Quote:
Zaexillia [WW] -16 - she/her/hers - Candidate/Apprentice Healer
A delightfully enticing smell of breakfast seemed to be wafting from… somewhere… Zaexillia rubbed her eyes open, yawning, then sniffted to figure out which direction it was coming from…
And realised she was not in her cot. Nor was this, in fact, the barracks.
She concealed momentary alarm with healer-trained discipline, gathering her wits about her in order to figure out exactly where she was… boxes, yes. Some kind of inventory of jars and preserved food… What the shards? Was she in one of the supply rooms near the kitchens?
And was that Allamor, sleeping on the floor? What? She stared down at herself, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks… Well, he had left her a small, threadbare blanket at least.
Faranth. Where were her clothes?
“Allamor? Psstt… Allamor, wake up…” Urgency turned her whispering into a strike of steel upon an anvil. “Have you… have you seen… my clothes? They don’t seem to be… here.”
Oh shards. Really. Allamor?
Well. At least he was… Classically handsome. Said some of the other candidates, anyway. She tilted her head as she observed him, trying to sift through her feelings. Awkward, yes. Shame, check. And… oh sweet Faranth Between. That had been her first… proper… Memories of the night before... of Khamaith's maiden flight... flooded through her mind.
She turned such a bright shade of red that it put her ginger hair to shame.
faesinger
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