Black-brown hair, glossy in nature, drops to her shoulders when not held back in a loose runnertail. Fine bones are balanced by wide angles along her face; a flattish nose resting in the midst of pink-tinged cheeks. Wide-set eyes are almond-shaped, giving all of Pern a calm regard from beneath elegant brows. Her skin is clear and golden, caught between dusky and smooth with the faint sheen of good health.

A loose white blouse of sisal rests low on smooth, golden-skinned shoulders. The sleeves fall to fairly thin wrists, where the fabric is gathered and then continues a few fingers' widths in a showman's frill. Below middling neck, the blouse gently follows womanly shape to slender waist, where it is tucked into a harper blue skirt. Spanning to about a hand's width above her knees, the pleated skirt rustles quietly with her movements. A natural golden hue to thin, well-shaped legs is heightened by a healthy sheen to their silky smoothness. Short boots of white-dyed wher hide have a low heel that barely raises this young woman from her height of about 5 feet.

Standing over six foot tall, 6'4 to be exact, he towers over many. Long turns of farming have filled him out nicely. Tanned skin frame emerald eyes which dance beneath a crop of formerly unlruly, now well-trimmed auburn hair, nearly dwarfing his smallish nose and full lips. Below, a square jaw and long, lithe neck mirrors the graceful musculature of his farmer's bulk. Long arms end in large hands, made hard and calloused from his Turns as a Holder. The effect of the now trimmed hair is to make the large man's eyes more easily seen, and settle the tangled mop on his head to make him appear a little more well groomed.

Ebon leather defines curve of muscle in tailored pants, sheathes arms in midnight's shade and dress sides and back in unbroken darkness. Closing at wrists, each time with a button of night-defying Eratoth-bronze, long sleeves accent arms' muscled urves, rising to Eratoth-bronze cording that comes from shoulder down under his arm. On one arm jacket is adorned with an Igen Weyr patch, a crisscross of blue and bronze ribbons running from shoulder to elbow on the other. High collar closes also with the bronze, cording of the same running around it and down jacket-edges. A flap hides the march of buttons up to collar, thought when jacket is open each buttonhole is defined with Eratoth-bronze thread. Lined with thick-woven black llama hair cloth, jacket hides beneath it's blackness brilliant Eratoth-bronze cotton in a fine-woven turtleneck shirt. Cinched about his waist, soft black wherhide belt is decorated with crisscross of blue and bronze ribbons, sewn on in another splash of color.

A double cord, double looped of yellow and black twine between a ribbon of Eratoth bronze, and a thread of gold. A tassle hangs from the center, marking him as Wingleader, and Bronze Eratoth's rider.

Slight is the commonly used word, for Nyssa is a whipcord tough creature built of lean muscle. Yet few would ever mistake her gender; there is too much wild femininity in her delicately shaped figure. Light complexioned, her features are sensitively drawn and yet, the slight slant to her eyes and cheekbones, the cast of her nose and finely chiseled lips all combine to give the fine-boned face an exotic edge. Beneath elegant eyebrows of sooty black, her eyes are dark walnut; liquid brown with a smoky-silver surface and framed with eyelashes like thin lines of ebony ink in the air.

Thick sable locks are ruler straight; her hair is cut to a savagely short bob.ractical to the bone, her clothes are dark in color - a mismatch of brown and deep grey in her close fitting trews and tunic. A light shirt is worn under her tunic, cut to be moderately flowing while the wide tight cuffs ensure it can not get in her way. A wide belt not so very unlike a rider's shows off a surprisingly slim waist while ankle high boots on her feet are plainly well cared for.

Braided rush carpets pool over the gameroom's stone floor in blobs of cheery sage yellow, providing some protection against for weyrbrats with bare feet that run through every so often. The large room is equipped with quite a few trestle tables and benches to provide seating, each table the jealously guarded preserve of a wing. Dartboards line the one wall, small chips next to them telling tales of riders with less than steady aim. Over in one corner a small chest rests, receptacle of quite a few packs of playing cards. A constant muted hum of voices emanate from the archway leading to the Living Cavern, heady aromas wafting in on pleasantly cool air.

Cymri smiles a bit in return, "He's popular, hmm? I'm doing pretty well. We just traveled to Big Bay Hold the other day, and trades went well." Her smile deepens, almost smugly. Very well. But then she frowns a bit, "I'm sorry I had to leave so abruptly the other day, after the clutching. You looked so tired then." Gently, she asks, "Are you really doing better now?"

