The day had dawned a bleak one, a weak pall of Rukbat's usual warmth just barely fringing the outskirts of the Weyrbowl. With the cloud bank that had rolled in, outdoors activities had slowed to a crawl - a perfect chance, then, for Ichidou to get some peace and quiet to rearrange her tangled weave of thoughts and feelings. The transition from Hold to Weyr was proving itself an admirable wall to the candidate, a brute force that was reluctant to simply bend to her will, and obey without question. Even worse, the people of this place were far nosier than their more docile counterparts, even while they kept their physical distance.
Scuffing the rim of ice that had formed solidly around the man made river of the gardens, Ichidou exhaled on a blustering sigh, her breath coagulating into a white puff that dispersed in the chilly air of the empty place. Her only company here was the dormant trees whose branches bent beneath the weight of icicles, and the beds of flowers that were partially concealed beneath wayward drifts from the last big snow. Winter had never seemed so bitter and cruel back on the plains - here it was smothering blanket, and one she desired no more than to shake off. The stillness was eerie, and Ichidou was quick to move on from her vantage point, arms folded tightly to her chest in a failing effort to keep the heat from escaping her layers of clothing.
It seemed an odd choice, to elect for the cold silence of wilted flowers and bare trees for the warmth and chatter of the Weyr's halls. Yet she felt less hostility from company she knew was well and...well, dead, than the falsely arranged smiles of the Weyrfolk, and the pretended humility of riders. Nobody really cared for anyone other than themselves, and that suited Ichidou just fine - but she couldn't stand it when people posed to further their own interests. It had nearly cost her her Candidacy on more than one occasion (and a good many relationships, if the way the other girls skirted her counted for anything), and so she'd reluctantly restrained herself from anything more than a bland, emotionless mask for the time being. She'd lay dormant, just like these flowers, if it meant securing her place in the world, until the Hatching decided for certain, her fate.
Scuffing the rim of ice that had formed solidly around the man made river of the gardens, Ichidou exhaled on a blustering sigh, her breath coagulating into a white puff that dispersed in the chilly air of the empty place. Her only company here was the dormant trees whose branches bent beneath the weight of icicles, and the beds of flowers that were partially concealed beneath wayward drifts from the last big snow. Winter had never seemed so bitter and cruel back on the plains - here it was smothering blanket, and one she desired no more than to shake off. The stillness was eerie, and Ichidou was quick to move on from her vantage point, arms folded tightly to her chest in a failing effort to keep the heat from escaping her layers of clothing.
It seemed an odd choice, to elect for the cold silence of wilted flowers and bare trees for the warmth and chatter of the Weyr's halls. Yet she felt less hostility from company she knew was well and...well, dead, than the falsely arranged smiles of the Weyrfolk, and the pretended humility of riders. Nobody really cared for anyone other than themselves, and that suited Ichidou just fine - but she couldn't stand it when people posed to further their own interests. It had nearly cost her her Candidacy on more than one occasion (and a good many relationships, if the way the other girls skirted her counted for anything), and so she'd reluctantly restrained herself from anything more than a bland, emotionless mask for the time being. She'd lay dormant, just like these flowers, if it meant securing her place in the world, until the Hatching decided for certain, her fate.
