of that, with clothes. I suppose, as a weaver, especially, you'll have to keep very up to date with that. Though... maybe more when you are a Journeyman, than now? I don't think many people take much notice of apprentices." She's flattered, at being called pretty, but laughs all the same - "Well, there's other kinds of mess involved in healing. But I do like it. That said, I'll probably end up on a farm again, eventually. I don't mind, really. I've been at the Hall a couple of months, now. And I do like it, yes. There's so much to learn!"

"Oregano," Berit repeats firmly as she picks just the leaves from the flowering plant, attempting to learn someone outside of her world of fluff, clothes, and appearance. "Life and death, truly? I would never have thought, though I do remember my mother giving me medicine when I have been sick in the past. I just never thought of it as coming from *these*," she says, lifting her handfuls of basil for emphasis. Lapsing into silence, she tucks the leaves into the basket in their own separate piles and listens attentively, looking up between handfuls, to the healer apprentice. "I think it is not as important in the wearing of clothes right now, as an apprentice, but I also have my Hold to represent. It would be very bad of me indeed if I were to dress sloppy and some important figure were to come by, find out who my brother was, and cry off to everyone that the Holder of Four Sons is a slob who attires his dear sisters in rags." She shakes her head, refuting that logic in her own head. "It would not do." But she gasps suddenly, eyes turning on Madilla as she hears *those words*. "A farm? No, that would not do, would not do at all! I will not let you. You cannot. Why.. I would be in tears for your sake. Say you will not." Never mind they do not even know each other's names, the weaver apprentice has taken to this healer.

Madilla nods, expression briefly serious. "Giving the wrong herb to a pregnant woman could result in her losing the baby," she notes. "Or fail to reduce a high fever, which can result in death. A lot of apprentices think herbs are boring - but they really aren't. I imagine a number of the plants in this garden are used for making dyes, too, for your work." As she snips at her bundles of herbs, she listens to the other girl, finally nodding as she comes to an end. "I suppose that makes some sense. And, as a Weaver, now, you do represent your craft when you go places - and your craft does a great deal with clothes, I suppose." She's clearly taken aback by the girl's last outburst, her knife hovering just above a plant as she turns her head to give the girl a long, full-on glance. "Um," she begins. "I suppose I'll do what I'm directed to do. They may not - I may stay and walk the tables, and... I don't know what. But I don't mind; why should you?"

Green eyes widen at the revelation, but Berit keeps her thoughts to herself, whatever those may be. "You are correct. I think the dye plants are around here somewhere. I have not started those lessons yet, but they tell me we are going to be going over that soon." She continues stripping the short bush, steadily removing the leaves and adding them to the basket. It is good they are chatting, because she probably would have started whining about the heat or the sun getting in her eyes by now. "I would hate to ill-represent my craft or my Hold. Besides, my subspecialty is design, and what kind of a designer wears frumpy clothes? Not this one," she says with a meaningful look at Madilla, which shifts as she sits back on her heels. Brow furrowed, she shakes her head. "You said yourself you want your husband to love you and I am sure you want to love him, and assuredly you could not love a farmer. Besides, if you handfasted a farmer, I could simply not come visit you. You must handfast someone handsome, exciting, and rich.. like, a.. a.. man with a *ship* or even a cousin of a Lord Holder. Can you imagine? You would be the envy of every woman on Pern, I am sure of it." All of this is fantasy talk, but she seems to like it, maybe even believe it.

Madilla's hand unconsciously goes towards her own, very plain skirt and apron, smoothing it down, though she doesn't look down at either. Instead, she sets her knife down, piling some more herbs into her basket, then settles back, taking a break. "No, that wouldn't do at all," she agrees, eyes indicating some amusement, though she's staring out over the bushes, so perhaps that's not as obvious as it might be. "Girls like me don't end up with people like that," she says, finally. "I'll marry whomever my Uncle tells me to, unless I stay in the craft, and then..." she looks uncertain, thoughtful. "I suppose we'll see who asks. Maybe you'll find someone rich and exciting, though." Her tone is dubious, but she covers it up with a warm smile, aimed directly at the other girl.

