The Gather Begins (open!)

[Tabula Rasa]

Every turn, when midsummer arrived, the Caminar came together. They met on a piece of land at the waypoint between Greenfields and Telgar; the border where one became the other and the ground sat fallow as no one was entirely sure who had the right to till it. Every turn, since times unmemorable, the traveling folk had met and celebrated, their revelry removed from the rest of Pern, save by the smattering of tales evesdroppers had to tell.

This turn, things had gone differently.

The roads were no longer safe and the Caminar found themselves a haven or a prison (depend on who was asked) within Telgar Weyr. But midsummer wasn't mindful of such complications, and the season rolled on at the same pace as ever. The Caminar, as well, refused to surrender one of their most beloved traditions, and as the sky finally began to darken on the longest day of the turn, the caravans arranged themselves in a large open circle. Some were set up to sell or trade wares. Others had simply been positioned to fill in any gaps. Within this makeshift border, the many families of the Caminar were watching as one of the older men crouched by a large and impromptu firepit, working a spark to tinder. A hearty cheer went up as it caught and the fire began to steadily grow. By the time the sun had fully set, the bonfire would be blazing, but for the time being, a careful eye was needed to make sure the little flame didn't go out.

Instruments were tuned as various folks worked out a sequence of performers, and several young children began racing around the more sedentary adults, occasionally weaving out past the caravans, despite scoldings to remain within.

On the periphery and in the curve of various doorways and weyrs, eyes peeped. The curious stared and the suspicious glowered at this sudden level of organization among the rag-tag collection of miscreants that had parked out on their collective doorstep. Some wanted to creep closer while others took up muttering or finding a safe place well away from the strange happenings. If on nothing else, everyone could agree on one thing at least: this was not going to be a usual night at the Weyr.

[Omnia Munda]

Few of his riders had so far ventured farther than the gather carts, where wares were obviously for sale and outsiders therefore, presumably, welcome - but J'fel had a craving to know what his unwanted guests would make of their days-long celebration.

And he craved to know sooner, not later.

Two of his wingriders, a young brownrider who'd taken instantly to new leadership for the chances for personal advancement inherent therein, and a bluerider J'fel had impressed alongside, were standing about thirty yards off from the border of wagons, heads tipped toward one another in obvious conference about what they were witnessing as the sun set. This had them a few minutes' lazy swagger across the bowl the living cavern, and as the weyrleader came up behind them he couldn't help but notice that the ever-growing gathering of caravans had by now blocked, with its width, the view of the tunnel out of the bowl to the road.

"C'vole, A'wan. Aren't you even the least bit curious?" J'fel shouldered easily into the space between the other men. A'wan had been taller than his weyrleader since they were both candidates; C'vole's advantage on J'fel was less extreme but present. Nevertheless, they both made room for the shorter man, and neither showed any sign of objection when the bronzerider's arms came up to rest hung each over a wingrider shoulder. "Tell you what," said J'fel, turning his grin first on one man, then on the other. Obliging, they held silent, though as their leader's head turned between them they did exchange a knowing look above him.

"Let's go right on up in there," said J'fel, unslinging a hand from A'wan's shoulder so he could point at the wagons, "and see what kind of time they intend to show their hosts, shall we?"

C'vole was first to understand and to grin. His voice was deep but quiet, sandy and soft. "I hear har - well, music, anyway. I imagine there'll be dancing." Again he looked at A'wan, though this time the weyrleader was included in his knowing expression.

And A'wan picked it up with a grin, understanding instantly. "And where there's dancing there's girls. And our girls have been hospitable enough to them - it'd be only fair if they return the favor."

So his men hadn't forgotten about the incidents associated with Pelegaoth's flight. Well, he'd leave that to his weyrwoman to fix. For now it served J'fel's purposes.

"That's right," said the weyrleader between his riders, hauling down his elbow from C'vole's shoulder so he could brush his hands together, as though he'd just completed a dirty but necessary work. "I knew I could count on you."

Count on them he might, it was J'fel who emerged first from between wagons into the makeshift gather circle they formed, eyes twitching narrow against the brightness of the growing fire. His riders flanked him but steps behind.

[rigantona]

B'nek perched on his weyr ledge, one arm draped over his dragon's neck as he peered out into the weyrbowl, his gaze raking over the colorful wagons and the brightly burning fire. "So much for an early night," he muttered to himself. The caminar had already interrupted Wing training earlier that day while the were setting up for their Gather in the weyrbowl, and now they were interfering with hopes for a good long sleep.

