[Statistics] [Weyrwoman Zyala] [Golden Ireath]

Trying without much success to uncross her eyes, Zyala stared at the hide before her in some consternation.

"I don't get it," she declaimed, shoving it aside with a flourish.

The hide in question was a gift from the Head Cook - a recipe for some strange pie... or something. Zyala was a reasonably accomplished cook, but this was so far beyond her it wasn't funny. She couldn't even pronounce some of those terms, let alone carry them out. Once more she was left with a feeling of profound respect for the individual persons who kept the Weyr running so smoothly.

A knock on the door startled her out of her thoughts, and she rose and answered it with a smile.

A young boy stood nervously, his eyes fixed firmly on his shoes and somewhat grubby fingers clasped tightly in front of him. "Uh, good morning, Weyrwoman, Sir," he stuttered.

Zyala grinned. "Good morning, young master. What can I do for you?

The boy risked a glance at her smiling face and relaxed somewhat. She wasn't going to eat her. Not for the moment, anyway. The golden dragon looking curiously at the scene was an entirely different matter, however. "Uh, the Weyrleader requests your presence, Sir."

Funny. Why didn't he come get her himself? The Weyrwoman nodded her thanks to the boy, who scampered off with a profoundly relieved expression.

Is something the matter? Ireath asked from her weyr.

I don't know, Zyala replied a little hesitantly. She went quickly to the bedroom and changed into something more presentable, just in case E'rrol wanted her for something official.

The floor-to-ceiling mirror captured her reflection as she passed, and the woman allowed her gaze to linger there for a moment. She was nearing her thirtieth turn, but despite the stress associated with being Weyrwoman for almost five turns now, her face showed little signs of ageing. Honey-blonde hair hung around her face in a golden halo, soft grey-blue eyes framed by lashes of the same hue. Her frame was not delicate - few dragonriders manage that feat - but feminine with an interesting combination of soft curves and toned muscles.

A green firelizard popped in from between, chattering loudly about fish. Or something. You never could tell with firelizards.

"Zabeta," Zyala scolded lightly. "I hope you haven't been causing too much trouble."

The green paused mid-flight and hovered, looking as innocent as she possibly could.

Zyala arched on pale eyebrow, smiling crookedly.

Zabeta chirruped laughingly, then disappeared once more.

Chuckling to herself, the Weyrwoman hastily dressed and left the weyr.