Xanadu Weyr - Store Room
The storerooms here are carved into the stone, stretching back deep underground beneath the upper hallways that serve for residences and work areas. There is, after all, little need for natural light here; a series of electric lights are more than sufficient to illuminate smoothly cut walls and the assortment of supplies kept until they are needed once more.
For some of the things here, that time will be long in coming. Broken furniture and torn clothing awaits the opportunity for someone to repair it - or else the kindling and rag piles. Other items are more immediately useful; gently worn clothing and boots are neatly arranged in rows and on racks, especially in the quickly outgrown children's sizes, and an assortment of furniture and small appliances in functional condition await new homes.
A series of side rooms connected to the kitchen are the larder which feeds the Weyr through the winter. Sacks of grain lean against barrels of salted meat and wheels of hard cheeses stacked high. Refrigeration and dragonflight make for a more flexible winter diet, but it still takes a great deal of food to provide for this many people. The food is a tempting target for tunnelsnakes, and the occasional scuttle can be heard in the otherwise quiet depths of these caves.
Toward the southern edge, near the path leading down to the hot springs, there's the laundry rooms, a set of steam-filled chambers where water and soap are scrubbed into fabric of various sorts and the dirt and grime is scrubbed right back out.
Much of the stores are easily accessed, requiring only the appropriate permissions to be borrowed from. These supplies are, after all, here for the good of the Weyr and the people living here. A few rooms - those containing particularly valuable or dangerous items - are kept locked.
By the start of the second month of weyrlinghood, there are a few things that must be clear to virtually any weyrling. Aside from understanding that sleep is more precious than marks and food nearly as sacred, that baby dragons are hard on the wardrobe is an almost unavoidable and universal truth. Thus, here is F'yr, in the middle of the afternoon, digging through familiar boxes of hand-me-down items that might serve to replace items that have been lost or destroyed. It's possible that being Glorioth's lifemate in particular that he has a higher than average volume of items shredded or otherwise dispatched to the rag bin for the offense of happening to look EVIL in the moment. There's a small stack of items on one crate that are surely set aside for his trip back to the barracks, among them a pillow, a blanket and sheet, and one exceptionally bizarre looking stuffie which, though small, looks to be a blue llama, with too large eyes and inexplicably the inclusion of tiny rainbow wings. On top there are also a couple of pairs of trousers, but now he's onto the ever problematic search for shirts. Obviously that means he's shirtless, and he's without bandages now and even lack of sleep and frequent exercise has done nothing but improve upon the farm life honed musculature. To his credit for thriftiness, he seems to be favoring older, more worn shirts, with little attention to fashion, if the one he pulls on over his head, which is a little baggy around the middle, but serviceable save for a jagged tear, is anything to go by. It's only destined to be demolished after all.
From further within footsteps are the first indication of someone else nearby. As they draw nearer Katailea is the one who appears from around one of the shelves. Without anything currently in hand either she hasn't found what she was looking for or things were being put away instead, but lost in thought it takes a minute to realize there's someone else nearby and it's then that she stops. Just her luck that F’yr would be the one that she’s come across in this moment.
F'yr's blue eyes are up just as he shrugs out of the shirt and sees Katailea as she enters. There is a moment that should be frozen but instead holds a tremor through his shoulders, a flex of all those muscles that could have been hidden, but weren't because of just exactly the moment she happened to be spotted. His lips press hard to one another and his hands grip that shirt tight. It's one, two beats and then everything releases along with his breath. The measured next breath is for an absurdly mundane, "Hey," after that obvious indication of something much less so. He turns and sets the shirt on the pile and moves to reach other before his eyes go up to her again. "How're you?" JUST ANOTHER DAY, RIGHT? (AHAHAHA.)
"Hey," her greeting echoes his as Katailea moves from that stop, her steps leading her closer. "I'm okay," her reply is sincere if nothing else, trying for just another day. Succeeding might be another story. A smile touches her lips, green eyes meeting his blue for a second before she looks away interest falling on his collection of things and reaching to inspect that stuffie. WHY? "No more bandages," the blonde observes, "That's a good sign, hmm?" The question unasked, but implied, he's feeling better?
