Amadak was one of the first Candidates to leave the Sands once Nako dismissed them. This was partly due to his practical nature: there was nothing more to be done until the Hatching, so what was the use of lingering over the eggs? He snorted, torn between amusement and disgust, when he noticed little Aeryn doing just that--wandering over to a smallish egg, kissing her fingertips, and pressing them to the shell.

Not his business. He turned his back on the scene and left the Grounds, bowing to Iolath and the Weyrleaders, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Alesia--his second reason for leaving so quickly. He had the uncomfortable feeling that the Weyrwoman had seen right through his casual pose, even though he had recovered sufficiently to be honest with her.

A hide tacked to the common room wall informed Amadak that his Candidate section had pasture duty all afternoon until the evening meal. Terrific. Just what he needed to ground himself after the stirring excitement of the egg touching: mucking out the herdbeast paddock. Might as well start now.

Armed with rake and shovel, he struck out across the Bowl for the enormous open-air pens. At least the work was outdoors, so the stink didn't get to him too much. Amadak's least favorite chore was the work in the infirmary. The sight of open wounds and blood-caked bandages didn't bother him, but the smell in the stuffy rooms did. He always emerged gratefully from those sessions, breathing deeply of the fresh air and shaking himself like a wet dragon to get rid of the stench.

As he bent to his task, shoveling manure onto the cart that would later be drawn and emptied onto the compost pile, Amadak was joined by the other Candidates in his section. Some of them complained about the enormous amount of work that had to be done in the pens. Amadak didn't reply, but he reflected inwardly that they should all be grateful dragons were such fastidious creatures, only eliminating between. If they all had to muck out dragon ledges! Sure, herdbeast cleanup was messy, smelly work, but it could be worse. That was the way to get through a nasty job, to take the perspective that there was always something worse out there.

So Amadak grinned over at the complainer, and said only, "Maybe we should feed 'em redwort for the next group, since we won't have a rotation here again for a few days." Everyone knew by now of the gastric distress and diarrhea that resulted when the bovines got at the redwort that grew so profusely along the lower canyons this time of Turn. There had been a mass panic to harvest the herb. The Candidates, who did more pen-cleaning than anyone else at the Weyr, had spearheaded the harvest. Small wonder.

Being around animals that were larger than her (not counting dragons) Always unsettled Zaela. After all, she was used to crops, not herdbeasts. Thankfully, the animals in the pen had been rotated out for cleaning. Lifting up a shovel full of manure and dumping it into the wheelbarrow. She overheard someone joking about redwort, but she had to admit that the thought really didn't amuse her. "You don't think that a dragon would end up ingesting it from the cow and getting sick, do you?" A worried expression knitted across her brow, carefully placed across her features. Secretly, she wished to throw a wrench into his thinking... make him consider.

No, she didn't think him an ill soul for his thinking, but Zaela, ever worried about the effects of her actions, would always worry that it would end up affecting more than just the target victim. She didn't stand around waiting for his response though,and partially didn't even expect one back, rubbing off dirt from her cheek, or what she hoped was dirt, and continuing her work. Manure didn't phase her much, since they put this on crops back where she was from. Sometimes she'd help out with the smaller patches of land, but she was never truly required to do the back breaking work expected of her brothers. In fact, the work that being a candidate was putting through left her sore at night. Shards, she might have even been losing weight! She couldn't tell though, since her clothes she brought along still fit.

Speaking of fitting, she was glad the boots she wore to the sands had still fit. Ah yes, the sands. That made her think of the eggs, and then the hatching to come... it truly was too much to bear! Maybe that's why so few were talking about it, probably not because of the work; that didn't keep people from blabbing on normally. It was probably because people would rather not think about it lest they worry themselves to pieces. Truly, it was a good strategy, since no one wanted to brood on their potential failure to Impress. If anyone had did the counting, which strangely Zaela had done, there were more candidates than eggs. Did this... worry her? It was possibly the thought of not knowing which path her life would take her down that bothered her more. Dragonrider, or not? She just wished she knew that way she could go ahead and adjust for that life.

These people were her peers, right? Even the men. They -expected- her to speak to them as if they were equals. "I just wish I knew what would happen. I'd find the aspect of both failure and Impressing a little easier if I had time to adjust to it." She looked behind her shoulder to the other candidates, seeing a bit of understanding flicker across their features. "I mean, it's a pretty cruel thing, though I don't doubt that it is necessary, but to go onto the hatching sands in front of all those people and either be chosen for a life of fighting thread and being a dragonrider, or being left on the sands in front of -everyone!-" Exhasperated, but keeping it conversational, she asked them. "So, how did you all end up candidates anyhow?"

Amadak paused in his shoveling and turned to address the girl who'd made such a thoughtful remark. He leaned on the shovel handle, bracing his weight on his gloved hands. "Now, that's a good question." He frowned, taking it as seriously as she'd meant it. She seemed a bit surprised that he'd reacted; he caught her in the act of turning away from him and on to other things. "Stupid of me not to think of that. But then, let's see. The herdbeasts eat grass and all manner of things that dragons don't, right? And it never seems to affect them any less. So would redwort?" He straightened up, and flashed Zaela a handsome grin. "You know what? I'm going straight to the dragon healers after chores're done to find out." Nodding, he bent back to his work with more heart, pleased that he'd committed to a course of action on the subject.

When Zaela's general question floated through the air a few moments later, though, Amadak just flashed her another smile and kept his mouth shut. There were some subjects that he just couldn't talk about in front of a lot of people he scarcely knew. It didn't stop him from listening curiously for others' replies.

