Mirazhe sat on a stone bench, letting the wind blow through her loose black hair. Her face was solemn, and she had herself propped up on one arm, staring out at the garden before her. It was early summer now, and the flowers were in full bloom. Yet the sight of brightly colored flowers, which normally cheered her up, left her feeling as desolate as ever. Feeling more somber than usual, she’d come out to the gardens for some solitude. It hadn’t been easy, what with chores to do and classes to attend, but she’d found some time, and now here she was. Her fingers moved absentmindedly over her dress as her mind wandered. Mirazhe thought of her mother, left in Arafel all alone, bereft of her husband and her only daughter. It had been months since she’d last gotten a letter from her mother, and years since she had last seen her mother. Four years, to be exact. It wasn’t really so long, but it seemed an eternity to her. It was becoming harder to remember the little cottage she had lived in for all her life, doing chores next to her mother, the quiet and seclusion of their small village. Her mother’s face was still clear in her mind, as was her father’s, but everything else was starting to grow fuzzy.

Her fingers stopped stroking the white fabric, and she sighed. How was her mother doing without her? She must be so lonely, Mirazhe thought sadly. When her father had still been alive, everything had seemed perfect, a cozy little family living in a cozy little house. But then her father had died, and everything had seemed a bit lonelier. It had been difficult with just her mother and her, and then she had left her mother in their home to come here. She hadn’t had a choice really, but she lived with the guilt of leaving her mother everyday. She would go back when she was made Aes Sedai, but that day was so, so far away. Mirazhe wasn’t even Accepted yet, and it had already been four years. How many more would it take before she could become Aes Sedai? Many, many more, to be sure. And what if it was too many? What if something happened to her mother during that time? What if she never saw her mother again? The fears and frustrations were building inside, and tears rose unbidden to her eyes. She dashed them away angrily, berating herself. Nothing would happen to her mother.

She was twenty now. Not a girl anymore, but a young woman, with more confidence than before. Mirazhe wasn’t as shy as she had been, and she was able to speak her mind more often. Not only that, but she knew so much more. Her classes had taught her so much, and even though she didn’t remember all of what she learned, she still knew many things, including how to channel. Channeling was easy now, reaching for saidar and channeling. But the joys of learning to channel and learning everything she could still seemed insufficient compared to what she had left behind. Nothing could make up for family. Nothing.

Six years. Six long years in the Towers, and he still felt disappointed that his mother was not in his dreams. It was not that he didn’t dream of her every once in a while, but those were merely dreams. What he was waiting for—waited for—was his mother there, talking to him. He knew she and a handful of Wise Ones could enter the World of Dreams, and it would be nice if they could give him a message or two, maybe some news on how they were all right then. But there was none within the years he spent in the Tar Valon, not even while he was on his way there. Naridin should have accepted the fact that he was as good as banished, but he missed his family, and if there was one member of that family that would care about him no matter what, it would be his mother.

Even if he had just woken up, Naridin closed his eyes as he lay on a thick patch of grass in the gardens, hopeful that he might drift into a dream that is not a dream. However, he gave up after a few seconds and sighed. He should really stop hoping or he would waste a lot of time sleeping, like what he had been doing for the past years. Got him into a lot of trouble, that. He sat up abruptly, muttering to himself about silliness and being soft. The book that had covered his face and shaded his eyes from the sunlight fell on his lap. And then he realized that a girl was staring at him.

The Aiel blinked at her for a moment. “Erm. Sorry,” he said lamely, but his face remained blank. It appeared like he had interrupted her, or whatnot. Naridin had been lying behind a rose bush just behind the stone bench, so it was likely she hadn’t noticed him there. Gah. It seemed like he was getting less intelligent every year. The girl looked so familiar, too, but he couldn’t put a name to the face.

OOC: We’re going to pretend there’s a tree nearby. :look Do you mind if I laugh at you?

Mirazhe was pulled from her musings by the sound of muttering behind her. Spinning her head around, she saw…a man behind the rosebush that was behind her bench. He was sitting on the grass, and apparently hadn’t noticed her yet. She had wondered how she had possibly missed him sitting there. Had she really been so caught up in her own thoughts that she hadn’t even noticed her surroundings? Mirazhe winced slightly at that thought. And she had always thought that the other girls were far more self-absorbed than she. Obviously feeling her eyes on him, he looked up, and somewhere deep in her mind, she recognized him. At least, she thought she recognized him, since his face looked faintly familiar, but she couldn’t produce anything beyond that point. Of course, after 6 years at the Tower, everyone looked familiar, so it wasn’t saying much.

