Up To Our Elbows

Herbs and plants were a special commodity these days. Grubs helped, keeping the Southern country relatively green compared to what Plover could only imagine was left of the North... but that didn't mean they could be lax about tending the Weyr's precious gardens. Medicinal plants were critical for medicine, for keeping the populace and the riders that protected them healthy and battle-ready. Near constant attention was given to the rows and racks of plants to be sure a steady supply was on hand, and today Plover was assisting with that work.

She might not know much about medicine beyond the basics that all people knew (plus what bit was taught to candidates for future use as weyrlings and riders, should they prove lucky), but she could shovel mulch and manure as well as anyone. She knew a weed when she saw it, and could rip them up, roots and all, without any special equipment. The work was tedious, and the weather was warm despite it being early in the turn. Still, it had to be done, and the woman drove at it without complaint, until dirt and leaflitter and who knew what else covered her from fingers to elbows.

"Can you pass me that spade?" She called out to one of the other candidates who had been assigned the same duties as her. "I want to get up this root, and it's being stubborn." She'd been tugging at it for a bit, but the tough old tuber refused to release its hold on the loamy soil.

Ghendan wasn't usually one to extend his reach when it came to chores. He'd keep to himself, work until the chore was done, and move on to the next. Most of the others were fairly familiar with his mindset and left him to it--but Pern was built on the backs of companionship and teamwork so it wasn't like he objected to interaction.

So when he heard Plover's call for assistance, he raised his head from his work--currently sifting through his own batch of weeds. When no one else appeared to be immediately busying themselves with the task, he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and righted himself from his crouched position with a grunt. "Got it," Ghendan announced to prevent anyone else from acting as well, crossing the distance to the tool cart. He sorted through the metal tools for a moment before pulling out a spade that looked to be in decent enough condition to cut through a thick root system.

Crossing the garden to Plover, stepping carefully over and around the rows of plants and dirt to keep from damaging any of them, he held the tool out handle-first. "Here." He was decently familiar with Plover given how long they'd both been Candidates--while her tenure was much longer than his, it had been several Turns by now--and she had never been much of a bother to him. She had a good work ethic.

It wasn't often that Sephiroth was awake at this hour, but a meeting had called him from bed during daylight hours, and thus he decided he'd fancy a walk while the sun was out. With any luck, a bit of physical activity might help him get back to sleep. He scowled as he thought of Phirosk curled up snug in their den, snoozing away without a care in the world. 'Lucky bitch,' He thought to himself grumpily, but there wasn't much bite to it. His jealousy was fleeting, however. He could never remain upset at his wher for long, even when he had to work and she got to sleep.

His walk led him past a group of (presumably) candidates weeding and he stopped to watch for a bit, leaning against a nearby fence for support. He wondered if any of them were wher candidates; Phirosk sometimes asked for his opinion when handing out her eggs, thus he'd keep an eye on them when he could. If they weren't, then at least he could say he supervised someone today.

Plover kept at her work while waiting—idle hands made waste, after all. If no one moved to assist, she could always fetch the spade herself the next time she was compelled to stand. As it was, Ghendan came by just in time to lend assistance, and she gave a soft grunt of acknowledgement as she took it from him. "Appreciate it. Be nice to get the field ready now for the summer planting, I figure." Tubers came in thick and rich over winter, the cold turning the starch in them into sugars that made them so nicely sweet, but the season was over and done now, and the few that'd been missed in the harvest were far too long-left to be good now but as scrap for mulching. This one had long since sprouted eyes and begun branching into a proper tangle, and it took several hacking chops with the little shovel's blade to adequately break it up.

"So," she spoke up again only after several long moments. Never one prone to chatter when work was to be done, she nevertheless felt compelled to say something. And as a matter of fact, she was... not fond of Ghendan, but aware of him. He was of a fairly like mind as herself, focused on work, and never demanding overmuch in terms of fluff or niceties. Ironically, that made Plover want more to reach out, if only to offer a sort of tentative alliance. They both had been standing for some time now, and perhaps could sympathize better with each other than some for that reason. "When do you think they will be due? The next flight and clutch, that is." That, she had decided, was a fairly safe topic among candidates. Most never stopped chattering about it even. "This time... we'll be picked."

She stood after loading up the rough canvas bag slung about her with the scraps of weeds and roots, and angled towards the waiting cart. Nothing would go to waste, even these cast-offs serving as animal feed or mulching or bedding or to make practice dyes for weavers. She caught the eye of... oh, one of the wher handlers as she moved, and she offered the man a nod of respect as she went. "Need something, goldhandler?" She paused in her steps, eyes flicking to his shoulder knots and back to his face. She wasn't as familiar as she could be with the Weyr's wherhandlers... she ought to rectify that, she considered.

@Tyto  @NatsumiHare

A polite nod followed Plover's thanks, though he didn't opt to speak immediately. Instead he made to return to the plot he had been working on, only to let out a displeased grunt upon seeing that someone had moved into his mostly-cleared area. Rude. With a sigh, he moved to one nearby Plover which hadn't been fully tended yet and began digging through for weeds.

He lifted his gaze upon hearing the woman's voice a second time, mildly surprised by her option for conversation. She'd never really been particularly talkative while doing chores, as far as he'd encountered, so it was a bit unusual. Not unwelcome, just... strange, for her. "Tsuneath is about two Turns now, I believe?" he commented, pausing a moment to consider as his brows pinched together. "She should be due for her maiden soon." After a flight would be a few sevendays of waiting during gestation, followed by the laying of the eggs, more waiting as they hardened, a Touching, and finally the much-anticipated Hatching. "Otherwise, we'll be waiting for Ticiath's next clutch, which... it's hard to say. She seems like she's been in good spirits, but the last few have been... far apart." It was a fair enough reasoning, though.

"I'll cross my fingers for you," he told her with a small, amused smile. He still had ten Turns left before he aged out, while Plover had only three. If either of them deserved to Impress, it was surely her. She seemed as if she would make a good rider.

Ghendan glanced up as he heard Plover addressing the wherhandler, gaze lingering on the man for a few moments, dipping his head in a polite bow as well, before going back to the task of weeding the gardens.