"It's for Kihatsuth," F'yr answers the unspoken question of the weird stuffie first, and he's looming over her shoulder another shirt in his hand but not pulled on yet. "Glori destroyed the strange one Ru'ien got at Leirith's carnival early on. I didn't know she actually liked it, so I made a joke, and… Well." Obviously the big blond feels a little badly about it all, even if Glorioth is still 100% sure of the justice and honor of his kill. "Yeah. Apparently Leirith explained to Glorioth that he needed to let my ribs heal if he was going to break them again." That earns a grimace but it's followed by a rueful smile, because obviously this variety of logic worked, and at least he's in less pain now. BUT THAT'S ENOUGH ABOUT HIM, KATAILEA. YOU DIDN'T THINK YOU'D GET OUT OF THIS EASILY. Really, F'yr isn't the type to intend to loom, but loom he continues do as he tilts his face down to look at hers. "Are you okay?" It's a quiet question but so intense, its meaning has to be clear, even if he's been passively avoiding her in recent weeks.
"Oh," Katailea replies given the explanation for that odd little plushie as its placed back into that collection of things. "Was nice of you to think about though." Replacing it that is. A nod follows along with a light laugh for that particular logic, but if it worked who's going to complain? "Well I'm glad you're healing." Its that intensity that finds her smile fading with that question. "I'm fine," she insists, icy green eyes searching his face for some indication, but playing ignorance would be so much easier if she didn't know that he knows something. What makes it harder is that she doesn't know what he's been told. YES, she did think she could get out of it that easily. Okay, so maybe not, but she could hope! That letter is produced from a pocket, the folded paper held out. "Evi told you." Its a statement and nothing more. Should he take it he'll find it being held tighter than she might have intended, but released all the same.
All the rest is set to the side as paling in importance to this. Blue eyes drop to the folded paper. "Evi told me something. About a letter." He looks at the object but doesn't reach for it. He presses his lips together and then draws a deep breath. Maybe he's practicing blocking out or muting some parts of the link between himself and his lifemate because he closes his eyes a moment before he opens them, looking down to meet her green eyes, his hands coming to hover around the hand holding the paper, as though he would cup her hand in the safety of both of his, if he dared. But he doesn't, not this time. "Do you want me to read this?" His eyes search her face for real answers that may not come from her lips. "I don't need to. I just need to know you're okay." AND THERE'S SOMETHING ELSE, too, says his eyes, but briefly because it's buried in the next moment.
She could pull back at his hesitation. Tuck it away and let its existence be forgotten, or at very least ignored again. Those hovering hands might have brought some sort of comfort yet there remains the distance small as it may be. "No," the answer is simple, coming in a breath. Does she want him to read it? No, but there's trust enough there to offer to share it. Katailea's eyes remain fixed on his, despite wanting to turn away. She's already answered that question, twice. She's okay. It's the unspoken on that she's answering this time. "I told you before, I'm staying."
There's another steadying breath and then his hands do curl around her hand, briefly, and squeeze before releasing and dropping away. "I won't ever force you to share something with me that you don't want to share." There's some kind of resolve there, a possibility that he's telling himself as much as he's telling her that that's the final decision he has on that (not her letter, but the larger issue). F'yr's voice is quiet but almost fiercely so, "I'm glad you're staying. I'm here, if you need me." He turns away then, Adam's apple bobbing, a shudder running across those visible muscles in his back before he snatches up the next shirt and tugs it on over his head, perhaps using the moment of his back being to her to collect himself, to calm emotions that might be growing too strong to avoid disturbing a sleeping dragon who's never not somehow with him.
"I know," Katailea replies, a flicker of a smile touching her lips for that touch however brief, her hand falling back to her side when it ends. "I also know people don't loose it because their friend gets a letter." She knows Evi said more than something about a letter, just not what about it she told him. So maybe he would want to know what it actually says, but she isn't pushing the issue either, the paper tucked back into her pocket. Its when he turns away that she lifts a hand, stopping before it reaches him. Fingers curling back in to shake a loose fist in front of her before falling back to her side. "Are you okay?" He keeps asking her, but what about you F'yr. "Maybe I should just go," she starts, turning towards the entrance.
"People do lose it because people who are supposed to care about the people they care about aren't kind to them." F'yr's not going to stop her retreat physically, but maybe his sober and maybe too candid words will do that for him. If she's still there in the next heartbeat, he'll add, "They might also lose it because they wish they'd known and feel stupid for thinking everything was okay when it wasn't, because they were too ignorant to see it. It's a me problem. I don't see things in front of me. It makes me terrible at helping the people I care about." And obviously that's an issue for a person wired the day F'yr appears to be. "I feel like I failed you," that's with a little shrug of his shoulders. Nevermind that he couldn't have known. He pulls the next shirt over his head and can't quite get through the neck hole so off it comes again and is set aside.
