Watch where you're going (Open)

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

3076.07.10 | Early evening

The dining hall was full to bursting, as it almost always was. Music was already sounding, those who knew the lyrics and could carry a tune were singing along. The song ended, raucous laughter echoing in the music’s wake. Even in summer, with days lasting so long there was hardly night, it was so cold that mostly people had to stay inside. Singing in the evening provided an excellent relief from tension, keeping disagreements from blooming into duels because of simple constant proximity.

Walking into the massive, cavernous (literally) hall, T’ruk instinctively glanced up at the stage. There were Harpers in plenty, but no fluffy red hair. Gillian, it would seem, had not returned yet. Sighing, T’ruk turned to continue towards the kitchen and food, only to bump into someone who was heading for the stage. A much shorter someone too, her head basically hit his chest.

“Oh! Are you ok?” he asked, his still boyishly high voice betraying his youth. Overhead, Guyaky, Atanek, and Tungull flew in a quick circle, as if ascertaining that nothing bad had happened.

[loxxie]

She had been born in the north, just like all the Gemsborn in recent memory. She should have been used to the biting temperatures, but seven Turns of living at Harper Hall had left her unfit for life at Ice Stone. Of course, when she had first arrived at the Hall, the heat had taken a while to get used to. She'd grow accustomed to the cold, it would just take her a while, that's all.

Melisandre was dressed warmly in a pair of long, dark pants, a long sleaved shirt in Harper blue, and a pair of fur lined boots. Her Midnight flit, Snicker, chirped softly from his perch on his pet's shoulder as they entered the dining hall. "Yes, Snick, I'll feed you soon enough, you bottomless pit," she assured him as they made their way to the stage.

Before the pair could make it, though, she ran into what turned out to be someone's chest. She stumbled back a little as Snicker dug his claws into her shirt to steady himself. It seemed that she had bumped into a Rider, though he seemed awfully young, judging from his voice. She smiled at him and gave a half shrug. "'S all right. No blood, no foul," she assured him.

[Ghost of Fire (Fëanáro)]

T’ruk gave a brief smile back. The expression looked a little out of place with the startled look of his almost-black eyes, though he was calming quickly; his expression changing to one of relief. The Journeywoman Harper was seemingly not annoyed, a very good thing. He might be a rider now, but, still, bumping into a Harper, and a Harper who was clearly dressed for the performance, to boot.

T’ruk let his gaze flick around her, but indeed, nothing seemed to have spilled. Her right eyebrow was completely white, which was very distinctive, given the night-black color of her hair. He tentatively marked her as a friendly.

Tungull swooped down, crooning a greeting to the other Midnight.

“Ah… um…” T’ruk swallowed, than quickly, before he could think twice about it, pushed the introduction out of his mouth. “T’ruk Iceborn of Silverlight Azeriuth.” He accompanied the words with his much-practiced (and still not perfect) bow.