A few people answered. A few proclaimed proudly they were Weyrbred. Those people hardly needed to be pointed out. They were almost.. bizarre in the differences of how they thought of the world, and their views on almost everything. Sadly though, this sparked many to branch off into their own conversations with those they knew better, leaving Zaela to the stranger that had taken her question not only seriously, but somewhat to heart. She sidled more closely, casually resuming that conversation. "I wondered such, since dragons eat the herdbeasts, and sometimes they very well eat nearly everything. I've seen them do it." That was quickly followed by a look of disgust that she couldn't quite keep back.

"I'm Zaela." She quickly introduced herself to keep the conversation going, not really wanting to have a conversation about the effects redwort had on the gastric systems of various creatures within the Weyr... That is, if he wanted to talk. He had answered her question so readily that she viewed him as a safe enough prospect for a little conversation. After all, she really needed to get to know all of the candidates, and not just the spectrum of snarky to secretive girls in her barracks.

((Anyone else who wants to fill out their candidates' personalities before the Hatching, please feel free to jump in!))

"Hey there." Amadak sketched Zaela a small bow when the girl introduced herself. "I'm Amadak." He pitchforked a heaping pile onto the wagon. "So you don't like the look of dragons eating, huh? Not used to it?" He'd seen her nauseated expression before she'd changed the subject. "I guess you're not loud, proud, and Weyrbred like some of our fellow Candidates." He lowered his voice so as not to be overheard, and flashed a conspiratorial grin. "Where do you hail from, then?" He moved a few steps closer to her, as much to get at the next patch of manure as out a polite wish to continue the conversation.

"Not used to it, no. Not much contact with slaughtering animals in farming." She grinned, shaking her head. "And you're right on the mark. Farmbred through and through. I lived in Izvand even before the dragonriders came to Kharasi... not that I heard too much about those matters, but it was quite exciting to have dragonriders actually nearby."

"What about you? You seem loud and proud enough, but you don't seem like the Weyrbred type to me.... Not quite as jaded." She implored endearingly enough, her habit of adding a little lilt to coax a sense of ease who she was talking to slipping in.

Amadak looked long at Zaela, his shovel poised, his expression one of thoughtful surprise. There was more to this girl than first met the eye: she looked sweet and good, hardly the type to have an observant and incisive mind. And jaded - well, he'd worked hard enough not to be.

"Weyrbred," he answered succinctly. "Craft raised. Ista for the breeding; Hurricane for the raising, at least for the past seven Turns. Very long Turns." He hadn't meant to add that last sentence, and wished it hadn't slipped out. "But," he added smoothly, "I take your comment as a compliment." And he sketched Zaela a bow, before pointing at her feet to warn her she was about to tread in a large and still-steaming pile. "Careful. Allow me." He scooped the excrement up deftly, glad of an excuse to turn away from her rather too penetrating gaze. And branded himself a coward for doing it.

She hadn't meant to let her gaze turn too curious and thoughtful as she read into the things he said. Today would not be the time to pry. "Oh!" Disgust and embarrassment flushed through her as she narrowly missed the steaming pile of manure, then laughed, remarking in jest. "My hero!"

"Craft raised, what craft?" Now, there would be no more careful analyzing in her gaze, but a rather childlike curiosity. Maybe she was a little envious of that too, since she had only been giving general education and maybe only a little teaching of the nuances of farmlife.

"At your service." Amadak struck a pose at Zaela's hero remark, then barely concealed a flinch at her next question. Stupid of him, really. He'd never known either of his parents. Why should he be all sensitive about his mother's craft?

"Weaver," he said. He let go his shovel and flexed his gloved hands at Zaela. "You might not believe it to look at 'em, but there's magic in these fingers." He wriggled them mysteriously. "I could knit every Candidate here a floppy hat, and still look good doing it." Amadak reclaimed his shovel and stared thoughtfully down at the stained blade. "Well," he amended, "Not quite as good as I do shoveling crap, but you get the idea."

He started off toward the edges of the pens, beckoning for Zaela to accompany him. "But enough bragging about myself. What about you? Seen you around some, haven't had much time to talk. Now's as good a time as any." He gave her an encouraging grin. "Where you from?"

Zaela seemed absolutely delighted by his answer, and giggled fitfully at his antics. She hadn't noticed the flinch. Ah, but when he asked about her.. she found herself absolutely void of any interesting information. She frowned, taking a moment to think before responding.

"Lived in Izvand all my life. I didn't take on a craft. In the more rural holds, it's still rather common for women to not recieve specialized education. I was actually surprised to learn that some actually did." Trying to stay upbeat though, she smiled and altered the subject slightly. "My family has been farming the same plot of land for generations. My brothers are to inherit the land themselves eventually.. or at least my younger brother. Farden is already married and recieved his own land through dowry. That's how things work there, really."

With a sigh, she looked around, taking note that they were nearly done. "What are you doing after this? I'm in storage, scrubbing floors till the evening meal."

Amadak listened to Zaela's story with growing surprise. While he knew there were isolated places on Pern where notions and values were odd and in borderling violation of the Charter, this was the first time he'd met someone who'd been brought up in that sort of environment.

He answered her last question first, to give himself time to get over his surprise. "Kitchen duty for me, serving the high table and scrubbing floors. I hate the work, but you can find the good in any bad; at least I can stuff a few hot morsels in my mouth while I work."

A quick scan of the pens revealed that the Candidates had done a thorough job. Amadak hoisted his rake and shovel to his shoulder and stretched, arching his back until his spine crackled. He looked sideways at Zaela, his expression serious. "You know, you must be pretty special to be Searched out of a Hold that raised you with such hidebound thinking." And leaving Zaela to ponder that, Amadak swung off to stow his tools and dash off to get to the kitchens early enough to grab a cup of stew.