The fact that F’mil actually had to pay attention closely to Telgar’s politics was very telling. The chaos of a Weyrleader vacuum plus the pressure from Igen was working strangely in his favor. There was so much to do that he couldn’t be properly punished yet. Besides being grounded. He was starting to go a little more stir crazy. Which was why his room was the way it was.
A stack of already read books was near the door, but that was probably the most orderly thing. Papers, charcoal and quills were littered around the room, and his projects were scattered everywhere. Largely speaking anything scattered out were pictures of dragons, and F’mil himself was sitting on the ground and organizing them. Because now he had to pick out his favorite works. That he could take out in broad daylight. There was a stack of art work under his bed. Those were not for general viewing. Like his taste in books, he could be fairly morbid in his favorite things. He considered a parchment in front of him then looked at Aweirgan, who sat perched on his bed, curled up so as not to touch any papers placed on it.
“What do you think?” F’mil held out the page, which held a charcoal drawing of the flitter himself. All sitting up prim and proper. Aweirgan looked at it and chirped.
“Ah, well maybe next time.” He put it down and frowned. He had charcoal on his fingers still, and had left finger prints on the edge. “Shards.”