Welcome to Gaia! ::

((So, this is a few months in the past, when Remia was first brought to the Weyr. This takes place at the Weaverhall))

Remia sat at the great dye vat, watching the steam rise from the water and stirring the fabric about with a long paddle. They were making several different colors today, and Remia had been put in charge of the green dye. It smelled vaguely of fellis, and she wrinkled her nose.

The Master in charge constantly patrolled, making sure they didn't have too much heat, and were stirring it well, but not too vigorously.

"good good, you're doing well, all of you. Now-- What are you staring at, youngster!" he scolded one of the other Apprentices who was staring out the window.

"I see a dragon, sir!"

"What?" The Master went to the window, and saw the signal flag flying from the Weaverhall's tower, but for what he didn't know. It wasn't urgent, however.

"Well, everyone back to their vats. You'll find out soon enough if it has anything to do with you," he said, shooing them away from the window to a chorus of disppointed groans and sighs, Remia among them.

Soon after, class ended, and the fabric was taken out of the vat and the next class would be put in charge of the next step.

Remia looked around as she walked outside for the dragon. He must be resting somewhere... Oh, there! And she stopped as she caught sight of the dragon on his perch, sighing and gazing.

((I hope that didn't get too far into God modding... >> yeek! let me know, and I'll change something. ))

Remia's eyes widened as the great blue head swiveled in her direction, and a low bugle emitted. He was looking at her! At her!

A voice from behind interrupted her thoughts, and she almost winced as she realized it was her father.

"Remia, what are you doing? You'll be late for your next class, and I don't want to hear about it from Master Dorbin." He looked up at the dragon, and a frown crossed his features.

"You get yourself on inside, you hear?" And he walked off as she nodded, muttering about 'everyong stealing his children from the craft.'

Remia sighed, and kept a careful watch on the dragon as she made her way inside, watching until she couldn't see him anymore. If only...

She had to pass through the main hall in order to get to the next class, and as she did, she saw a small cluster of people at the main table... on in riding leathers!

Which brought on a dual daydream, as she slowed again to keep an eye on them.

First of her brother, who had left the Weavers to join the Tanners, and the fact that he might have helped tan the leather that kept the Rider safe from thread... and then of actually being in the sky, a-dragonback, flaming thread. She smiled a bit foolishly...


The Master sighed at the Bluerider's statement, before motioning the cook to take it away. "Unless... you'd care to have it packaged up for you? I know you're only partway through your patrol... it wouldn't do to have you get hungry!"

The cook paused in gathering up the plate, to see what the answer was.

((In truth... I have no idea why the weavers would have called a dragon down >> so... maybe the business is already completed? 9_9 ))

(( ^_^ That sounds good, and it's more plausible than anything I came up with. ))

The cook bent down to gather up the tray, and carried it off to the kitchen to be wrapped for the flight. The Masterweaver smiled beatifically, and nodded to the bluerider.

"We give to the Weyr gratefully, of course, and will not abuse the privilege. Would you care for a short tour while the pie is packaged up? Not long, of course, not to keep you from your patrol." The old man gestured soothingly, in case it might be needed.


Remia's next class was an advanced weaving class, where the senior apprentices learned the more complex patterns that could be woven into cloth, and were taught how to come up with new ones.

The weaver girl herself was marking out in a sand table the warp threads that would need to be lifted on each line to make the pattern she had been set. She was working diligently, if not enthusiastically, her mind still on the dragon--

If only what?

She gasped, and dropped the stylus, rescuing it before it could wipe out more than a few bits of her work. A couple of students looked over, but she smiled reassuringly, and they went back to their own studies.

Tentatively, she thought, The... Blue? and then scolded herself. Of course it was the Blue! People didn't mindspeak, and the Green on the heights had never bothered to bespeak her.

I... have always had a dream... that I could do more than just... this. she thought of what she'd been doing in classes all day. It was fine to 'cloth the holds, halls, and weyrs' as her father sometimes put it, but she wanted to do something a little more memorable. Almost anyone could dye fabric, or weave cloth, but only a few were the sort to become Dragonriders.

I never allowed myself to think about it too much... because the only dragon I ever saw close was the watchdragon, and she never took any interest in me. You have no idea how much this means to me...! she thought, about to burst for the dragon bespeaking her.

It was something she would treasure, because it was probably the only time she would ever have such an experience. Her father wanted her to follow in the family craft, and he held on like a canine with a steak. She didn't even allow herself to consider leaving the Crafthall and going to the Weyr; it would be too amazing!

((corn... stare ))

Remia paused for a moment, bemused by the idea that a dragon found her interesting. The teacher, however, noticed her unusual laxity, and came by to see what the problem was.

"Is something wrong, Remia? Do you need to see the Healer?"

She started, and looked up with a sheepish smile, "No, thank you, I'm fine, Master Dorbin. I was thinking a little too hard..."

"Well, pay attention to your work, child, I will need to see your pattern by the end of the class."

"Yes, sir!" she said, and bent to her task as he walked away; she tentatively returned as well to her conversation with the dragon, if he still wanted to talk to her.

May I ask your name, please? I don't want to think of you only as Blue.. or Dragon... that would be rude. She didn't want to offend him.


The Master clasped his hands in front of him delightedly. "Excellent, excellent. I'll have someone inform the cook to keep it in the kitchen for now, and we'll take a short tour. There is mostly classes going on at the moment... but I can show you the looms as well as the fields from the walls, if you like."

The fields were tended to by the surrounding small holds, and produced mostly the fibers needed for the Crafthall: Flax, Sisal, and even a small number who chose to try and produce cotton.