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Cuendillar Log
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Summary - A lesson in healing.
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Setting:
Practice Room: White Tower, Tar Valon
This room is devoid of any sort of decorations, keeping it practical for it's purposes. There are several desks and chairs about the room, lined in an orderly fashion for Novices and Accepted to use during their training in the One Power. There ar
e also several stools about the room, where Novices and Accepted can break off and speak to each other one to one on certain channeling techniques. In one of the corners you might notice an area with some throw pillows, where one might sit to relax for a
moment, or where one might lay out a student who passed out from over extending their abilities. A large fireplace sits against the far wall, used to hear the room during the colder seasons.
Thw windows are thrown wide open to let in the fresh breeze of spring, which also holds the fragrant smell of blooming flowers, indicating that it's the season of rebirth. A few late classes can be seen held between either Accepted and Novices, Ae
s Sedai and Novices or Accepted and Aes Sedai; all working on various components of the One Power.
There is one exit within this room that leads back out into the main hallway of the learning center.
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Cast:
Atalanta - A bookish bespectacalled Accepted.
Tamarind - An Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah and Keeper of the Chronicles
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Atalanta curtseys as the Aes Sedai enters.
Tamarind slips so quietly into the room that only the faint whisper of her skirts of the quiet 'snick' as the door closes itself behind her could possibly give her presence away. She pauses just beside the portal to sweep the room o'er with a sharp pair o
f emerald eyes that have the unnerving quality of seeming to see everything. Distance is molded onto her beautiful face, and it is difficult to tell if she is kind or not. Your movement attracts her and she rests the weight of her gaze upon you.
Atalanta rises from her curtsey after a moment.
Tamarind does not look away, nor does she betray a single emotion upon her face for a time as she takes her ease in studying you. She glides further across the floor, with the innate grace of a swan, and comes to a halt just at one side. Further time flee
s before her scrutiny passes from you and she tugs up the very corners of her lips into a smile and speaks. "Light illumine you, Child."
In a quiet, but even and respectful tone Atalanta replies, "Light illumine you as well, Keeper." She pushes up her glasses, displaying her unease...newly raised, the girl is apparently not entirely certain in her new role as Accepted.
Tamarind doesn't lift away her perusal of your person, nor does she give you one hint as to what her summation of you is upon the exquisitely dispassionate casting of her features. Without pausing, she launches her silken voice into lilting speech. "Are y
ou teaching in here today, Accepted?"
Atalanta says "No, Tamarind Sedai. I was only trying a few things that I thought might work, but the weaves weren't quite right. And maybe making myself available to any Novices who might want my help." She pauses a moment, pushes up her glasses again, sm
oothes her skirts. "Is that alright?""
The verdant ice of her eyes does not melt a bit, but Tamarind permits a shade of the distance to fade from her features as she listens to you speak. Candlelight sparks glimmering fire from her own serpent ring as she drops a hand to rest at her side and n
ods. "That is, of course, alright, Accepted. Do you not know your place in the Tower yet? Did you need any aid in working those weaves?"
Atalanta grins. "Well, it's not so much I don't know my place, Tamarind Sedai, as I'm still trying to convince myself I'm not dreaming." She pauses, and the smile fades back to its normal seriousness. "And any help would be very much appreciated, thank yo
u."
Tamarind doesn't smile, but for some odd reason, neither the ageless setting of her face, nor the regal carriage of her person gives the impression that she is displeased. "Look to your finger and the great ring it bears if you find yourself having such d
reams. And stand straight, you bear the reputation of the Tower itself on your shoulders, and you must know where you belong." She finds but the tiniest smile, for her, it is immense. "Now, what weaving were you having difficulty with.. and I do not recal
l your name."
Atalanta stands up straighter and clears her throat. "I'm Atalanta Naverre, Tamarind Sedai," she says, "And I was trying a healing weave...I'm still having trouble with the harder ones." She steps aside, revealing a box on the table behind her. In the box
is a small sparrow with a badly broken wing. It makes no noise, its feathers are all puffed up. "I found it out in the garden,"
Atalanta says, by way of explanation.
Tamarind narrows her eyes but faintly, and does not look at first to the bird as she watches you almost sideways, and permits her eyes to become speculative before she turns round and reaches out a single finger toward the tiny, huddled creature.. amazing
ly gentle as she runs a caress over its befeathered head. "Poor thing," A note of softness is in her voice, then is gone, "Show me then, Atalanta, what you have been trying, and we will work out this weave together."