Katailea does pause at those words, though she doesn't turn back just yet. "The letter?" That's what he's referring too, right? "That's just how it is," she notes as if that were perfectly acceptable and completely normal. She pauses a second as she considers his words. "S-F'yr," it's then that she looks back to the man. He's hopeless, that's what the slight smile and shake of her head are saying. "You didn't fail me," the thought of it is absurd. "How could you?” SERIOUSLY. Think about F’yr. Did you really? “Everything was okay. You can't fix what’s not broken. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't still be here. So how's that failing?" A hand reaches to settle lightly on his arm as she tilts her head to look up at him, questioning.
"Just because it's how it is doesn't make it right." F'yr's voice has a hard edge for that sentiment even if his hands have retreated to his pockets. That's the only nervous tell, though, his eyes now on her face, expression matching that serious, nigh commanding tone of subtle righteousness. Maybe his lifemate is rubbing off on the him that is him. "I could have done better. For you. For myself." He shrugs because that's just how it is, hands staying in those pockets for the moment. His eyes fall briefly to her hand and then his eyes go to the shirts waiting for him to try them on. His move to pull his hands from his pockets and to take up another might be just because he has a limited time frame to accomplish this task, or maybe it's a subtle way to break the contact before it bothers someone who isn't even here. He stops though, suddenly, turning to look at the blonde with that same serious expression from the start, "If there's anything you do decide you want to share with me, I won't share it. I hope you know that." Did she before? If not, she has his word now. Now, baby dragons on the other hand… Well, can they really be bothered by such SILLY THINGS as SECRETS?
"No," Katailea replies shaking her head, "Not for me." She can't speak for him, but she can for herself. Its when he turns away that she hesitates, and when he looks back to her she just nods. "I know," she replies, softer than before as she looks away. "I know that I spent ten days trying to write to say goodbye, to say I was sorry, but I couldn't even write your name. I know that instead I wrote my father and told him to shove it. I know that that stupid locket that's been in Jerica's family forever hasn't because it was mine. I know that I don't want you to read it because I'm afraid of what you'll think of me, even though I should know better," she admits with a sigh only to look back in his direction. "What I don't know, is what you want me to say. Or why you've been avoiding me."
F'yr's lips compress again as he listens, just listens, to everything she is telling him. Whether or not it really penetrates that internal decision of whether or not he thinks he could have done better by her is anyone's guess. He's quiet a moment as he fingers the next shirt in the pile before pulling it on over his head. It's an ill-fit, but it covers him and isn't too tatty to take another beating, so it's probably a 'keep,'even if it's ugly; at least no one will mourn its fate. His hands move to pull of this ugly shirt and toss it onto his growing pile before reaching for the next. It's not until he's done that that he exhales and answers. "I've been avoiding you because my feelings are upsetting Glorioth. I've been working on them. On my irrational issues. On my stupid wishes to do things differently. We're not supposed to upset our dragons with strong emotions. I've got it in check enough now." That's why he hasn't fled, probably. "What I really want is for you to be happy. You didn't seem that way. Maybe asking you to stay was some kind of mistake because maybe happy exists somewhere else for you, and I want that for you, Katailea." He turns to face her, holding the next shirt between his hands. "I don't…" His brows furrow and his lips turn down in a frown, the words that come not the right ones. Licking his lips, his teeth graze his lower lip as he tries another direction, "Nothing in that letter could change my opinion of you. And if you sold that locket to Jerica, I'm sure you had your reasons." He's on her side, you see. He believes her, he believes in her. "Do you want your locket back?"
Katailea watches a moment, a glance away and then back when he finally speaks. "I know," she replies, her lip catching in her teeth for just a moment before adding in breath, "I just didn't know." She knew about not upsetting the young dragons, she just hadn't put the two together as a reason. "I'm sorry," the blonde offers, sincerity of it written on her face. What follows sees her shaking her head, "No," she's sure of that and it's evident in her voice. It wasn't a mistake. "I didn't stay because you asked me to and coming back was my choice." She won't push for the words, but when he pauses she does tilt her head to wait and listen. "No," this time the answer is quieter, the shake of her head subtler in her resigned response, "It was a fair trade." She might not say it aloud, but that she does want. A second and she finds a smile to meet his gaze with. "You know.. I could try and fix some of those if you wanted?" she offers, a nod in the direction of his keep pile. They might be destined for the trash once Glorioth gets hold to them, but in the meantime some could use with a few less holes.
