Post by Lothyna on Dec 6, 2010 8:50:21 GMT -5
Who: Sa’niel, Open
What: Craft Work
When: Late Morning
Where: Outside the Weyr proper
Warnings: None
While Geveneth slept at the waters of the lake, sunning off a recent meal with Shen at her side, the new Weyrling-still unused to his title, that she called hers was working away with sheets of metal and a mallet, hammering the layers until they took on the shape and texture he wanted. The work was for the commissioned piece he’d been sent the details of just a few days ago, and had only now found time out from his chores to work at. A low, sturdy ‘anvil’ outside the weyr, more a stone table than aught else, held his collection of tools, along with a towel, the long-discarded shirt, and a net bag with some bread, cheese, fruit, and a skin of water inside it. The other end was firmly taken over by the sheets of softly gleaming silver and copper, and the set of hammers he was using in his work.
Pausing briefly to wipe away sweat from his brow, Sa’niel glanced over the design again, shaping each piece mentally as he studied what had been completed. With a faint nod, he turned back, setting aside the piece he’d been using for a new sheet of gleaming, thin copper, switching tools a far finer one to modify the texture of his piece. Though he enjoyed fancy work, he was already starting to get itchy for access to a real forge, a design half finished in his head for a pair of sleek, wicked daggers, inspired from the recent hatching and a few dragons within. Unfortunately, though, he wasn’t sure how he’d find the time or the ability to leave the Weyr yet, with Geveneth so young, and wondered what she would think of them.
The little green’s insatiable curiosity and gentleness had been a balm and wellspring of peace for him in the recent days, easing some of the strain he’d felt for so long it wasn’t even noticed now-and the newer tensions from the attacks too. Though the Weyr still mourned Trith’s loss, and he himself was concerned at the lack of set leadership, life went on. He didn’t even really miss living alone, though the jungle still called to him. Sense kept him from taking Geveneth yet though, given her softer hide and claws at this age-and her constant need for food, oiling, and baths. And, of course, sleep. He still marveled at the sensation of her presence in his head, and the sleepy waves of pleasure from her as she dreamt.
Lost in thought, a small smile on his face, it took some time before he realized he’d carefully beaten a pattern from her hide, in the shape of her curled about Shen, onto the metal. With an amused, yet frustrated groan, he set the piece aside, reaching for another sheet of the copper. At this rate, he’d never finish the project he had sprawled before him. He’d had that problem a lot lately, he mused, bending with far more forced attention to the plate in from of him. Geveneth danced in his head, frockling her way into designs, meandering over ideas, until he couldn’t hardly focus on a piece that wasn’t related to dragons, or her, in some way. Her, Shen, and some of the other Weyrlings from the cutch who’d caught his gaze.
Since his Impression to her, Sa’niel had been watching those males riding blues and browns who were unattached, knowing well what to expect when the first rising of his dragon came. That too had weighted on his mind, and more designs held paired dragons in flight, or twined about a perch. For one who’d so long shunned the company of others in that regard, he now wondered anew at it. Rather merrily, it seemed, his beloved green was turning his entire world upside down-though he in no way could, nor ever would, fault her for it.
What: Craft Work
When: Late Morning
Where: Outside the Weyr proper
Warnings: None
While Geveneth slept at the waters of the lake, sunning off a recent meal with Shen at her side, the new Weyrling-still unused to his title, that she called hers was working away with sheets of metal and a mallet, hammering the layers until they took on the shape and texture he wanted. The work was for the commissioned piece he’d been sent the details of just a few days ago, and had only now found time out from his chores to work at. A low, sturdy ‘anvil’ outside the weyr, more a stone table than aught else, held his collection of tools, along with a towel, the long-discarded shirt, and a net bag with some bread, cheese, fruit, and a skin of water inside it. The other end was firmly taken over by the sheets of softly gleaming silver and copper, and the set of hammers he was using in his work.
Pausing briefly to wipe away sweat from his brow, Sa’niel glanced over the design again, shaping each piece mentally as he studied what had been completed. With a faint nod, he turned back, setting aside the piece he’d been using for a new sheet of gleaming, thin copper, switching tools a far finer one to modify the texture of his piece. Though he enjoyed fancy work, he was already starting to get itchy for access to a real forge, a design half finished in his head for a pair of sleek, wicked daggers, inspired from the recent hatching and a few dragons within. Unfortunately, though, he wasn’t sure how he’d find the time or the ability to leave the Weyr yet, with Geveneth so young, and wondered what she would think of them.
The little green’s insatiable curiosity and gentleness had been a balm and wellspring of peace for him in the recent days, easing some of the strain he’d felt for so long it wasn’t even noticed now-and the newer tensions from the attacks too. Though the Weyr still mourned Trith’s loss, and he himself was concerned at the lack of set leadership, life went on. He didn’t even really miss living alone, though the jungle still called to him. Sense kept him from taking Geveneth yet though, given her softer hide and claws at this age-and her constant need for food, oiling, and baths. And, of course, sleep. He still marveled at the sensation of her presence in his head, and the sleepy waves of pleasure from her as she dreamt.
Lost in thought, a small smile on his face, it took some time before he realized he’d carefully beaten a pattern from her hide, in the shape of her curled about Shen, onto the metal. With an amused, yet frustrated groan, he set the piece aside, reaching for another sheet of the copper. At this rate, he’d never finish the project he had sprawled before him. He’d had that problem a lot lately, he mused, bending with far more forced attention to the plate in from of him. Geveneth danced in his head, frockling her way into designs, meandering over ideas, until he couldn’t hardly focus on a piece that wasn’t related to dragons, or her, in some way. Her, Shen, and some of the other Weyrlings from the cutch who’d caught his gaze.
Since his Impression to her, Sa’niel had been watching those males riding blues and browns who were unattached, knowing well what to expect when the first rising of his dragon came. That too had weighted on his mind, and more designs held paired dragons in flight, or twined about a perch. For one who’d so long shunned the company of others in that regard, he now wondered anew at it. Rather merrily, it seemed, his beloved green was turning his entire world upside down-though he in no way could, nor ever would, fault her for it.