Atalanta takes a deep breath.
[Channeling] Tamarind slides herself into the puddle of power as well, just behind Atalanta.. surrounding herself in saidar's warm life.
[Channeling] Atalanta begins directing a thin flow of air towards the wing of the bird, and then takes a weave of spirit and intertwines it around that of the air. The bird lets out a soft cheep at this treatment. She doesn't seem to notice as she concent
rates on adding the water, a thin, straight flow through the first two. All of her weaving is tentative.
Tamarind hardly seems to focus her attention any more now than before, but those clear greenish eyes are directed somewhere between you and the bird for a time, and then she nods slowly and pitches her voice to be very, very low so as not to interrupt the
flowing of power that you are channeling. "You are close, but do not be tentative, Atalanta. Do not be tentative in anything you do in this place. Watch.. and then see if you can follow."
Atalanta 's expression doesn't change, but some shift in her stance indicates she's paying very close attention.
[Channeling] Tamarind draws off a thicker band of pure spirit, and without hesitation twines a twisting stream of air around about its length. Without thought, a ribbon of water finds its way into the intricate pattern of the weaving.. wrapping in and out
of the other streams before the entire thing is gently directed toward the injury of the tiny bird.. muscle and bone begins to knit easily beneath its touch. Then the entwining flows are cut off with a smooth and deft untying of their knot.. leaving mor
e work to be done, but relieving the creature of any pain.
Tamarind watches calmly, yet her eyes have melted somewhat in the flooding of power that lights her form with a haloing glow that only other channelers may see.
[Channeling] Atalanta doesn't stop with her original flows. Rather, she strengthens them with her own determination, and clearness of purpose. The flow of spirit becomes somewhat stronger, the one of air more refined. The flow of water, to a channeler's e
yes, takes on a clearer definition. She works slowly but surely, touching the remainder of the bird's wing with the flow, until the wing is fully restored.
[Channeling] Tamarind releases the power she has embraced.. with a gentle outflowing, having no need of it any further.
[Channeling] Atalanta lets go as well, somewhat more reluctantly.
Atalanta wipes a thin veneer of sweat off her brow and smiles at Tamarind. The bird in the box doesn't seem to realize it's been Healed, although its puffiness is decreasing.
Tamarind actually does smile openly now, a thing very few ever get to see, and her eyes slip to the bird that cheeps oddly and fluffs up its wings, its beady eyes blinking and looking this way and that as it realizes something is different. "You learn qui
ckly, and practice will bring greater ease. I sense this is not the least one of your talents and abilities, Accepted." The smooth cadence of her melodic voice is hard to read, but is not harsh in any way at least. Her gaze lifts to rest upon yours. "Why
don't you go now and release this creature to his freedom in the courtyard? You have done well." It is as much praise as she ever gives out, ever.
Atalanta ,still smiling, bobs a curtsey. "Thank you, Tamarind Sedai." she says, breathlessly. "Um...before I go," as she scoops the bird gently up, cupping him in both hands, "May I ask one question?"
Tamarind permits her brow to rise like a line of gilt fire above the coolness of her eyes, but she nods with the faintest of smiles yet about her lips. "Of course, Atalanta."
Atalanta says "In the future, should I start with spirit, as you did, or does it matter?"
Tamarind doesn't pause, and it apears from the relative speed and ease of her answer that she has given it before to perhaps others in your current position. "Each Sedai must find the working of a weaving that are best for herself. I know those who even b
lend fire or earth into their flows. I always start with spirit when I heal, it is the way I was shown long ago, and it is the method that works best for me. You must spend some time just submitting yourself to saidar and working with water, spirit and ai
r to find the subtleties that use your power to its fullest extent. Hence the exploratory time given to the Accepted. They must take the basics they were given as Novices and mold them into something more.. personal."
Atalanta nods and smiles. Then the little one in her hands cheeps, and she laughs...a sound not often heard from this one with a reputation for her lack of humor. "Thank you, Tamarind Sedai,
Tamarind inclines her head to you in a dismissal that holds the elegance and graciousness of a queen within its graceful motion. "Than by all means, Accepted, see to his immediate release. We do not wish for the Tower to gain the reputation of keeping pri
soners beyond their will." It is almost humor.
Atalanta 's eyes twinkle. She turns then, walking swiftly but steadily so as not to jostle her charge, heading for the courtyard.
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