Perhaps you should enjoy yourself, Hyth suggested placidly, watching his rider through lazy, half-lidded eyes. Or wear earplugs. The bronze yawned, and B'nek snorted. His dragon was able to sleep through anything when he wanted, but B'nek was not so lucky. He wasn't going to be able to sleep, so he decided that he might as well check out the festivities.

On the way out of his weyr, he glanced at his purse sitting on the bedside table, but decided against bringing it. He didn't want to support the Caminar's presence by purchasing any of their goods. His passage down to the Weyrbowl was slow and wary, as if he expected a pickpocket to leap out of the shadows at any moment. Finally he made his way to the wagons, where he spotted the Weyrleader himself, surrounded by his "faithful" Wingriders. B'nek nodded curtly in greeting, then made his way over to the young Weyrleader.

"Interesting night, isn't it?"

[Selvagem]

The shades of evening draped in long shadows over the road that led to Telgar’s Weyrbowl, providing cool respite for a slight figure that walked up that road to the soft chatter of small wherries whirring for their lairs. The stranger was distinctly feminine in form, with curves in all the right places to be identified for a woman, clad simply in a tunic of green with flowing brown leggings. A cloth bundle hung over one shoulder, a rucksack clung to her back, and a long knife hung at her belt. She moved with quiet and relentless pace, the gait of one accustomed to walking long distances for long hours at a time.

As the first carts of the Caminar came into view, however, she paused. The sounds of music and merriment drew her as they had drawn her for turns, a promise of companionship and laughter, the belonging of a people and the warmth of a shared fire. Yet she hesitated in the still, calm evening, brown eyes unreadably deep in thought. Behind her, the wide sky and the open plains loomed, beckoning. Caught between, on a road of sparest dust and stone, the girl hesitated, while evening shades lengthened and dry sand whirled around her feet.

To go back to the Caminar was to go home to memories: some beloved, some unwanted, all deeply ingrained. She could go, take the draftbeast and the wagon that were hers by right of birth, and leave the gathering for the open plains. She could come, accept the boy who had pledged love for her two turns ago, and forget she had ever been in love with the unhuman companionship of stars and wind and great far-flung plains. It would have been hard for her even if the Gather had not been held in Telgar’s Weyrbowl. It was harder now, with the Caminar surrounded by plantado. The very people who had forcibly taken her life from her, re-shaped it, handed it back on a silver platter: the geist of life’s matters without a heart or a father she had loved more than almost anything else.

But she had the choice of it, still. She could make the best of things. Or the worse.

She chose. A low whistle brought another creature from the shadows beneath a crag: a heavy-built canine as brown as dust, streaked silver and gray like water flashing beneath the moon. With slow, grave steps he approached his master, who laid a gentle hand between his ears. With a final word, she started down the road again, approaching the Gather. The dust-furred canine followed at her heels, obedient. Pale evening light fell across her features, highlighting the dark yet sharp facial expression, setting the dark red-brown hair sparking with the intensity of its directness.

She had chosen not to choose. Yet. She would play for time. She needed time to choose, and she would take all the time this Gather afforded her, from beginning to end, to make her choice.

Selvagem had returned.

[Tabula Rasa]

The bonfire was well and truly burning, and several smaller fires had begun to appear near various caravans as families started to cook dishes for the feast that would begin after the sun had properly set.

Other aspects of celebration had already started.

Caminar artisans hawked their wares both to each other and, for the more liberal (or desperate) that had moved their caravan to the edge of the growing cluster, those curious Telgari that were willing to approach. It was these outer-edge caravans that were nearest to the entrance into the Weyr and so the first to note the arrival of a solitary woman and her large canine. The eyes that studied her were a mix of various emotions. Some were curious, others openly leery. Others shook their heads and turned their gaze away, but not before pity could be clearly seen on their tanned faces.

A thin and mournful flute had taken up a song whose merry notes were a strange contrast to its sorrowful sound. It was shortly accompanied by a gitar and then by a warm tenor voice. If one was Caminar, the song was of journeys begun and concluded. Lives started and ended. A welcome and a farewell. If one was plantado it was a lyrical tumbling of words in an unknown language.

As the music began, a space near the musicians had already started to clear. Several young couples swept into it to twirl each other around in a dance far less formal than those at hold gathers. Other young people remained around the perimeter, clapping or humming. A few dared glances towards the small group of dragonriders that had wandered into their midsts. The girls flushed and looked away. Some of the young men, fortified by something pungent that was being passed around in a plain brown bottle, scowled just a little.