G'min rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well. It's not the most pleasant way to spend an evening. In fact,....evenings with you in the infirmary were far far better, by comparision. Haven't seen much of you since those days, Cymri."

Cymri smiles at G'min, resisting the urge to look away as she offers, "I missed those days a lot when your Eratoth first guarded the sands. They were..." She pauses, finally ending on a different note, "relaxing."

G'min smiles and nods, catching the change somehow. "You were going to say something else, Cymri. What was it?" His eyes twinkle with amusement as he regards his old friend, moving to sit down beside her.

Cymri shakes her head, "Nothing, nothing at all." She lifts her chin, demurring, "I meant just what I said." She fusses with the folds of her skirt, doing her best to look like she's not hiding anything.

Cymri isn't about to do so. Spotting the girl, she leans forward, about to stand up. "Hello? Do you need a hand, ... ah, Nyssa?" She squints, looking around the large carpet roll, and murmurs, "That is Nyssa, isn't it?"

Nyssa eases the roll down the floor gently and lets out a sigh of relief. "I... Oh, hi Cymri. G'min." She casts a work-worn smile at both of them and shakes her head in answer to the offer of help. "No. It isn't heavy. just awkward and all I need to do now is unroll the thing where it belongs. And hope no-one spills wine on it again."

Cymri doesn't quite pout as she leans back again, expression turning to resignation, "Oh, G'min, honestly! I was just going to say that.. they were sweet." She immediately flicks her gaze back to Nyssa, voice raising, "Are you sure you don't need help?" She clears her throat, "Getting it unrolled, perhaps?"

Carpet roll is walked to it's spot, a currently bare spot on the floor. Nyssa then tips it over, letting it fall with a thump afore a deft kick send it unrolling itself along the stone while the Candidate dusts her hands off. "I'm sure I don't need help." she returns, somewhat mroe cheerful now the bothersome carpet is where it belongs. "Am I disturbing something?" Asked as she finds a seat for a moment and snatching a tiny brown firelizard out of the air afore he tangles her hair again.

Nyssa blinks back at G'min and nods. Blushing just a little - it isn't her fault she hasn't got a Candidate knot yet to make the question unnessesary. "I've been a Candidate for nearly a sevenday." Polite, certainly. Respectful, although not at all formal - her tone rises just a little at the end to make it sone rather querying. Her brown settles into the crook of her arm, crooning happily to himself for having found her - from his dusty hide, he's been outside somewhere.

"Shan promised me his old knot. Only he's been busy and I've been busy and I haven't seen him since he dumped me in the Barracks." Nyssa points this fact out with a certain degree of miffedness. "And thanks. For the welcome."

Nyssa uuhs softly, looking just as confused at the question for a moment. "Yes, Sh'lor." is explained after she realises what he didn't understand. "Sanath's rider." She glances away, nibbling on her lower lip, obviously thinking about something.

Cymri lifts one hand to rub her temple, eyes shutting briefly, and then stands, "I think my headache from earlier is about to return. If you'll please excuse me..." So saying, she stands, looking as if a headache is, indeed, quickly setting in.

Nyssa's blush deepends and her eyes narrow a fraction. "I do not. I said I don't." Stubborn, stubborn. That glare of hers would make most people back off a little; but at least she restricts herself to a glare. It's not politic to smack the clutch-daddy's rider for saying what she doens't want to hear.

G'min nods his head, running his strong hands through his hair. "Don't feel bad, Nyssa. Long is it that I loved someone from afar. When I finally told her, I found out she loved me too." TOo bad they've sort of fallen out of that love lately. Then he turns as Cymri reenters. "That was quick. Miracle cure?"

Cymri enters in time to catch Nyssa's blushing denial, and lifts one brow, following a supsicious hunch. "G'min, just why do you insist on making us all admit things we'd rather not say?" Then, back straightening as she catches the true subject, Cymri offers her own bit of advice, "And, then, other times, you think you're both in love and say so, and it turns out not." She shrugs, cooly, before shaking her head, "No, actually. It just didn't come on full force, as I thought it was going to do. And it's just enough tension that I can't seem to sleep it off, either." Impatience. Perhaps, though, the headache explains her mood.