Never one to do more work than she has to, Berit stays sitting on her heels, hands folded in her lap, as she takes a break with the other girl. They *have* filled the basket a good bit, so perhaps they are deserving of such a small concession. "You are mistaken, of course. I have seen my fair share of hideous faces and sad cases. My father invited the prominent figures foremost to his parties, and we were even invited to Fort by our very distance cousin, so I got to see all manner of people. There were men twice as old as my father with wives as young as us and there were pretty wives hanging off the arms of wealthy holders, who had not much good breeding themselves. I cannot help but to think that you are not as sad as these cases, and you do yourself a disfavor by putting yourself into their ranks." She smiles genuinely, looking down at the other girl's dress, and then back up to her face. "True, your dress is not in the best mode, but I like you and I have always been told to have exceptional tastes." Straightening her shoulders more, she assumes a lofty tone, her eyes sparkling as she gets into her role, "And young lady, I demand you straighten your spine and fluff your hair! You will find the most suitable man that you can love, and I shall hear nothing else!" Young girls will be young girls, and though she acts like a mini-Lady most of the time, she is in truth just barely fifteen turns and endeavors all of which teenage girls endeavor.

"That's very flattering of you to say," says Madilla, in a politic tone, though she grins at the other girl. "I imagine most of those ladies are well born to some extent, though. My family doesn't move in the kind of circles yours does, I'm afraid." She sounds, again, just faintly awed by these concepts, and continues, noting, "But I wouldn't turn a young, handsome, well-born man down, of course. That /would/ be stupid. Anyway, I've a few turns before any of this becomes relevant - sixteen, my uncle always says, is the youngest a girl should be." Her hands, clutch again at her dress, and she glances down at it, sighs, and then grins again. "Yes, ma'am! I will do what I can."

"I would bet that many of them got a foot through the door because they got with child. One can never be too sure when one is going to get with child, that I know. Though I am not sure how they do it without a handfasting, because my sisters assured me that handfasting is required for that. Perhaps they found a loophole and Faranth only knows why one would want that," Berit muses, and then shrugs her shoulders, considering it one of those things young girls are never privy to. Everything outside of the bubble of pettiness and frivolity that she has surrounded herself is inconsequential, such as the begetting of heirs and the illegitimate begetting of heirs. Had she listened half as much as she should, she might have learned about such things, but she has always been off in her own thoughts. "If you were not so tall, you could borrow one of my dresses," she says balefully, eyeing the brown frock the other girl is wearing. "I have a plum muslin that would look amazing on you, with your complexion and eyes." At this, she thinks and thins some more, chewing her bottom lip. Aeriste nods. :P Is getting better now.

Madilla's cheeks go pink, and she bites her lip - eyes squinting together as if she's trying to hold back laughter. "Er," she begins. "I guess you never had to deal with animals at home. Um. You definitely don't /need/ to be handfasted to have babies, only it's terribly improper not to - and ruins a girl, my Uncle says. It..." Despite being the younger, in this case, clearly, a remote holding life has had its benefits. "Babies come from a thing you do. Two people. Or two beasts." Latching on to the subject, which is, even for this girl, a more appropriate subject, she laughs: "I can't help being tall, I'm afraid. Though the thought is very sweet of you, regardless. I don't know I have anywhere to wear anything nice, anyway. Not when working, that's for sure."

Hands plunk on her narrow hips and Berit looks at Madilla like she has gone a little mad. "*Of course* it requires two people to make babies, that is why you have to be handfasted and all. You are quite right about the improper part too. Why would one want to be with child if it were not an heir." She looks satisfied with her own answer, the delusion she has been fed and is continuously feeding herself, but she looks puzzled as she asks, "A thing? Do you mean.. from.. *kissing*? My sisters said such a thing was scandalous outside of handfasting, so that must be it." Moving on to the second subject, she taps her right temple and says with a grin, "You could concoct reasons to wear something nice. You are right by Fort and they have parties all the time! Get one of the journeymen or masters to bring you along, and show yourself off. Who knows, maybe your future husband will be there, waiting for you!"

"I'd like a baby, and I have nothing to be heir of," retorts Madilla, adding, hastily, "Though I don't want one just yet. They wouldn't let me keep studying if that happened. And... no, it's not kissing. Though apparently that can be part of it." She clears her throat, then again, and says, "Do you want to know? I think it's worth being forewarned." Of the rest, she considers, then laughs. "I'm hardly the person they'd take. And what would it matter if I did meet my future husband now? I can't have a relationship, as an apprentice. And I'm only thirteen. Maybe when I'm a senior apprentice."