Closer to the bonfire, and so further away from the merriment of gathered youth, a group of older Caminar, heads of their families and caravans, were holding a meeting peppered with anxious whispers and the occasional raised voice. Hands now and again gestured towards the Weyr exit, the impromptu dance floor, the bowl at large or, more discreetly, those Weyr residents and riders that hovered around the periphery of their turnly celebration. None of the elders looked especially happy, though several seemed downright angry.

Still, the overall building of cheer and merriment couldn't be denied. Even as serious matters were discussed and older Caminar watched as their adult (or nearly adult) children flirted, their attention turned to possible betrothals, a greater sense of celebration began to suffuse even the most somber of topics.

[Selvagem]

Selvagem was aware, keenly, of the attention she had drawn, sparse though it was. She felt it like the glare of Rukbat at mid-day, like the heat of a campfire bent towards her by the wind. The sense of it glanced at her, and glanced off her: she welcomed the sense of being noticed, and let the uncomfortable feeling that she was being pitied slide off her skin. The turn on her own, at the mercy of wind and snow, with only Rulf and her own wits for protection, had ingrained into her the fact that self-pity was for the weak and dying. As she was neither, she would not bother herself with it, nor with seeing herself through the eyes of another's pity or scorn.

The tall shapes of the outer wagons loomed around her as she entered their midst, gait still slow with the slowness of one taking her time, taking the sights and sounds as she moved. They embraced her with their shadows, gathered her into their gentle, organised bustle. A smile twitched at the corners of her lips. She tried to stop it twitching, and felt it begin to widen. The place was so warm, and it grew warmer yet the further she entered.

The thrill of a flute. Selvagem halted, head tilted aside, emotion stirring in the plain, impassive features. The song was so familiar...and so fitting. She could not remember when she had last heard the flute, or a voice singing, or any sort of music for that matter. It had been only a turn ago when she left a Gather without her father...it felt like a thousand turns. The song wound on, drawing her with it, a leaf in a gale. Life and death, beginning and end. Like the girl only lately caught between open sky and campfire's flame.

She shifted on her feet as the laughter of dancing pairs began to echo the warm tenor voice that sang. Hazel-brown eyes blinked back a tear that had started to fall, as she felt her mind begin to move again. Rulf bent himself against her legs, and at the touch of his rough, warm fur she managed to lift one foot, place it before the other, and continue her walk into the inner circle of the wagons of her people. The canine followed, patiently, behind her.

Selvagem took her time. Her calm hazel eyes drifted with the crowd, came to rest on a small group that stood out like stone poking through running water. The girl paused again, the thought of seeking out her kin momentarily eclipsed by her curiosity at seeing plantado in the midst of a Caminar Gather. And not just any plantado either, but dragonriders. She knew enough of the Weyrs to recognize the knots they wore, even if the sound of their speech could not be heard from where she was.

Just what dragonriders might be doing here, however, was a matter of thought that held her still for several minutes more, puzzling on it. The elders, she could see, were not protesting, though they did not appear all too happy with the arrangement either, if their subtle gestures were anything to go by. The strains of merry-making tugged at her, drawing her attention away into the growing throngs of Caminar taking to the dance. She longed to flow with them, change out of her sand-covered travelling gab and into the rich red-hued embriodered dress she had worn at every Gather since the turn she found she could fit into it. Yet the sight of dragonriders held her still, puzzling.

And at the other end of the Gather, keen dark brown eyes picked a lone girl clad in the dull colours of forest and earth amidst a verdent wildfire of vivid Caminar hues. The dark brown eyes widened, a deep breath was drawn, and then a Caminar youth was making his way through the crowds, marking a beeline towards the girl with the dust-hued canine at her heels.

[Omnia Munda]

The pink in the cheeks of Caminar girls roused grins on the faces of J'fel's wingmen. Their purposes here were simple, and as the music struck up C'vole's foot began to tap. "They're playing my song," said A'wan, receiving a quiet snort from the brownrider, though for his joke the tallest of the riders got a smack on the back of the shoulder from the shortest.

"Go on," said J'fel, his eye now on the approach of the wingleader B'nek, though from the merry shape of his mouth and the mischief in his voice the nearer men might not know it. Then he elbowed C'vole, too, and turned the gesture into a hunch closer to the brownrider and a 'subtle' point at a pair of girls whose assistance in cooking had come to a complete stop so they could peek from the corners of their eyes at the invading dragonriders.

