You step out of the depression of Nallath's couch.
Avila enters the barracks, a sack dragging behind her and at least three pairs of dragon riding straps looped around shoulders and neck. There's barely any Avila left. When she reaches the table in the front of the room, she swings the bag up with a grunt, then uncerimoniously dumps the straps from her shoulder. There. "Good Day Weyrlings. Today we're going to learn about the highly dangerous task of strapmaking. But, as it's even more dangerous /not/ to have straps, there's really no choice." Pausing, she digs through the various straps she brought in, disentangling an older, worn pair and handing it to the first weyrling in front of her. "First. Tell me. Where do these straps need repair?"
Ilesyn's expression seems to have turned mildly amused by Avila's efforts, and by the straps in question; for herself, though, she remains silent, hunched over her seat - watching, but offering no assistance to the weyrling, should she even have an answer.
Osasune's forehead scrunches up; she raises her hand. "Umn, at 'stress points'?" Someone's heard other riders speaking. "Um... why is it dangerous to make them?" She edges a little closer to Caledoth, who rumbles.
Gretta is attentive, though seated towards the back; she sits straight and tall, hands primly in lap, and the occassional annoyed glance to a pair of weyrlings beside her, who whisper snide remarks. Halysath is back even moreso, occupied by something entirely different: a fellow brown dragon.
"Why dangerous, you say? Because you're working with very sharp knives and awls, and leather is tough. It's easy enough to have the knife slip and cut yourself badly, or have the awl slip and poke yourself. Ask around the weyr, and you'll meet more than one rider with a nasty scar on his or her hands, arms or even face from leatherworking. But! We really need to learn - all of us. Every dragon is a different size, and you, the rider know your own dragon best. You know when the straps may be chaffing, too loose or too tight." Here, Avila sighs a little. "You'd shardin' well better believe, if you ride a dragon like Elaesyth. She complains constantly about her straps. She's got me working on them nearly daily. It's kind of her thing."
Ilesyn gives a somewhat wary glance towards Nallath - as if insisting that he /better not/ dare to be fussy about straps. Her hands are folded more tightly within her lap, posture slumping further. The brown seems disinclined to make a fuss - he's far too busy watching, with consideration, the dragons about him.
Osasune pales further, hunching down. "Oh. Oh, boy. Cutting and disfigurement. I thought I only had to worry about Threadfall. No, there's a whole world of dangers to maim me."
Gretta's lips tighten at the mention of cutting; she then comments, wryly, "We've not even started flying and already we're facing death." Rubbing at her arm, as if protecting it, she nevertheless continues to listen, though with a slightly dismayed frown.
Osasune raises one hand, looking at Caledoth and holding it by his head; he cocks his head to examine it with one eye, then whuffles.
Avila nods sagely. "That's why it's so unreasonable of J'van to expect no weyrling deaths at all before graduation. I /tell/ that man... we're doing dangerous stuff! But does he listen? Not a bit. Puts a dragonload of pressure on me, I'll tell you. It's a really stressful job." She signs, full of pent up anxiety, then points to the worn pair of straps going around the room. "Another reason to make your own straps is so that you know the stress points. YOu know where they're likely to wear. Do you see any problems with that set?"
Avila pauses as Osa's hand goes up. "Yes?
"What an excuse," muses Ilesyn. "You see an old, blinded rider, and you ask him how he got blinded, ready for a tale of threadfall - and he tells you he put his eyes out with an awl." This seems to amuse her, lips curving into a wry smile, as she watches the other weyrlings, and Avila, not to mention the straps.
Osasune flushes. "I, um, I don't know. See, Caledoth said, he said he was sure I'd handle my tools well and not cut myself, and I told him nuh-uh, because I even slipped up and cut myself when making drums, and he said, no you didn't, so I said, here's the little scar. So my hand wasn't actually up. Um."
Gretta's eyes first flicker, then widen, towards Ilesyn, as she finishes her comment; yet her grave expression lightens into amusement at Osasune, and, trying to slip in a question without it looking like it was her, she asks lowly: "Uhm, what are stress points, again?"
Avila takes back the straps. "Stress points are areas that get extra wear or tension as the dragon moves and flies. Where the leather joins with another could be a stress point, or if your dragon is bony, where it goes over a place like that could be a stress point, too. Did anyone see a problem with these straps?"
Osasune shakes her head a little. "They looked all scratched up and old and stuff. Ummn. And one bit looked sort of chewed on. I don't think that's good. Oh, no - I'll have to train Fickle not to /chew/ on my straps." She pauses, then mumbles, "He's been ruining socks lately."
Ilesyn wrinkles her nose. "Yet another reason /not/ to have firelizards." Straps are going to be a big enough pain as it is; Ilesyn is not much for the sewing thing. Drawling, she queries, "Aren't they just a little worn down, in areas? They'd need extra bits of leather sewn on, to keep them sturdy. Or is that stitching coming undone?"