The problem is more along the lines that Nyssa doesn't want to love anyone. Especially not the way she could so easily love Shan. In response, she just muttering something that sounds disagreeable and turns a bright smile on Cymri. Lovely Cymri - she can distract attention from that topic. "Tried some willowbark tes, Cymri? That works fairly well for low level headaches."

Cymri enjoys distractions from certain conversations, and will gladly bring about any topic other than love -- especially in the presence of an old ... crush, shall we say. "Willowbark? I -- no, actually. Just some water. Think I should make a trip to the kitchens?"

G'min smirks slightly. "Because holding things in can lead to problems, Cymri. I mean....if I had talked to Gamma...Eratoth might not have gotten so hurt that time." Shrugging, he nods. "And willowbark is suppsoed to help. Least, that's what the Healers always said

"It does help. But not if the headache is really bad. For that, you'd near to go ask them for somehting stronger." And it would be vile tasteing: at least willowbark tea can be sweetened. Nyssa lectures, delighted to be back on subject matter that she knows and which isn't embarrassing and scary. G'min is just shot another Look. One that says 'do please preety please shut up or I might forget my manners and do something drastic.'

Cymri lifts one hand to her brow, then smooths back a strand of hair, blinking, "I don't think you ever did tell me all the details, G'min." Soft, mixed with tones of vague reproach and something else. She lets out a quiet hiss, "I don't /get/ headaches." But there's no denying this one, and she finally mumbles, "Excuse me again, then, and I'll see if I can't get some of that tea while the headache stays almost mild."

G'min smiles and nods. "Well, Cymri, come look for me tomorrow, and I'd be /glad/ to tell you all the details." Then he turns back to Nyssa with a broad smile. One that says 'you really think he's scared?'

Nyssa's return gaze is filled with frustration. She knows all too well he isn't scared. But she had to /try/. Barney gains her attention again and she spends a little time soothing firelizard sized itches as she brown chirps and croons. "I forgot to ask before. Is Eratoth well?" Return to small talk. Much safer.

G'min grins in reply. He understands, really he does. "Eratoth?" But his face does light up at the mention of his lifemate. "He's fine. He's got one wing wrapped protectively about Dymoth's back right now, and he's awake while she sleeps."

Nyssa mms softly. "Attentive father." she comments softly. "I've watched him a few times from the galleries." Outwardly, she seems to have regained some measure of fragile calm, the blush finally fading from her cheeks. Her gaze and her attention directed towards her pet.

Cymri returns from the Living Caverns. Empty-handed, she looks faintly satisfied all the same. Before questions might be asked, she offers, "I do appreciate our drudges. One volunteered quickly enough to get some of that willowbark tea brewed and even bring it in for me." She smiles again, looking quite pleased with herself.

G'min nods slowly. "He is an attentive father. In fact, he's got an uncanny sense of which eggs are 'his' so to speak." He turns towards Cymri, nodding and smiling. "So...you're feeling better then?"

Cymri shakes her head, "I haven't had a drop of it yet. I should clarify: the drudge will be bringing it in here -- she said it takes a while to boil, or something?" Cymri absently waves one hand, not knowing anything of the matter. "But I do think the /idea/ of relief has made it that much more tolerable, for the time being." Her interest perks, though, "Was that Eratoth you were discussing?"

"Ten minutes." Nyssa offers the information quietly, carefully slipping off her seat and onto her feet. "The which said, I need to go get some oil for Barney. He's a bit patchy in spots." And she starts towards the entrance.

G'min smiles and nods. "Pretty much. I was telling her about Eratoth on the sands. It's actually rather cute to watch him. Even though he poses far too much." Rolling his eyes, the bronzerider continues. "But I think the golds appreciate the fact that they can go eat, and he's there to watch the eggs."

G'min grins slightly, nodding. "Although Eratoth will have you believe that he looks more beautiful than...say....M'kal's Pequoth." Laughing softly, the bronzerider moves back towards the trader. "And what did you want to know before?"

Cymri tilts her head to the side, laughter in her eyes, at the description of Eratoth. But with the little reminder, she lifts her head a notch, seeks his gaze, "What exactly did happen with you and Eratoth? And Gamma? You never told me beyond that Eratoth was injured, and that it was something you were ashamed of. Quite ashamed of, from the way you acted." She licks her lips, shakes her head, "But obviously you've done something right, if Eratoth is repeatedly a father, and you are now a Wingleader." She shrugs, confused, and gently prods, "So what happened?"