C'vole took the hint as well as A'wan had done, and the two men struck out toward their marks, all swagger and pride of place against the dark glares of Caminar men.

This left the young bronzerider to greet the wingleader with a much less mischief-making smile and a nod. A gesture welcomed B'nek to his leader's side, as though he might just wish to stand beside the younger man and observe the goings-on from this place. But of course J'fel did speak, if softly: "Guess they do this every turn. Interesting it'll be indeed, to see how they do it here."

[ignisfatuus]

In the warm midsummer night air the bonfire burnt brightly, flickering and flaring as air brushed against it or more wood was added to feed its insatiable appetite. Those close by could hear the crackling as the fire engulfed consumed any material in its midst. The bonfire grew larger, higher as time went on, casting its orange light further afield. Those close by were sharply illuminated by the bright light while the light beyond that immediate radius was softer, paler. From any distance the people, who were stood or sat, playing or dancing directly in front of it were mere silhouettes, one person barely distinguishable from another.

Jansen was one of those who had a spot directly by the fire. Due to his close proximity to the fire and the warmth of the evening in general, Jansen sat there with the sleeves of his russet folded up as far as they would go and with the top few buttons undone. Forever more he would probably remember the scolding one of his sisters had given him for going around dressed in such an ‘unbecoming’ manner. Jansen had been there since a short while before the bonfire had been lit, after having helped pile up the wood. Due to his position here, he had been one of the people who had been given the task of keeping the Bonfire alive in its early stages and it was from this local he eat, drank and was merry.

He was not alone either. By his side was his ever present gather companion, Kaim. The two only met up at the gathers (unless their caravans were to cross paths, which was a rare occurrence) but the two were firm friends, as close as brothers ever were. For most of the time that they had been there, Jansen and Kaim had been chatting, catching up with a turns worth of events. The fire in the background swayed and danced, causing the shadows the flicker and skit across Jansen’s happy and expressive face and Kaim’s equally happy but more subdued face. When the music began to play, Jansen stood up quite suddenly, surprising Kaim. Kaim let out a small groan when Jansen gave a sweeping bow and a huge grin, followed by his asking Kaim if he 'Cared to dance?' before straightening up and offering his arm to the other lad. Reluctantly, Kaim took the proffered and soon the two were on the dance floor with the other couples, dancing with an astounding ineptness that caused much stumbling and laughter on both parts. Friends and family of the two boys shook their heads with despair and laughed when ever they caught sight of them. In the spirit of the moment, Jansen had completely forgotten where they were. And he seemed to be one of the few people who had not yet noticed the presence of the dragon riders.

[Xinnai]

She had become curious throughout the day as the caravans gathered, as the usuall havoc and indecipherable haphazard mess of the Caminar gathered into clearly distinguished ranks and lines.

She'd watched from a distance as the bonfire went up, as the fire crackled merrily as flames raced over it, greedily consuming the dry wood and tinder as it darted over the entire carefully constructed pile, rising higher, the flames vaning to greater lengths, reaching like silken fingertips into the darkening sky.

And so she had creeped closer and closer and now stood on the outskirts of the caravan, the dim light from the fire causing her hair to gleam slightly, picking out strands of red amongst the gold that had previouly not been seen.

She wouln't get in trouble for his, would she? She'd just put herself forward as a Candidate but surely she still was allowed to do things?

Well...She'd do it anyway.

She took a deep breath, striking quite the little woman figure as she stepped into the caravan. She was so small, and petite, it looked as if the slightest push would knock her to the ground. She gathered up her neat brown skirts as she looked at the wares, her gray eyes interested, though not particularly keen on buying anything.

She stepped to another stall and her stopped, studying the display before her. They were such pretty stones...A flash of pleasure danced over her serious face as she leaned closer, examining the stone-set jewelry closely, but not touching.

She thought of all the rest of the caravan to see, the other displays and little trinkets, and gave a regretful little shrug, turning away and continuing on.

Salina was, of course, nothing if not responsible. She'd want to check out all the other vendors and stalls before handing over any of her precious money. It wasn't often she indulged herself and she wanted to do so with the utmost care.

[Omnia Munda]

J'fel could see from his vantage beside the wingleader C'vole's flirtations having better success than A'wan's. The weyrleader's mouth curled, and whatever B'nek might have said, Jordeth's rider merely nodded. There was a polite excuse to offer the other bronzerider next, and J'fel slipped away from him into the gathering crowd.

