It'd....been nearly a full Turn since Fisher found herself brought to High Reaches weyr. She'd endured a winter in the cold, watched spring come, and for all of it....had never cut her hair. Her dads would be laughing themselves sick at the sight of her, all muscled up with a mess on her head akin to a flitter's nest, and so after finding herself with a break she also found some shears.

Now, normally, she assumed folks could find a barber and get their hair cut. That would imply two things for Fisher: 1, that she had the marks to spend and 2, that she knew where the barber was. A turn in the Weyr didn't make her a cartographer, and sometimes she just didn't care to look around.

The blonde settled down at the edge of the Weyr lake and went to work, using her (moving) reflection to gain an idea of just how much hair to take off, and where exactly her ears were on her head. Being down an ear wouldn't disqualify her for being a rider, maybe, but uh. Fisher wasn't in to pain.