"Just wait, wait," Berit says, smothering her own giggle, "I *told* you, you will find your handsome, rich Holder! Then you will need to make those heirs, as many as you want, though preferably boys first so you do not have to make your daughters do all the busy work." All of this talk of babies and heirs and handsome older men have loosened her up a bit, made her less cautious and proper, so when Madilla says her if she really wants to know, she automatically nods her head. "Do share. I do not think it too improper to talk about it, between just us. You have to promise not tell anyone!" She looks serious for a second then dissolves into another smile. "Why, so he can come riding across the continent to bring you flowers of course! And sweets. Gifts too. It would not hurt if he had a nice singing voice, so he could serenade you, or if he could play some instrument. He should be a man of great talent so he can awe and amaze you. But if he truly loves you, as he should, he will wait until you are old enough," she says with a solid nod of her head.

Madilla, who doesn't really have a romantic bone in her body, appears to find all of this amusing, and maybe a little perplexing, but she nods along as Berit speaks, smiling in appropriate places. "Oh, of course," she agrees. "That makes sense. I'll keep it all in mind." Then, she glances around, shyly, as if to reassure herself that they are, in fact, alone, and leans in to speak more quietly to the other girl. "It's one of the early lessons, at the Healer Hall. And I sort of knew, from seeing some of the beasts, at home." Knowing, and actually being able to talk clearly, are apparently two different things, for the girl hesitates. "The man puts his... thing inside you. Between your legs. And he squirts something, and that makes a baby, if it's the right time, based on your courses. Apparently, that's what all men really want, with a girl. Because it feels good, that is, not because they necessarily want babies."

Blink, blink, blink, come again? Berit stares at Madilla blankly, not moving a muscle, her mind unable to comprehend this which the other girl speaks of. She looks down, as if she could see her legs beneath her skirt somehow, and then she looks back up, confusion splayed across her face. "I think someone played a joke on you or they were being funny in those lessons. That is just impossible, quite impossible. I do not believe it for a second." Her expression is kept blank, all of her etiquette and grooming coming back to help put up a cool facade, but she cannot help asking, "Do you? Believe it, I mean." Wrinkling her nose, she shakes her head and gets to her knees, so she can start plucking leaves again. "It cannot be true. It just.. cannot."

Madilla's expression softens a little, and though her cheeks are still a bit pink, she gives Berit an encouraging smile. "It's the truth," she declares, in no uncertain terms. "That's what'll happen on your wedding night. That's how it all happens. I don't know... I mean, it sounds kind of gross, but I suppose it makes sense. A girl can't have babies until she's had her courses, so..." Clearly, it all makes sense in Madilla's head, though she has had longer to get used to the idea. "So. You just don't do that, and then you won't have babies."

Berit has a minute to think this over as she picks the leaves, adding more to the pile in the basket. She is in the process of speaking when another apprentice jogs down the path, spots her, and scowls. "*Berit*, get your hide in here *now*. They've been lookin' for you for a while now!" Without waiting for the girl, he dashes off, probably to tell his news. "Oh, shards," she mutters, watching the boy leave. "It looks like I have to go, before they start screaming. Will you stop by my room later tonight? So I can give you some of my perfume? And perhaps we can look at that muslin gown, too." As she rises, she dusts off her skirt, brushing off leaves, dirt, and other earthen particles.

Madilla mouthes the girl's name, now that she's been given it, if in a round-a-bout kind of way. "Oh-- yes, I will. Thank you. And thank you for helping me with the herbs. I suppose I should be taking them in to the infirmary, now." She frowns, beginning to pull herself to her feet. "It was nice meeting you... Berit. I'm Madilla, by the way. I'll see you, tonight."

"Madilla," Berit says, testing the name on her tongue, and then she smiles brilliantly, skirting her way around the healer. "I shall look forward to it! You do not know how dull some of my peers can be. We can talk about it later. Be well!" Her forgotten crochet is picked up off the path where she left it, with little wear except for a few leaves stuck to the yarn, which she deftly pulls off as she walks down the path and back to the Hall.