Gretta turns around in her seat to peer over several weyrlings' heads at Halysath's own neck and backridges. "Are we making straps today? -- won't that mean we'll have to keep making new ones, as our lifemates grow?" Settling back into her seat, her expression looks rather -- startled.
Avila nods, pleased for once. "Yes, these areas are worn, the stitching is coming undone, and there's some stress by the buckles, too. Also, they've not been properly oiled. They're brittle. If you were to put these straps on and fly in threadfall, you'd *between* once or twice, get these babies cold, and then the first quick movement, you'd be plummeting down for a rather nasty meeting with the ground. I understand that happened a few turns ago. 'Cept he didnt fall straight to the ground. I understand he hit another dragon on the way down, injuring its wing, then landed through the roof of some poor cotholder's cabin, where they found his broken body when they returned home. It's not a good way to increase weyr/hold relations."
Osasune just gapes, mouth open in horror at Avila's story. Caledoth warbles unhappily.
Ilesyn's expression shows a good amount of disbelief. "I bet you're exaggerating, for the sake of telling dramatic stories," she murmurs, not /exactly/ towards Avila, but certainly in response to.
"Oh goodness!" Gretta exclaims, repulsed. Halysath, in the back, lifts her head in slight alarm, giving a whuff.
"Maybe I am, Ilesyn. Care to test it?" Avila drops the straps to the floor. "And yes, Gretta... to answer your question. We will be making straps for your dragon, and you'll have to make more as they grow. Unless you want to attempt flying with worn and too-small straps." Avila raises a brow. "Now. We're going to try a little leatherworking techniques. All of you, come get a piece of leather, a knife, an awl, a needle, a creaser and a beveler. For now."
"Oh, no," says Ilesyn, calmly. "I have no doubt that you're using the story, made up or not, as an example. The message is good, even if the story is somewhat exaggerated. Perhaps, indeed, it's all the more useful for being so." She stands, lazy, picking up the pieces of equiptment, and then returning to her seat.
Osasune gulps, leaving Caledoth's side and heading toward the table to collect the various bits. "Knife, awl, needle, whowhat and thingie?" Another weyrling repeats, "Creaser, beveler." "Ohhhhh," says Osa. She collects the log, takes a piece of leather, and trots back to her seat with a look of trepidition.
Avila snorts at them. "What do you think you're going to do back at your seat? You need to cut that leather. And for that, you need a flat surface. Up here, all of you. Lay your leather out, and, keeping the knife upright, cut through with a firm, even pressure. You may need to cut three or four times. Always cut away from your body and keep your hand out of the path of the knife."
Ilesyn returns, wearily. Her leather is plopped down upon the table, her knife given a glance, and she begins to cut. Badly, of course - she can't even cut straight with a pair of scissors, as evidenced by the uneven lines of her candidate robe. "Ow." No blood, though.
Gathering the materials with great care, Gretta is one of the few who doesn't make it back to her seat; instead, she's one of the first at the table, spreading her leather out. There's a bronze weyrling beside her -- a brave, brash boy -- who, looking bored, begins to cut the leather just as Avila's instructed. After watching, Gretta cautiously -- /gently/ -- tries to cut the leather.
Avila watches them for a short bit. "You're beginning to appreciate the other straps you've seen, aren't you? Now. Try a second cut to get a strip of leather that you could make a strap from. When you've got that, you use this... " she holds up the beveler - "to finish the edges, and give them an angle. This way, the sides of the straps don't cut into your dragon and chaff. Now, all try that."
Osasune puts her things back on the table; Caledoth croons over from his place and fidgets. He swings his head up to peer over at the leather cutting. Osasune winces and begins to cut with cringing care.
"I never /didn't/ appreciate the things," mutters Ilesyn - a scathing glance made to Nallath, who merely huffs at her, altogether cheerful. Not /his/ fault. Except, perhaps, for-- Ilesyn tries for the second cut, making an altogether wobbly looking strip, but a strip nonetheless.
Avila walks around the table, nodding. "Move your hand, G'thon, unless you think you can do with just nine fingers. Good job, Osa. Try a little more pressure." Coming back to the head of the table, she continues. "Now. You punch holes with the awl to sew the straps. See if you can fold your strap in half and sew the halves together. You'll do this where you need to put on a buckle."
Osasune presses down a fractional bit more firmly. The weyrling next to her snorts. "I think she meant a little more than that." Trailing behind, Osasune slowly cuts a strip and tries to angle an edge. Her forehead is wrinkled with concentration, and the tip of her tongue pokes out of her mouth. Concentrate! Concentrate or you'll slice your arm off!
Gretta is prodded along by knowing weyrlings on either side; she makes a stronger, though jagged, second cut, and mimicing the others, uses the beveler as best as she can. Gritting her teeth in frustration, she stops working to watch the others use the awl and begin sewing.