"It's not your fault that I'm an idiot sometimes," F'yr replies, his tone warming with an attempt at self-deprecating humor. "It's bound to happen. My sisters always said men just had that to them. Occasionally an idiot. It comes hand in hand with —" Something that makes his cheeks turn pink. "Nevermind." He looks quickly to the pile of shirts and so on. "I appreciate the offer," he says after clearing his throat, one hand pushing across his face as though it could coax the blood back to where it more properly should be distributed, "but I promise they'll be shredded by the end of the month. If there's bad tears, I can find a moment while he's sleeping. He's sleeping longer and deeper now. Nothing seems to wake him once he's out." For which F'yr sounds very grateful. He takes a deep breath and looks down at her, "But if you want, you could help me find some more decent ones that I could keep for when he's less…" GRIMACE, "…messy," which will hopefully be ever in his lifetime. "I'm basically through everything I had before I started weyrlinghood. And he keeps shredding my blankets because I don't wake up fast enough sometimes." That warrants another sigh. It's an ongoing battle.
A warm smile tugs at the corners of Katailea's lips, a laugh escaping, "Yeah, well…" she'll just leave it at that. "With?" the blonde prompts, a brow raising in curiosity, but she lets it be even if there is a hint of a smirk there. "Of course," she replies, nodding her agreement to help with that relatively simple task. The frown that follows is a sympathetic one for his loss of clothing and blankets. "But if there's anything else, ask." She'll help where and if she can. She can mend a shirt for him, she can't catch up on sleep for him. "Friends?"
He might have answered her prompting, even if the blush renews itself when he's prompted. He might have even commented on Katailea's willingness to help or if there was any other small task she might assist him with. As it is, her last word takes all his attention. F'yr's brows draw down and his expression shifts into one of puzzlement, and then concern. "Were we ever not?" Weren't they always?
She might have had her doubts for a time. Those questions have been answered however and its a shake of her head that answers his now. "No," Katailea replies, a smile pulling at her lips trying for reassurance for the concern found when green eyes flicking upward to meet his. Her expression falling just a bit as she stops herself from moving from that spot. "Thanks," for that confirmation of their friendship.
F'yr's answering smile shows relief. "I'm sorry, by the way." He shifts just enough to nudge his arm into her shoulder before he moves to pull on the next shirt. "About avoiding you." It comes through the fabric. "Re-directing him when I'm feeling something strongly is… a challenge and his answers to every problem is the same. And not usually helpful." This shirt sits better, it might actually even be a decent shirt to wear for all that it's undyed and the stitching is nothing fancy. He stretches his arms out to check the length of the sleeves and the range of motion of his shoulders as he brings them up over his head. Finding it satisfactory, he starts to tug this next shirt off too. "Did you decide yet what you're going to be doing while you're here? Since you're staying."
"Just tell me next time?" its mostly a comment but with a hint of question in her voice as she leans into that nudge. "I understand," as much as Katailea can understand the complications of the dragon rider relationship. Knowing it wasn't due to other reasons makes a difference. "Keep that one," is noted of the shirt and a shrug is given in response to the question. "I've been helping at the docks for now."
"I'll send a note," F'yr can compromise. "If I'd seen you in person, I'd have had to leave immediately to keep Glori from coming to wherever he thought the danger was." The bronze has already been responsible for an unconscionable amount of property damage as it is. F'yr probably doesn't want to keep racking up debts (even if no one is collecting but his conscience). "That sounds good. Doing things you like, mostly?" At the docks. He sets the shirt in his keep pile and reaches for another, though this one gets set aside before it even gets pulled on as too small. Then he's bending carefully at the waist, one hand supporting himself on the edge of the crate to dig deeper to pull up a few blue possibilities from the depths.
