Welcome to Gaia! ::

Ever since the last stand Winderick spent most of his time volunteering in the smithy. The sobering reality of the weyr, the bitter fact that not all who come here will join the ranks of the dragon riders, put him back in the mind of a smith. Although his candidacy left him with little time to practice his craft, he paid close attention to the smiths while he volunteered and spoke to them about their jobs when he could. Though he missed wielding hammer against molten steel the familiar sounds and smells of Benden's smithy brought back nostalgic memories.

After a long, yet satisfying day in the smithy, smelling pungently of smoke, Winderick said goodbye to Benden's smith and headed toward the dining hall, feeling the painful emptiness in his stomach. It was a good kind of pain, the kind you feel after a hard day's work. There was a smile on his face. Lunch would taste good today.

Squall, the silver firelizard, lay stretched out across his shoulders like a sash. The smithy hated him but it was hard to get rid of him. He was always sneaking into the smithy to steal screws and other shiny trinkets, then blinking back to his nest. It was just a game he played. Winderick knew Squall didn't mean any harm. He tried to teach him not to steal, but Squall preferred not to listen.

Suddenly Squall let out a hearty whistle and leapt from Winderick's shoulder. Surprised, Winderick stopped filling his plate and turned to see where Squall was going (keeping track of him was easy, for he was now almost the size of a bronze). The silver flit made a graceful landing near A'nos's plate and chirped playfully at Symphony.

Winderick frowned slightly. Aside from being a little jealous of A'nos's bronze he had no ill feelings towards the new dragon rider, he simply didn't like the idea of a flit deciding where he was going to sit today. He reluctantly took a seat beside A'nos.

Wow, A'nos looked terrible. Winderick wondered if he should ask. "Nice flit."

If Squall were A'nos's flit he wouldn't have managed any better. Squall seemed to realize that he was an individual and did not need to take orders from anyone, except when offered a reward or punishment, the latter Winderick could hardly stand to give. Squall had grown on him too much, even though he sometimes got him into trouble.

"I've been working in the smithy, helping make parts for the new greenhouse. They're going to start putting it together soon." He would like to lend a hand in that, too. There was so much exciting work going on that his disappointment at the last Stand was almost forgotten. "How's Acriculeth?"

"I've heard worse," Winderick commented. Some of his uncle's best friends were miners who cursed at the drop of a hat. When Winderick was younger being surrounded by such foul tounges made him feel like a grown up listening to grown up conversations. He was past that now, but still felt a slight fondness for a well placed explictive.

Hearing A'nos talk about his dragon stirred fuzzy memories of the hatching. The thing he remembered most was lying on the hot sands on his back with a terrible pain in his chest after the dark green tackled him. A few other candidates were hurt that day, but fortunately no one was severely injured. Other than that the event was mostly a blur. Even the birth of the crimson, which most of the other candidates and riders remembered well, had only a dreamy quality, perhaps because Winderick was still lost in shock at the time. With his chores at the smithy to occupy him and Squall keeping him company he no longer felt quite as envious of the new riders as he once had, although he had to admit he envied A'nos a little. No matter what, Winderick knew he would never have such a magnificent dragon as a bronze.

"Are you looking to become wingleader?" he asked curiously.