Welcome to Gaia! ::

It seemed the fantastic and surreal events yesterday that had brought Viskal to the weyr from the poor, dirty corner of his hold were now completely finished with him. Except for his confusion and disorientation of the new schedule and unexplored layout of the weyr, there was nothing exceptional about the day.He awoke. He reported to the kitchen and was assigned temporarily chores (until he could find another leatherworker to apprentice himself to). He cut tubers until he was sent away.

And no one came to tell him there had been a mistake, and he should pack hit things to be sent home immediately.

In fact, after being given his day-to-day work clothes (and an immaculate white robe for Impression), he was ignored entirely by the older folks. Even the other candidates, after a brief flurry of poking and questioning the “new boy” gave up interest with him quickly. A leatherworking apprentice, and a young one at that, with more snappy retorts than adventuresome stories, was easily passed over after bumping into a few groups of boys.

In the evening, free of chores, he drifted away from the kitchen, ears tuned, senses edgy. A flit unexpectedly landing on some man’s shoulder, the distant shout of voices, singing and tools scraping in various rooms – all were unfamiliar noises that made Viskal a bit twitchy and ill-at-ease as he wandered. Not wanting to find a leatherworking master until his place seemed more secure, he had little to do with himself at the moment.

It was the weyr, he decided. He felt cloistered in it, trapped, and sought an exit at random. Eventually he found some side entrance and, blinking at the overly bright sun, sidestepped once he was out. By the door, he waited for his eyes to adjust and eventually found himself squinting at the arriving caravan. Curious and glad for once to not be part of the work, he observed their arrival of foreign accents, strange smells, and tired but hurried motions of those trying to reach a rest. He walked down the line idly, ignoring an annoyed stare from one heavyset, sweating man that didn’t seem pleased with his laziness, and eventually stopped, watching a girl handle a beast. No, she was older than he though, just small, but looked rather young to be handling the animal alone. He tilted his head, half expecting the thing to bolt unexpectedly, though it didn’t.

Viskal watched her go by and almost strode on, but he had questions, and the girl seemed a likely candidate to unleash them on. She’d already glanced at him and moved on, closing the opportunity to speak, but he moved forward, head belligerently aloft against such social formalities. “This is a trading caravan?” he prompted. “I hadn’t heard there was one coming.”