Post by Prince on May 1, 2010 0:27:08 GMT -5
(As good a starting place as any, I believe.)
Nobody had noticed the lone boy arrive in the night. The Searchrider had directed him to the Candidate barracks, where he’d be sleeping, and then retired to his own private weyr. Civu, by comparison, had done as directed, and found his way to an empty bunk. At that point, he had decided to lay in the bed and go to sleep. Solid, unmoving ground made it hard to go to sleep at first -the ocean was a cruel mistress, but once one became accustomed to her, she had her soft side, too- but eventually exhaustion had overtaken him.
This morning, after waking, he’d made his way to the lake that was on the Weyr grounds. After spending his entire life on the sea, it was disorienting to be caught in a place where the water wasn’t within sight. Even though the lake was just a small body of water, it was better than nothing, and the gentle breeze that had picked up did enough to move the water in a parody of the much larger swells on the much larger ocean.
Why had he agreed to this? Civu had never cared to be anything more than a simple fisherman, out on the high seas with his crew. And here he was, sitting on the grounds of a Weyr, with the potential to become a dragonrider. Only a few months beforehand, he had threatened to knock out a harper in Tillek if the man didn’t stop going on about the final pass and Thread. Water killed Thread, and Civu’s life was on the water. Therefore, he didn’t worry about such things.
His hair blew around a bit in the breeze, and he picked up a stone on the edge of the water. Well, at least the water was calm enough that he could probably...
Throwing the rock in a specific manner, sure to put a spin on it, Civu grinned to see it skip across the water five times before disappearing into the water with a faint plop. It was far from his record -20 skips- but the water was distorted from the light breeze, which was less than ideal.
As the ripples from the skipped stone began to fade away, the fisherman caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the water, and cringed lightly. He was wearing what he’d been wearing when he’d been picked up in Southern: a sleeveless vest made of wherhide, dark pants, and sturdy workboots. It was warm on this continent, especially to one acclimated to the cold weather of Northern, so he’d left his undershirt on the ship, in his quarters. He felt a bit underdressed now. His hair was completely in disarray, a combination of the multiple sevendays of salt-treatment and sleeping on it. It was terrible.
And that’s how he would be seen at this moment, looking in the water at his own reflection, wishing he didn’t look such a mess.
Nobody had noticed the lone boy arrive in the night. The Searchrider had directed him to the Candidate barracks, where he’d be sleeping, and then retired to his own private weyr. Civu, by comparison, had done as directed, and found his way to an empty bunk. At that point, he had decided to lay in the bed and go to sleep. Solid, unmoving ground made it hard to go to sleep at first -the ocean was a cruel mistress, but once one became accustomed to her, she had her soft side, too- but eventually exhaustion had overtaken him.
This morning, after waking, he’d made his way to the lake that was on the Weyr grounds. After spending his entire life on the sea, it was disorienting to be caught in a place where the water wasn’t within sight. Even though the lake was just a small body of water, it was better than nothing, and the gentle breeze that had picked up did enough to move the water in a parody of the much larger swells on the much larger ocean.
Why had he agreed to this? Civu had never cared to be anything more than a simple fisherman, out on the high seas with his crew. And here he was, sitting on the grounds of a Weyr, with the potential to become a dragonrider. Only a few months beforehand, he had threatened to knock out a harper in Tillek if the man didn’t stop going on about the final pass and Thread. Water killed Thread, and Civu’s life was on the water. Therefore, he didn’t worry about such things.
His hair blew around a bit in the breeze, and he picked up a stone on the edge of the water. Well, at least the water was calm enough that he could probably...
Throwing the rock in a specific manner, sure to put a spin on it, Civu grinned to see it skip across the water five times before disappearing into the water with a faint plop. It was far from his record -20 skips- but the water was distorted from the light breeze, which was less than ideal.
As the ripples from the skipped stone began to fade away, the fisherman caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the water, and cringed lightly. He was wearing what he’d been wearing when he’d been picked up in Southern: a sleeveless vest made of wherhide, dark pants, and sturdy workboots. It was warm on this continent, especially to one acclimated to the cold weather of Northern, so he’d left his undershirt on the ship, in his quarters. He felt a bit underdressed now. His hair was completely in disarray, a combination of the multiple sevendays of salt-treatment and sleeping on it. It was terrible.
And that’s how he would be seen at this moment, looking in the water at his own reflection, wishing he didn’t look such a mess.