Ilesyn eyes her strip, wobbling it around in her hand. Advice from weyrlings around her is ignored - though the little girl just two weyrlings down is given a snort; "The object is to cut the leather, not yourself," she mutters, as she picks up the beveler to finish the edges on her strip. This done, the awl is picked up, and though she nearly punctures her fingers, it doesn't seem to be going too badly.
As the weyrlings are working, Avila begins a little lecture on maintenance. "You /must/ inspect your straps every time before you put them on your dragon. You don't know where they might have worn since the last time! I remember a story once... a brown that was apt to hiccups. He was chewing firestone and hiccuped on his straps. Charred a section that usually never get wear at all, and his lazy rider never noticed. Until they broke. You could see the mark from where his body hit the rock up on the weyr wall over there until the next heavy rains." A sigh. "See... J'van just doens't give me enough leeway! How does he expect me to train you all with /no/ fatalities?"
Osasune's hand trembles for a long moment, and she stops cutting. She makes a little gurgling noise.
"Another story." Another snort from Ilesyn. "It's a good thing that you expect fatalities, Avila, and encourage us all to remember that there will be fatalities. It's far better for the mind - if it's impossible to get used to the idea, which I believe it is, it at least makes it less of a surprise, and hence, less of an issue." Furrowing her brow, Ilesyn attempts to punch another hole through the leather.
"Are these stories truly, truly necessary?" Gretta mutters, using the awl to punch a hole rather viciously into the leather. "I'm almost getting too frightened to fly," she mentions, quite dramatically, working a second hole into the leather.
Avila turns to Ilesyn. For once, she agrees. "If you keep thinking that it won't happen, it'll be a shock when it does. We lose more experienced riders, too, though the weyrlingmaster's guide tells us not to get too attached to any of you. You never know which one of you it'll be. Oh, and make sure you always have two pairs of working straps. Just in case."
Osasune resumes her work, hunching a little. "Right. Um. This is - umn. Right. Have to get used to... gorey stories. And gorey things happening. Right." She begins punching holds quietly.
Ilesyn performs a simple nod, peering at her leather somewhat cautiously. "That's a rider's life. And people wonder why I consider riders insane." She pauses, eyes shutting, and turns away from Nallath, whose gaze is upon her. "So. Holes."
Gretta merely sniffs, silent and almost -- sullen. Copying a weyrling's motions, she bends the strip in half and makes a lame attempt at sewing. Meanwhile, Halysath has crept forward with sudden interest in her lifemate's frustration, eyeing the source: those intimidating tools and disagreeable leather. Pausing to glance at Halysath, Gretta bravely says to Ilesyn, "Well, you're one now."
"Oh, we don't really make the decision to be riders, not any of us, do we, Ilesyn? Pity the poor dragons. They have no choice but to be paired with us. What a warped view of humankind dragons must have? We're all a bit ... different. And we're all they know." She gasps and pulls an awl of of the hand of a young weyrling who was aiming it at his face. "You'll do no good to the weyr blind, K'then!"
"Maybe he was trying to avoid crashing to his splattery death from dragonback," Osasune mumbles, poking holes very, very gingerly.
"No," agrees Ilesyn, levelly. "We don't." Avila's comments are given a short nod - Gretta's allowing a shrug. "Certainly. Evidently, I'm not as sane as I had diagnosed myself to be. Rather, I should say, /he/ ensured that the diagnosis became outdated, and wrong." Her nose is yet again wrinkled towards the leather, as she adds, "I think I'd rather splatter. It'd be quicker, and probably less painful. Can you imagine going around forever unable to see?"
"Oh, there's all /kinds/ of ways to die," Avila says cheerfully. "Misaimed flaming. Strapping yourself in wrong. Your lifemate summersaulting with you aboard as they learn to land. Getting hit on the head with ill-thrown sacks of firestone. Misreading your lifemate's signs of illness and mistreating yourself. And then, of course, there's Thread. If you survive all the other."
"I'd rather be blind and have, still, my lifemate -- than be splattered and dead," Gretta comments softly, leaving her tools and leather on the table to manuever around dragons and weyrlings. At the oil vat, she adds, "And couldn't your dragon still show you what they're seeing?"
"Or, as you're trying to do, cutting your wrists with leatherworking tools! B'lotho! Watch what you're doing!" Avila rushes over to avert yet another weyrling death.
Osasune puts down her awl again with a whimper. "And more? Can we just get it over with now, the scaring and the ways to die and stuff so I can cry or throw up or something and get on to the 'feeling better' part?"
Ilesyn, waving her awl in the air rather too lazily, comments, "It'll be good for you, Osa." She shrugs. "I think I'd rather be dead. No offense to..." she trails off, glancing meaningfully at Nallath.
Halysath meets Gretta at the vats, though she moves with less care and greater haste than her rider. "Yes, you did wait patiently -- and I wouldn't blame you if I died, no, no," she replies, almost amused, dipping a paddle brush into the vats and slathering some oil onto Halysath's belly.
Posted by Louise at January 29, 2003 05:01 PM