"Okay…" Katailea agrees, a note serves the same purpose, but the question in the word is more for what could be clarification. She's not asking for more though, not now. A nod follows for what she's been keeping herself busy with lately, "Yeah, mostly. Some of its really not all that different." Than what she was used to at home. "And you? Besides going through shirts and blankets like there's no tomorrow," finds a playful lilt.
Maybe F'yr doesn't hear the question in the word, or maybe he's offered all he's prepared to just at this moment. The rest might be fraught, if the idea of seeing her in person had been. "You can always ask to try something else, if you decide you'd rather do something new." It worked out for him, anyway. It's not a pointed suggestion, just an off-hand comment. "Weyrlinghood is a mix, really. Things that are hard, things that are easy. Everyone has individual struggles and everyone is so tired that coping with just your own are exhausting on top of being exhausted from everything else already. It ends up being isolating. It only seems like we're spending time with each other. Really, we're all just spending time with our own lifemates near each other, occasionally bumping into each other and each other's lifemates, for better or worse." There's a little frustration creeping into his tone by the end of his attempted and convoluted explanation, but it's not like any of it can be helped. "This part won't last forever, they keep telling us. But it doesn't feel like that some days." He shrugs his shoulders in what might defeat or simply too few …. to give. "Oh hey," might seem out of the blue, "how did the turnday celebration go?" He never got a chance to ask because he was avoiding her.
Katailea nods, "I know. I might," she says of trying something new. Once step at a time though. She's listening then to that explanation, the difficulties of weyrlinghood. "It sounds.. trying." There isn't really a good word for it is there. "At least you're in it together? And it can't last forever, riders wouldn't be able to do what they do if it did." There's hope for them and she'll do what she can to remind him of that. There's not much else she can do to help with that. Turnday celebration… see now that is an unexpected topic, one that brings a smirk. "There were drinks and.. other things," she starts, turning her attention down towards the contents of that crate. "What about that one?" That shirt over there that she points to.
"Being with friends helps," F'yr concedes, "especially on the embarrassment front." He doesn't immediately elaborate though. The imagination could teem with visions with just that for fodder though. "I feel like it might not get better so much as you get better at learning how to cope with what you've ended up with, so it seems better even though it's really all the same." How's that for deep, possibly crying on the inside insight from the bronze weyrling? Thankfully he doesn't linger on the topic. Instead, there's a truly casual inquiry of, "Good other things? You had fun?" That's what's important about a turnday celebration, right? He plucks up the shirt she indicated and holds it up to his chest with a lift of his brow before he tries pulling it on. It pops a button on the chest, but only because he didn't bother to unbutton it enough before trying to force his big head through. It would do well, if only it had one more button, unless one likes that deep V look.
"It will," Katailea comments, even if he's not sure of it right now she'll at least try to provide some encouragement. "There may have been a little kissing, or you know alot," she's not looking at him for that admission though. "Ow," a hand lifts to rub her temple, laughing as she turns a smile towards F'yr. "Maybe not," she says of the shirt, but at least they know what direction that button went even if it may never be found.
Did Katailea expect laughter in response to her description of the night? It's the bright sort, surprised but wholly lacking in anything remotely derisive or dismissive. "Good. Faranth knows someone should be having fun in this whole bloody Weyr." F'yr's grin is encouraging (too encouraging?), even as he apologizes, "Sorry," for the button, a hand gesture indicating her head. "Might be able to find it," the button, "if you think it's worth the search." He eyes the floor briefly before looking back to the blonde.
No, that's definitely not what Katailea expected. What she did she might not even know, but not that. "Could have been better," she says with a shake of her head to brush off that apology. "But I've have worse. Turndays I mean." A glance down in the direction it might have gone and then back to F'yr, "Probably not," she says of the button. Who knows where it rolled off to.
Well, that it could have been better gets a more genuine, "Sorry," from F'yr. "Wish it had been one for the books for you. Jaynas could've been a nice distraction from… whatever else." Maybe he was, even, but it doesn't seem to overly concern the big blond, despite his known friendship with the man in question. He shifts to tug the shirt back off over his head. "Maybe next turn there'll be a better distraction, if that's what you want." His expression doesn't change from the casual sympathetic friend's visage he adopted with his second apology. He reaches down into the crate again to rummage and come up with three shirts of varying blue shades. One is obviously too small from the start, but he undoes the top two buttons of the next before pulling it over his head. "If you had your pick of anything, what would you do for a turnday next turn?" Who can really see that far in advance? Maybe it's just something fun to think about.
