Welcome to Gaia! ::

Vesresh didn't mind his foster family: they were nice people. The man worked in the kitchens as an assistant cook, and his wife worked in the laundry. So, not long after he had moved in with them, Vesresh had been given nice clothes and the occasional small pastry treat at the end of his chores. They really were nice, but they weren't family: they weren't his mom, or his dad, or his sisters, or their dragons and, though Weyrfolk, they just weren't... the same.

He knew that they talked about him sometimes, he didn't know what or why, but why not? He had come forward in time – time of all things – and now he had to be very far away in the home of strangers. He wondered if it was better or worse than the creche would be.

They'd given him some time to settle in before having him take a test and then place into a lesson set. It wasn't so hard to get back into that: history was awkward, but it was all another story, and Vesresh liked stories. As long as he pretended that the events of hundreds of years didn't happen after he was born, he could handle it.

Today, though, he was doing chores for his foster parents, consisting of a large container of fresh fruit for the kitchens. He was struggling – it was far too much for the boy to carry, and they very nearly fell out of the container as he staggered to the kitchens, praying he didn't waste any of it in his clumsiness. He would hate to do that – it would feel like a betrayal of the people who had been kind enough to take him in...

He could see her only a little out of the corner of his eye – thus she was talking to him. It would be good to know who she was before he spoke, for politeness's sake.

A consequence of his height and of the towering height of his burden, Vesresh had to stop to look at the speaker, his precious cargo teetering in it's container. He yelped as one of the objects began to fall, catching it with his hand before it could break on the ground: they were wherry eggs, among other things, and they were big.

“Yes...” he said meekly, his smile grateful, “If you could...” his eyes widened as he recognized Nersha, “I mean... yes, Ma'am!” he said, stammering a little, his cargo ever more in danger.

The Weyrmistress of his Weyr – who he had rarely seen but definitely knew - was talking to him. The Weyrmistress of his Weyr was offering to help him carry things. Just because she wasn't Weyrmistress here, and they were hundreds of miles and years away from home, didn't mean that Vesresh wasn't embarrassed and starstruck by her.

Vesresh thought that was an amazing idea. An excellent idea. Of course it would be – this was a goldrider. His leader. She'd been a figure of awe before, from the power she commanded, but now she was a hero.

A real live hero, of harper's tales.

“Mmhmm!” he said hurriedly, trying not to embarrass himself more (and inadvertently being even more awkward than before) as he self-conciously traded her the main box and took the dangerously delicate items – including a few odd bags of something and some strange hard sheets of some edible substance - on the top into his hands. It was lighter (though not that easy to carry) and he could, at last, see where his feet were going.

He looked up at her, realizing that she'd gotten most of his cargo. “Um.” he said, blushing from behind the wherry eggs, “I could... take more?”

Or perhaps not – he wasn't sure he could manage what he had now, even (though it was still easier). But he felt he should offer. She was so lofty, and she was being so nice...

Vesresh nodded – that was a plan. That worked. “To the kitchens.” he said, starting forward again as he talked, “My foster father needs them... for dinner, I think.” he said. He turned forward, to see where he was going as he passed by a few lower caverns workers. The workers watched the pair with suspicion – Vesresh was no threat – he was just a kid – but they had all heard the rumors of where... and when... he had come from, and Sereth's rider was recognizable. If the workers didn't recognize her immediately by face, then they were quickly informed, by a friend of theirs in the know, who it was.

Vesresh could feel their gazes, uncomfortable on his back as they passed, and looked towards Nersha instead. “S-sorry.” he said, though he didn't know why he was apologizing. His sisters told him he didn't need to apologize for the actions of others, but somehow the way the people were staring, it felt like his fault. Even though it wasn't.

“I'm Vesresh.” he said. The silence he felt was solid and awkward, like butter, and he knew he had to break it. And what better way to break it than his name?