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S'van had been a very sad Weyrling of late, prone to fits of depression, and crying in the night. He had never really seen death, not with his two eyes, and he hadn't understood until that awful moment in the Stands what it meant for a baby dragonet not to find his rider. The little thing had been half crazed, it had seemed, and listening to its piteous screams had torn his (defiantly, for whatever attempts he made to steel himself and behave in the manner that his father might have wished it was still a...) tender heart to pieces before its flight between had broken it.

Needless to say, he had questioned his merit as a dragonrider, and had retreated more and more into the place that most put him at ease. His hours in the evenings brought him some small comfort, for there was something in which he could truly excel, something that he enjoyed more than just about anything. He had been touched that Mirelle had taken him under her wing, and he had dutifully shown up at the requisite time ready to put his hands to whatever task she required of him. "Ms. Mirelle?" He wasn't late, was he? He didn't... think he was late.

Then why was it that several of the kitchen girls were giving him funny looks? Mirelle didn't look any different than usual; she wore her run-of-the-mill expression of mild displeasure which he had come to associate with his presence. That left him somewhat at a loss. Was he in trouble? Or were the girls just feeling particularly odd today? Maybe he had a bit of flour on his nose? It had happened before. Apron in hand, he moved closer, padding over to his mentor's side. His hair was carefully braided; no use getting it into the batter, after all. Who knew what they'd be cooking today.

Oh. ... Well, if that was all that was, S'van didn't feel too bad about being there. He washed his hands carefully, and dried them, slipping on his frilly apron. Moving over to the counter, he put himself to work at kneading the dough, a process which he found quite soothing. Ms. Mirelle would explain things to him in time if they required explaining. She was always good about that. He had a feeling that she wasn't the sort to leave apprentices and such without a good idea of what they were supposed to be doing, lest they foul things up.

And really, food should never be fouled up. That had been bothering him for some time, and he had tried to keep it bottled up inside, not wanting to betray his friends. One friend in particular made it important to keep quiet, but it truly did bother him that the avenue of attack involved mucking about with the Kitchen. This was his haven, his place of solace, and he didn't want to give that up anytime soon. Not only was he likely to be kicked out if discovered, but he wondered if they would simply go elsewhere for food.

"Ms. Mirelle? Does this look all right?" He asked, kneading the dough meticulously. It was getting to the point where he wondered if he ought to move on to a new bit of bread dough. The process of bread-making was still new enough that he felt a need to double check from time to time, rather unlike his work with the various soups and stews. He knew that well enough that he could pretty much be trusted to make them with his eyes blindfolded. It was a point of pride for him, though he didn't really bandy that about.

Absently, S’van watched Mirelle shape the loaves, mimicking her as best as he could. It was not just that he had a talent for the bakercraft, but also that he sincerely enjoyed it. It wasn’t difficult to follow her directions, really, and fortunately he already knew how to do the braiding that he sported in the form of his rider knots. He continued to go along, sort of automatically working the bread dough and shaping it appropriately. … He continued, that is, until Mirelle spoke up again. Well now, what might she be talking about? Blinking, he tried to decide if he was in trouble, or if she had noticed something he hadn’t.

“Err. Well, I’m… doing okay. Galliath is really upset about the Hatching, and he remembers it whenever he touches bases with me.” Which was really too bad. He wished that he could let his dragon just forget the tragic thing that had happened, and move on, but he himself was rather heartbroken over those poor little lostlings. “Aside from that…” Aside from that, he was a little upset over things with the ILA, simply because it bothered him that they were targeting the kitchen. He believed in O’asis’ cause, but it was hard for him to accept that there was a need to go about it this way.

Real hard, particularly considering that it was his personal sanctuary. He thought of it that way, anyway. Carefully, he braided the dough and set it aside. “Seems like lots of stuff’s going on, all at once.” How better to put it, really? He couldn’t out and out tell Mirelle what was going on. S’van did not betray allegiances, even when it probably would’ve suited him better to be working for the opposite side, in a sense. She didn’t seem like the sort to give up on things, if she’d started honing in on what was wrong. This was not going to be easy, not if she decided to press him about it.