Gaveth had silently taken her back, dropped her (pointedly) on the Weyrleader's ledge - their former ledge - and immediately left to brood on the heights. Poor watchpair, dealing with him breathing over them all night.
Sidran idly kicked her legs over the ledge and tipped a - another? a third? - small bottle back. Dividia had left a basket in the office with a brief note. All of four words, and she could fairly feel the wherhandler's amusement. But not an insult. A skill, that.
The bottle rolled when she put it down, but before she could move to keep it from rolling off the edge, a boot stopped it.
"Got any more?" said the gruff voice that came with the boot.
Sidran tilted her head back, focused her eyes with an effort to connect boot and voice with face, identified all as a part (whole?) of Ferrix, and finagled another bottle of the basket on her other side. She didn't have to think to know how well this man understood her conflicting feelings, more than anyone in the Weyr, and how little she understood his.
"For you," she said, with a bit of a wry smile that indicated he was about the only person she'd share with. Leaning back on one arm, she lifted the bottle with the other, and motioned for him to join her.
Silence and drinking, she could do. Packing could wait for the morning.
