Evening, and Ae'flaed was in the dining room, by the fire with a glass of wine at her elbow and her latest piece of needlework in her hands. Delicately embroidered with perfect, neat stitches, the fabric was in the process of being turned into a cushion, with Ae'flaed engaged in attaching the front to the back - a job that didn't take good light or much concentration.
It had been a good day, with the wind just right to sail over Fort's peak by flying straight at the cliff, a maneuver that always put Ae'flaed in a good mood. With Hurricath dozing on their weyrledge and both of them warm and fed to contentness, the aging dragonrider decided that all things considered this was a good time to be alive.
Now all it needed was a good conversation and it would be a perfect day.