07-29-2018, 04:39 AM
[[A certain someone is predictably impatient *facepalm* I had only noticed this one wasn't done because Homeward Bound finished and Ny is in the next thread]]
Twenty-four hours. Not such a long time to endure; certainly not long enough for Nythadri to agonise over the vaguely ominous instruction of bring what you think you will need. Not that she took the charge lightly; she wore the ring, had earned it, and knew better than to take any facet of her training lightly. But neither did she fuss or worry. The unknown was a shadow she stepped into willingly blind, confident to the point of arrogance she could twist whatever she faced into advantage. You must see it through to the end. Excepting loss of limb, life, or burning out; you must see it through to the end. Mai had repeated that carefully; the patient mother schooling the ignorant child, but the sense of risk had only tingled Nythadri's skin. She saw only an opportunity to push herself, to reach out to the brink. Taste life.
A thick cloak draped about her shoulders, mismatched gloves tucked into her belt. Raven hair, usually left to fall in sumptuous waves where it may, was braided about her head, the ends pinned in a close bun. Other than the regular things one might find in a belt purse, she carried little else. No weapons, supposing she’d even have been able to acquire one; what was the point, when she knew not how to use one? She trusted implicitly in saidar, though it occurred to her that part of the lesson might involve survival without that shining light to fall back on. A risk she was prepared to take. Or, if she was going to think about it cynically, a lesson she was prepared to learn the hard way.
In front of them, Aileen captured every warrioress story ever told about a Green; blades worn with all the elegance of jewellery and all the finesse of true capability. Strong-limbed femininity hugged tight in those practical garments, and her face was yet young, stern expressioned like she were possessed of an old soul, but beautiful; Nythadri wondered how many young hearts among the trainees flamed after that young sister, and how oblivious she was to the cadence of her own allure. Soft-spoken Brynn she paid less attention to, other than the necessary honorifics due a Sister of her standing. She was the third Blue to hold the mantle of Mistress of Novices since Nythadri had signed the book, and thus far the one she had had least contact with. A necessary sanction given the times, she supposed, and more reassuring than an Aes Sedai's signature flourished in the hand of a stranger. Not that that had stopped her stepping through the Gate to Arad Doman.
On the short journey to the Travelling Grounds, she gave the other five Accepted cursory attention; interested more in their reactions than their identities. Mai was stoic, Aes Sedai-like; fearlessly confidant, and closest in stride to the Aes Sedai who led them. A nameless, short, dark haired girl; Cairhienin probably, given her stature; prim and precise in demeanour, though her brow shot up when Aileen opened the gate. Galena, Blue aspirant; she Nythadri knew. Smug and eager. Alida and Elsae, whom since Kekura's penance naturally twinned in Nythadri's mind despite the polar-end personalities. The former determined and overladen (or so Nythadri thought now; maybe she would come to regret that assessment), the latter wonderstruck, curious, happy. Always happy.
Beyond the Gate, Lythia and Blake. It was the first time she had seen the Green since her impromptu pledge; since those offered and accepted promises, though at the time Nythadri had known so much less than Lythia had assumed. Her hair flamed in the winter sun, gaze lingering on both her and Mai a little longer than the others. Expectant, proud. Nythadri didn't like the weight of that; it felt so unearned. Tangled with the memory of that first meeting lay the Traitor's Tree, a bloodied and unrecognisable face, and a burden of guilt. But the thoughts were fleeting, compartmentalised. Instead, Nythadri's gaze took in the grass, trees and tents dispassionately; a sigh swelled her chest and puffed out cold air in front of her face. A creature of comforts; of buildings and cities and civilisation, the idea of sleeping under thick canvas instead of a solid roof did not fill her with romantic wonder. Fortunately, neither was she the sort to moan about it. Twenty-four hours. A goal in sight, and Nythadri funnelled all that dissatisfaction to dogged determination.
Twenty-four hours. Not such a long time to endure; certainly not long enough for Nythadri to agonise over the vaguely ominous instruction of bring what you think you will need. Not that she took the charge lightly; she wore the ring, had earned it, and knew better than to take any facet of her training lightly. But neither did she fuss or worry. The unknown was a shadow she stepped into willingly blind, confident to the point of arrogance she could twist whatever she faced into advantage. You must see it through to the end. Excepting loss of limb, life, or burning out; you must see it through to the end. Mai had repeated that carefully; the patient mother schooling the ignorant child, but the sense of risk had only tingled Nythadri's skin. She saw only an opportunity to push herself, to reach out to the brink. Taste life.
A thick cloak draped about her shoulders, mismatched gloves tucked into her belt. Raven hair, usually left to fall in sumptuous waves where it may, was braided about her head, the ends pinned in a close bun. Other than the regular things one might find in a belt purse, she carried little else. No weapons, supposing she’d even have been able to acquire one; what was the point, when she knew not how to use one? She trusted implicitly in saidar, though it occurred to her that part of the lesson might involve survival without that shining light to fall back on. A risk she was prepared to take. Or, if she was going to think about it cynically, a lesson she was prepared to learn the hard way.
In front of them, Aileen captured every warrioress story ever told about a Green; blades worn with all the elegance of jewellery and all the finesse of true capability. Strong-limbed femininity hugged tight in those practical garments, and her face was yet young, stern expressioned like she were possessed of an old soul, but beautiful; Nythadri wondered how many young hearts among the trainees flamed after that young sister, and how oblivious she was to the cadence of her own allure. Soft-spoken Brynn she paid less attention to, other than the necessary honorifics due a Sister of her standing. She was the third Blue to hold the mantle of Mistress of Novices since Nythadri had signed the book, and thus far the one she had had least contact with. A necessary sanction given the times, she supposed, and more reassuring than an Aes Sedai's signature flourished in the hand of a stranger. Not that that had stopped her stepping through the Gate to Arad Doman.
On the short journey to the Travelling Grounds, she gave the other five Accepted cursory attention; interested more in their reactions than their identities. Mai was stoic, Aes Sedai-like; fearlessly confidant, and closest in stride to the Aes Sedai who led them. A nameless, short, dark haired girl; Cairhienin probably, given her stature; prim and precise in demeanour, though her brow shot up when Aileen opened the gate. Galena, Blue aspirant; she Nythadri knew. Smug and eager. Alida and Elsae, whom since Kekura's penance naturally twinned in Nythadri's mind despite the polar-end personalities. The former determined and overladen (or so Nythadri thought now; maybe she would come to regret that assessment), the latter wonderstruck, curious, happy. Always happy.
Beyond the Gate, Lythia and Blake. It was the first time she had seen the Green since her impromptu pledge; since those offered and accepted promises, though at the time Nythadri had known so much less than Lythia had assumed. Her hair flamed in the winter sun, gaze lingering on both her and Mai a little longer than the others. Expectant, proud. Nythadri didn't like the weight of that; it felt so unearned. Tangled with the memory of that first meeting lay the Traitor's Tree, a bloodied and unrecognisable face, and a burden of guilt. But the thoughts were fleeting, compartmentalised. Instead, Nythadri's gaze took in the grass, trees and tents dispassionately; a sigh swelled her chest and puffed out cold air in front of her face. A creature of comforts; of buildings and cities and civilisation, the idea of sleeping under thick canvas instead of a solid roof did not fill her with romantic wonder. Fortunately, neither was she the sort to moan about it. Twenty-four hours. A goal in sight, and Nythadri funnelled all that dissatisfaction to dogged determination.