Teryl's Barrack

[Teryl]

Teryl entered her barrack - not hers, precisely, just the one she had been assigned to, but that amounted to the same thing. She had only had time to dump some bags on the floor before heading to the Touching earlier. Now she could look around.

All in all, the barrack was fairly boring. Two sets of sleeping furs, some miscellanious items of furniture...it looked suspiciously like her quarters in her Hall. Who would think a Weyr would have any rooms so ordinary?

She began to unpack her bags, refolding the clothes and stacking the few bits of paper she had managed to grab. Her gaze fell for a moment on the other bed. Would she have a room mate? She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. It might be nice to talk to another Candidate, to learn more about the Weyr protocol and what would be expected of her. But it seemed more likely that she would say all the wrong things, as she so often did, and have to spend the time between now and the Hatching with some girl who hated her.

[Teryl]

It was another day. Teryl had lost count of her time spent in the Weyr, but it must have been a sevenday, perhaps more. She never did have a roommate.

She was on the floor, working on some writing excercises. The Hatching was soon, and if she didn't Impress, it was back to being an apprentice archivist for her, so it wouldn't do to fall out of practice.

Her thoughts were interupted by a loud trumpeting sound, followed by a low, throbbing hum, too loud and deep to be made by anything but a dragon. What now? She thought, slowly standing. Then she remembered what those sounds signified. The Hatching was beginning!

She yanked out her white candidate's robe, trying to walk to the door and put it on at the same time. The manuver left her in a heap on the floor, tangled in white fabric. She stood up, straightened it out, and walked again towards the door, banging her toes against a rock.

Boots! She raced back into the room , finding a pair of worn but thick-soled boots she had for the purpose of protecting her feet from the warmth of the hatching sands. One slid on, the other she was still tugging as she hopped out into the corridor.

She was most of the way to the Sands when she realized her hair must be a mess. She ran her fingers through it, wincing at every knot, decided it was passable, and made it the rest of the way without mishap.