Faces all around him were lit by the growing, dancing flames of the fire. The music enchanted him despite himself and J'fel felt hope he hadn't experienced in days: hope that there would, finally, come proof that these people were innocent. Then it would be just a matter of unsettling them from his Bowl - or making them useful so long as they stayed.

More firelit faces, smiling, talking, laughing. Some stared at the young weyrleader as he went by, walking as though he owned the place - and of course, in his way, he did. Their women weren't without appeal, he had to admit; he couldn't help but understand all his men who'd said with one side of their mouths that the Caminar must be ousted while stealing kisses in the other corner of their lips.

More to the point, perhaps he could get from these girls more than kisses. J'fel craved answers; a naif might be all too willing to share with him, on a night so social as this, everything she knew. There was a skinny one, just set out across the gather circle, followed by a dog. She had business, clearly, but from his peripheral vision J'fel marked her for later consideration.

But there were those of his own weyrfolk here, too, some of them even candidates. And there was a tiny one, young, maybe about the age the weyrleader himself had been when he impressed. The thought made J'fel quite smile, and remembering how he'd been four turns ago and how the girls he knew then had been, too, he drew a breath and turned his route toward the girl pondering the nearest of the jewelry carts.

She was just turning away as the bronzerider slipped into earshot, preparing a pace that would put him right by her side in a step or two more. "Made any friends among them yet?"

[Selvagem]

(OOC> Ack, sorry for the delay, I lost track of how many had already replied )


There were more than dragonriders in the Gathering tonight, and Selvagem felt her unease grow as she picked out more of them. She watched Salina a moment, eyeing the girl making her way amongst the carts. A young man with the knots of a rider passed within her field of vision, his gait self-assured and sticking out like a sore thumb amidst the flow and ebb of her own people, following the candidate near the jewelry carts. He felt Rulf shift in and out between her legs, sensed his unease at being in so enclosed a space, and came back into herself again: a lone girl amidst a crowd. She started to take a step.

And suddenly a hand was on her shoulder, hesitant and gentle pressure turning her around. The Caminar girl felt her eyes widen at the sight of a familiar, dark-toned face, deep brown eyes glistening with emotion

"You came back," Forca's voice was soft, just barely audible above the bustle all around them, but Selvagem read his lips well enough. For a moment, neither could say anything more, caught in the silence between whirling dancers on one side, haggling jewelers on the other. Sevalgem raised a hand to the one at her shoulder: she wanted to reach out to him, but shyness held her like a snare. Shyness and the long turn with only wind and canine for companionship. Forca caught her hesitation, and hesitated himself. He finally took her hands in his, rather than the whole of her, and let a slow smile grace his ruby, chiselled features.

"We waited long for you."

If there was reproach in his voice, it was unintended. Yet he had indeed waited long for her. Selvagem understood, and smiled as well, soft and small.

"I know. How are the others?"

"My siblings are dancing, and your cousins too I think," he lifted his head to examine the pairs wheeling by them, "The women are preparing the food for tonight, it'll be a feast to remember. I...don't think we should let them know you're here, just yet."

He glanced down at her simple, dull garb, "I'll take you to the wagon first."

His female companion laughed, suddenly, and the sheer note of joy in her voice set a cast of wonder to Forca's face. Selvagem smiled, biting off her mirth, and nodded.

"Aye, lets do that. I havn't tasted your mother's cooking so long, I've almost forgotten it. It'll be good to remember it now."

[neopanther]

P'nset crouched on his weyrledge looked down at the gathering below, on the outskirts of the regular, the Caminar gathered; bright colours, dark hair, glimmering fire-light, and a raucous noise that reminded him so pleasantly of his youth. He looked down, smiled, remembering how he had danced, how he had participated in the festivities of this, turn on turn. He gave a forlorn glance at the knot. Attached to the right hand side of his deep blue shirt, Wing second. Here that came above being a Caminar. Or at least, it did to him. Whilst he was in the weyr he was first and foremost a Wingsecond, and Brown rider. Second to that he was a Caminar.

{Perhaps tonight, you should join them.}

"Aye, but if I do, what will I be?" P'nset said pensively. "Will I be one of J'fel's riders? Or a Caminar?"

{You are both, you are neither, what does it matter? you a bridge that stands strong between both, you are neither one nor the other, yet you are both, unique - almost}

"Thanks," P'nset's words were perhaps a little unnecessarily sharp towards Sarjenth.

The brown approached the ledge, shadow engulfing P'nset as it did so.
{you will come} The dragon said as he looked down at his bonded with swirling eyes of blues and greens, his hide almost black with the dying light. P'nset stood, re-arranged himself, pushed a hand through his hair, and turned to his Dragon.
"Fine."