G'min sighs softly, smiling sheepishly. "Honestly? I was.....well, I felt that Gamma wasn't paying me the attention she should have. I mean, I didn't want her to show favoritism,...in fact, I can't see how she could have....but well.....if she'd...had me over for dinner, or just even took a moment to talk to me. To discuss our lifemates, it would have greatly improved my weyrling life." It's no small secret that he does look up to his sister.

Cymri takes in a deep breath, trying to steady it all in her mind. "Were they okay? I mean, gold's are bigger, but still..." She pauses, shaking her head as if to clear it, and starts a new question: "But G'min, surely you were not the only weyrling to ever be hurt? I've /seen/ others who were injured."

Cymri looks down, then back up, placing one hand lightly on G'min's arm. "So you let that torture you, didn't you? The fact that you made a mistake?" She frowns again, "Or is there something more to it...what did Gamma have to say?" She hones in on the underlying question, or tries to.

G'min smiles slightly, reaching up to lightly finger his knot. "She gave me this rank cord. And made me wingleader. I guess.....well......I guess she forgave me. R'il never did though. My actions caused him and Ysaeth to be injured as well."

G'min shakes his head, smiling, reaching out to gently pat her arm. "It's Ok. I deserve it. I really do. A rider's feelings for his dragon....well.....if our positions were reversed, I'd never speak to R'il, either."

Cymri just shakes her head, stating simply, "But even for family, it ... " But it /was/ G'min's fault, wasn't it? "It just seems so difficult to think of being that angry at someone, I guess." She seems to notice her hand and lets it drop from his arm, skimming just barely down the edge of the sleeve until she finally pulls it back to her side.

G'min smiles, moving his own arm from hers as well, a slight blush suffusing his face at the way her hand left, sliding down his arm. "No, it's.....it's not great. But....I hurt his dragon. But....I got past it. So I'm not the man I used to be." He grins. "And I know my sister loves me now."

Cymri is trying not to notice her own action, at the moment. And distraction comes easily in the last statement, in the grin which Cymri now returns, "I'm /glad/, truly glad that you've come to grips with it all. That you and Gamma are back on terms." Her voice softens, musing, "I still remember how things were at the ball so long ago. I didn't have the slightest clue what was underway, but I think I could still see some of it in how you spoke to her, near the end." Just don't question how she remembers so well.

Cymri nods, eyes solemn, and clasps her own hands behind her back, "Lynnea introduced us." Well, actually, Cymri backed into the two of them, but why should she remind him? "And we danced for ...quite a while. But you seemed so worried; I just wanted to get your mind off of whatever it was. You wouldn't say much, though, so I didn't know how to help." See, she remembers.

G'min frowns for a moment, remembering. "We did didn't we? I just remember seeing your face alot. You're right......my mind certainly was elsewhere, you know? You did get my mind off my plight for a little while, you know."

Cymri blushes faintly at the discrepancies between their memories, then smiles, "I'm glad I could help you." Yes, there it is, folks: she's a softy at heart. "I must say it was nice to spend my evening with a .. with you, as well. I went there expecting to be bored by the silly formalities, but.. it was nice to dance the steps my mother taught me, to talk to you." She brings both hands forward again, palms up in a shrug-like gesture, "That's why I came back to see you."

G'min tilts his head to the side. "When, now? Or while I was in the infirmary?" He pauses for a moment. "And....you said 'spend my evening with a.....' A what, Cymri?" He asks, turning his head to carefully scrutenize her.

And G'min's just done it again, asked Cymri to say those 'things'. This time, she doesn't argue. "To come back to the infirmary. To look for you again tonight, too." What difference does it make? "With someone who..who I didn't think would lie to me," comes her struggling answer, as if she can't put words to it. "That was shortly after a relationship with," her eyes darken, "A man who disgusts me now. I didn't take well to being used, or lied to, and he .. hadn't figured me for that."

G'min smiles gently. "I.....I think I can live with that answer." Gently, he reaches out his arm, to place it on her shoulder. "I might lie to you. But I'd never use you." And if he did lie, it be because he'd be trying not to hurt her. "Shoot. Eratoth is calling me. Shall I see you later?" He asks softly

Cymri returns the smile, brushing one finger lightly against his chest to flick away a speck of dust. Confident in what he's said, and in that she's not said too many things, she smiles "Yes, we will. And tell Eratoth to keep right on posing for the crowds, and guarding those eggs carefully."