around you, and you can still hear the sound long after you've stopped walking. No, not the
echo. You turn around you to see someone walk in. They scream and drop what they were
carrying.
"Oh
no!" they cry out, "I do hope, oh, thank goodness." You look up rather guiltly at them. The person is a teenage girl, around sixteen, you'd say. She has long wavy
black hair that hangs past her waist. Her eyes are flecked hazel and laugh, even in the current
situation. "At least it didn't break," she says, shrugging. Only now you realise you've been
holding your breath, and let it out in a long sigh. You introduce yourself and apoligise.
"Never mind. I'm Lydia. I Impressed at Karath Weyr," she sighs and picks up the
oil, carrying it through a curtain and into the main weyr bit. It is large, and has a carved
in rock shelf on which she puts the oil.
Beside the shelf are several hooks hanging up a helmet, eye protecters and riding straps.
Beside that is a set of riding clothes. You turn back to Lydia, who is now sitting on a large
dragon couch. With a brown dragon.
"This's Paricath. Mine.
Or, I'm hers, aye Pari'?I'd be sleepin' now, g'bye," she says, and drops onto the couch and into sleep.
You silently leave the weyr and disappear out.