{Just go with the flow}

"Mmm, but what if that flow includes J'fel hitting on a Caminar girl I am distantly related to? Or worse? Do I support his Weyrwoman, and tell him to stop, or do I support my own?" P'nset, skeptical as sever in his words. Without a further word, P'nset mounted his brown. It was now he felt like he had spent an eternity as a rider, and his life as a Caminar was far gone.

The brown lifted from the ledge, his wings opening, catching the wind, and with two strong beats P'nset and His were lifted from the ledge, and gliding their way down to the growing fire light, and boisterous volumes.

On landing, P'nset slipped from his dragons back, approached from the southern side of their gathering. He immediately relaxed. He felt the warmth of the people and the fire melted away any false pretenses he had about doing this.

{Not to bad is it?}

With that mental remark from Sarjenth, the brown settled down far in the shadows.

P'nset pulled a three legged stool from behind one of the caravans, winking at one of the lads - who seemingly recognised him, smiled and said nothing.

He smiled and waved as he passed the weyrleader, who was talking to one of the candidates by this stage. He could see one of J'fel's wing mates trying to progress with one of the Caminar girls, he chose to say nothing.

Instead, he turned his back to the situation, sat just out of range of the dancing, but sat watching, eyes enveloped into the goings on, constantly watching. Listening in on the noises that exuded from all around him, laughter, songs, crackling of the fire.

[rigantona]

"Hmph." Was B'nek's only answer to J'fel's remark. He could tell that the Weyrleader's attention was mostly on the young women wandering the Gather, and he was unsurprised when he prowled off to accost a girl he vaguely recognized as a candidate. She seemed a bit young...but then, so was J'fel.

He continued to stay in the background, reluctant to venture further into the Gather grounds. As he looked around, he noticed P'nset, his Wingsecond. He was surprised to see the Brownrider at first, but then he was uncomfortably reminded of P'nset's heritage. B'nek tried not to think about it much, because P'nset was such a good Wingsecond, but the man's Caminar lineage niggled him on occasion. He caught the Brownrider's gaze and waved, but didn't approach him yet, in case he would rather join his "people."

[Selvagem]

Selvagem followed Forca through the milling thongs, Rulf close by her feet despite the crush and the mrriment of the Gather all around them. It was hard to recognise most of them in the wain light and the general press of people, but she caught glimpses of familiar faces all the same. The thought of meeting her relatives again, hearing their voices and laughter, felt as alien as a fire on the open plains, dispensing heat rather than the chill of wind. But it warmed her heart all the same.

They passed, without knowing it, very near to where P'nset's Sarjenth was settled down in the shadows.

And then a familiar looking wagon loomed out of the crowds, and tethered beside it, a very familiar looking draftbeast. Selvegem paused a moment, gathered herself as a tear teased her eyes. She went forward, put her arms around Bessie, and murmered softly into her mane. The old mare turned at her touch, breathing softly into her hair as Rulf touched nose to her foreleg, and huffed in recognition. Forca, watching, wished wistfully she would do something similar for him. The girl pulled away, and nodded to him.

"I'll get changed."

[Xinnai]

Salina turned as someone spoke to her, eyebrows winging upward. She hadn't expected to spoken with here. Brows only went higher, and a slight pink tinge came to her cheeks, as she saw it was J'fel who spoke with her. The Weyrleader was impossible not to recognize, by both his dark hair and open blue eyes and his youth. Telgar had certainly been in an uproar when the young rider had became its leader.

She mentally shook such thoughts from her head and smiled, reminding herself that she was merely browsing and was in no trouble here. Besides, he had talked to her. With that, she felt most of her unease disappear.

"Well..." She paused, not sure what to phrase her two former acquaintances as. "I suppose you could say I have. I met two men amongst their wagons. They fixed a bracelet for me." She continued walking, reluctant not to see the rest of the wares on show, even if she was in the presence of the most important of men amongst her own personal world.

"Have you, sir?" She turned somber gray eyes to his, head tilted to the side in question as the growing firelight glossed it light red once more. She looked young and old by turns as the firelight danced, painting shifting shadows across her pale face, hiding eyes and the mouth before springing back and revealing her girlish features before stealing over brow and nose.

All around them, people were making the noises of daily life. Laughter rang in her ears, the shouts of the hawkers and the people who invaded the wagons, the talk and chatter of all the people. It soothed her, leaked into her. Perhaps things could be well between them...Perhaps.