Her clothes were always well-cut but plain, and more often than not in muted colors, but lately she had begun to make an exception when it came to color. She had been a promising Apprentice in Weavercraft once, taught by her demanding Dyer mother, and it seemed wise now to return to her studies. In the Wherhold, it paid to be useful as more than just a dragonrider, and that went double for the rider of a metallic. Everything she did and said was carefully calculated to counteract the stereotypical image of a vain, entitled goldrider.
Smoothing the soft, pale blue-green fabric of her skirt with multicolored fingers, Anali rose to meet Vosin at the door at the door inclining her head in greeting. "Please, Anali will do, or Rider if you prefer a title." Her mouth quirked up in a wry smile. "Someone's likely to have a conniption if they hear you call me Weyrwoman."
The stout woman stood back and motioned for the Weyrling to enter. "Come in, please."
Her weyr was as modest as her clothing, though on the larger side purely out of necessity; they would have preferred to take a smaller one still, but the number of ledges that would accomodate a dragon of Banshidheth's size were very few indeed, and an old bronzerider weyr was as humble as they could practically be (and even then, it was not the most comfortable fit for the massive gold). They made up for it in sparse appointments, the only hint of luxury a good-quality but plain feline fur spread across the bed. Bits of cloth, some dyed and some not yet, spilled across her desk. Two somewhat-comfortable chairs, a chest, and a wardrobe, a bow leaning against the latter, comprised the rest of her furniture.