"Didn't say it was bad," she notes, a shrug following in turn, "He was but.." Its left there as Katailea shakes her head in response to the comment that follows. "I don't want to need a distraction." Picking up one of those that's been discarded as too small she holds it at arms length to consider for a moment. As long as she's here. For that question there's no thought before she answers. "Go somewhere with someone special away from everything. Lay on the beach watch the stars, listen to the ocean. Hmm, no," the last for the shirt as she sets it aside again even as she turns green eyes back to F'yr. "What would you do?"
No doubt Katailea's birthday wishes are catalogued and recorded by that attentive mind that hopefully will retain the information until it might be relevant again. "Maybe you don't need a distraction? Maybe he was just fun? Because? Do you really need another reason? Or do you need to even think about the why enough to give it a reason?" F'yr offers another no-thinking option. For all that he seems a thoughtful individual, it does sound like this last option has an appeal to him judging from the tone of his voice. "I haven't ever really thought about it. Last time my turnday was celebrated was when I was five. After that, family didn't really bother. I heard from my oldest brother that they used to let the turnday person pick the meal on their turnday, but then there got to be too many people with turndays sitting at the table and they just couldn't manage special requests so frequently. It makes sense. I mean, the farm work has to be done every day regardless." Kind of like weyrlinghood that way. "I guess I'd want to spend mine with Glori. Maybe relaxing," but that prompts laughter, big, body shaking laughter which cuts it off with an, "Ow," and a wheeze. The ribs are improving but not all the way better. "Glorioth doesn't believe in relaxing." He lets Katailea in on the private joke, if late. "So failing that, I'm not sure. Maybe a party. But probably only if the people I really wanted to have there would come." He shrugs slightly, a gesture slightly truncated due to the so-recent twinge in those healing ribs.
"Suppose not," Katailea can agree with that to some extent or another. "Really?" curious as to that celebration and subsequent lack of. "Makes sense though, yeah. Like you said, there's always work to be done and well…" she shrugs. Brow raising in question at his laughter. "You alright?" the blonde asks in a moment of concern before that extra information finds her laughing too. "Well good luck with that," Glori relaxing, "But what about this party?"
"There isn't a whole lot that isn't determined by the work that needs doing when you live on a farm. Everything else comes second." There's something a little sad about the tone of his voice, but he's not there living that life, so maybe whatever bittersweet timbres he has for that life is for someone else still living it. "I'm not sure. I'll have to think about it all. I've got time though. I wouldn't want to do it this turn anyway, too many restrictions on what a person can and can't do, if I'm even getting enough sleep by the time my turnday comes to know what day it is. But next turn, I ought to already be a senior weyrling if I can get Glorioth to do any of the lessons we have to master to graduate eventually." F'yr sighs at the box, shaking his head. "I'll come back to this later. I've had enough." He is not what a person would call a natural born shopper and the fact that he's been at it this long probably means he's really in dire straits for clothes. "I should head back to the barracks before Glorioth wakes up. If I find more shirts worth the repairs, I'll find you." He offers a small smile before he moves to pull on his own blood-stained many times over shirt and gather up his armful of fresh supplies. "I'll see you around?" When they shared a barracks together it was a certainty, now it's worth asking the question.
Katailea offers up an apologetic smile in return for the sadness in his voice. "That I can understand," she notes of everything else being second. A nod follows, "Well think about it," she suggests, "Plenty of time." Especially if he's not looking at planning it for over a turn like he's said, but there may still be something in between if she can help it. "He'll get there." No, she doesn't know Glorioth anywhere near as well as he does, but she can do her best to provide encouragement until it does get easier. "Absolutely," he'll see her around. For that there's a smile, mending shirts an all. "You know where to find me."
"Yeah, in between wishing for more sleep, more food, more baths, more clean clothes, more sanity…" F'yr's humor turns wry and dry, expression going bland, but he adds a smile after a moment. Turndays just don't get that high on his list of considerations just now, but then he is already past twenty, so maybe they don't even matter anymore to a man who's missed so many with nary an eyelash batted. "See you then," he can offer more surely this time and with a duck of his head that passes for a nod, he heads for the door. Weyrlings get used to leaving messes behind them, but to F'yr's credit things in this storage cavern aren't that bad. This is one weyrling who understands the concept of cleaning as he goes, apparently.