Zarayne wrung her hands. Thus far, she'd been able to avoid going north of the Tower. Most of her chores settled around the Grey Tower itself, and occasionally extended to the Gardens in the west. At this hour, she was running errands for various people. After delivering one note to the Infirmary, a tall Asha'man handed her a sealed letter. The name on the outside read 'Ria', but his verbal command was to hand it to the Mistress of Arms. She stared up into his pale grey eyes in a stunned silence, before finally nodding and leaving the infirmary. Her feet took her around to the Ajah quarters before she realised that, finally, she would have to approach the Warder Yards.
Her fingers twisted in consternation. She had very intentionally avoided getting near to any of the Gaidin for the fear of discovery. Over a month at the Tower, and none yet knew her relationship to one of their number. It wasn't a secret she wanted to divulge neither. After all, the man had abandoned her mother before her birth. He wasn't fit to be a husband, and thus he should be denied the opportunity to be a father. Not that she needed one, quite clearly. She hadn't woken from the Dream yet, and that wasn't thanks to his counsel.
The well-trodden path between the Grey Tower and the Yards was a short distance, yet it seemed to drag on forever. The four storey building seemed more imposing than the glass bastion behind her. The sounds of fighting began to fill the air, and soon enough the Gaidin came into sight. Men and women danced in three large clearings, wielding a variety of weapons both familiar and not. Most were clad in the greys that symbolised Drin and Ji'val, just as her own dresses marked her as an Aes Sedai's apprentice. Those that did not were hard to see, like mirages or mist-ghosts. Her eyes couldn't follow them, and she had to force herself to look away before her vision made her dizzy.
A glint of gold caught the novice's eye just as she got to the southern clearing. At the far end by the Warder Hall, one of the warriors danced alone. He held a sword in each hand and danced with a grace that was breathtaking. Not that it was his skill with the swords that caught the breath in her lungs. He was topless, and on his right arm there glittered a gold and red shape. Even without memories of the Waste, she knew the mark of a Clan Chief when she saw it. Her mind leaped to a singular thought without conscious effort.
Father?
In the next instant, Zarayne shrieked in a truly horrific wetlander fashion. She spun around wide-eyed and with balled fists, as the hand that had briefly touched her shoulder retracted back towards a fellow novice. Zarayne's lips moved soundlessly as she took in dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes; almost the complete opposite of her previous person of interest.
"What?" she got out finally in a breathy pant. "I did nothing! I'm doing nothing!" She could hear the panic in her voice. I am afraid, she thought. She cast her eyes towards the other novice's feet. I have shamed myself.
Her fingers twisted in consternation. She had very intentionally avoided getting near to any of the Gaidin for the fear of discovery. Over a month at the Tower, and none yet knew her relationship to one of their number. It wasn't a secret she wanted to divulge neither. After all, the man had abandoned her mother before her birth. He wasn't fit to be a husband, and thus he should be denied the opportunity to be a father. Not that she needed one, quite clearly. She hadn't woken from the Dream yet, and that wasn't thanks to his counsel.
The well-trodden path between the Grey Tower and the Yards was a short distance, yet it seemed to drag on forever. The four storey building seemed more imposing than the glass bastion behind her. The sounds of fighting began to fill the air, and soon enough the Gaidin came into sight. Men and women danced in three large clearings, wielding a variety of weapons both familiar and not. Most were clad in the greys that symbolised Drin and Ji'val, just as her own dresses marked her as an Aes Sedai's apprentice. Those that did not were hard to see, like mirages or mist-ghosts. Her eyes couldn't follow them, and she had to force herself to look away before her vision made her dizzy.
A glint of gold caught the novice's eye just as she got to the southern clearing. At the far end by the Warder Hall, one of the warriors danced alone. He held a sword in each hand and danced with a grace that was breathtaking. Not that it was his skill with the swords that caught the breath in her lungs. He was topless, and on his right arm there glittered a gold and red shape. Even without memories of the Waste, she knew the mark of a Clan Chief when she saw it. Her mind leaped to a singular thought without conscious effort.
Father?
In the next instant, Zarayne shrieked in a truly horrific wetlander fashion. She spun around wide-eyed and with balled fists, as the hand that had briefly touched her shoulder retracted back towards a fellow novice. Zarayne's lips moved soundlessly as she took in dark skin and dark hair and dark eyes; almost the complete opposite of her previous person of interest.
"What?" she got out finally in a breathy pant. "I did nothing! I'm doing nothing!" She could hear the panic in her voice. I am afraid, she thought. She cast her eyes towards the other novice's feet. I have shamed myself.