He stared at her, and then he blinked. She blinked in response, and resisted the urge to question him, and ask him just what he thought he was doing behind that rosebush. Her lowly status as a novice didn’t give her any power over anyone, and it put him at equal, if not higher rank than she. Still, it would have been nice to know what he was doing there, because he had scared her when he had popped up out of nowhere. He seemed to realize that he had startled her, and mumbled sorry. She could only nod in response. She guessed that he wasn’t really social, and that would be a big problem, because she was no social butterfly herself. But before she could think up something to say, something pink caught her attention.

A rose petal had been caught in the man’s hair, which wouldn’t have been so bad on it’s own, except for the fact that at that precise moment, another petal floated down from the tree nearby and landed on his head, mirroring the other. It gave him the appearance of having two pink ears on his head, and it made him look like a rabbit, which was really funny to look at. Mirazhe hadn’t meant to laugh, she really hadn’t, but her cough had sort of turned into a giggle, and that giggle led to another, and before she knew it, she was giggling uncontrollably on the stone bench.

((OOC: LOL :lol: I don’t mind at all.))

The girl—a novice, he noticed—simply nodded in reply. Naridin was thankful she didn’t snap at him or anything, like most Dedicated, Asha’man, or Aes Sedai would do if they found him there sleeping. Not that she had any right to, nor did she look like one to do so. She looked too…delicately feminine…for that. While Naridin thought of how to excuse himself without being too awkward, the novice began to giggle. It looked like she made an effort to suppress it, but she was soon shaking in mirth. Naridin stared.

What’s so funny? he thought, tilting his head in wonder and frowning slightly at her. He hadn’t said anything except an apology, and he was quite sure there was nothing funny in that. “Wetlanders have the strangest sense of humor,” he commented quietly with a shake of his head. He had said that so many times that he couldn’t remember them. Wetlanders were always strange. He remained seated and brushed off some dried leaves and flower petals from his book while waiting for her to calm herself. He could always sit on the bench, but the Aiel was contented with his spot on the ground. It was more comfortable, really.

“Have we met before?” he asked suddenly after laying his closed book on his lap. Naridin was sure he had seen her before. When and where, he couldn’t recall, but he wanted to remember. His memory with names and faces was faulty—so much that it was annoying. The only way for him to remember names was to meet somebody often. I wish I’d remember an acquaintance, for once.

The laughter died down after a few minutes, though there was still a smile on Mirazhe’s face when she finally composed herself enough to look at the man again. He was eyeing her strangely now, but that was only to be expected after her odd display of behavior. The petals were gone now, lost after he had brushed himself off. She noticed that there was a book on his lap, which meant that he had probably been reading before she’d disrupted him. Although, he hadn’t been sitting up when she walked past, otherwise she would have noticed him. Unless he’d come after she had sat down. Which Mirazhe really hoped wasn’t the case, because that would mean that she had been so absorbed with her problems that she hadn’t noticed him. She considered herself a fairly observant person. Obviously that was slowly going down the drain. Maybe she was getting old. Old people often didn’t notice things.

“Have we met before?” The sudden question made her think. He looked familiar, and obviously, he thought she looked familiar or he wouldn’t have asked the question. Looking at him, she suddenly saw a picture of him carrying a tall stack of books. Mirazhe didn’t know where the picture had come from, and couldn’t remember anything else except that picture. It probably meant that if they had met, they had probably done so in the library. That wasn’t very helpful, because she went to the library a lot, and that meant she saw a lot of people. Why couldn’t she remember? She was definitely getting old.

Mirazhe gave the man a small smile. “I think we have, but I honestly can’t remember where or when.” Or your name. But she didn’t say that out loud, since that would make her seem inconsiderate. She dug through the boxes of memories, trying to find any scrap of information that would help her. Library…library…books…Aiel? Fuzzy memories staring popping up. There had been an Aiel several years ago, back in the library. Was this man the Aiel? She looked at him again. The face seemed to fit, though she couldn’t tell about the height since the man was sitting down. Now what was the Aiel’s name? Marabin? Naradil? Narrator??

“Naridin!” She hadn’t meant to shout it out loud, and quickly placed her hand over her mouth to prevent any further outbursts. Inwardly, Mirazhe cringed at her terrible behavior. The man must really think she was crazy now.

“I think we have, but I honestly can’t remember where or when.”

That’s a relief. Then he wasn’t the only who forgot. I must have met her a very long time ago for her to forget it too. Naridin watched the novice visibly struggle to remember, and rummaged through his memories as well. Where did I see her before? The places he usually went to were the library and the gardens; he wouldn’t find her familiar if he had seen her in a classroom or the Mess Halls, so it had to be the first two. He didn’t meet her in the gardens, that’s for sure. He usually kept out of sight, and the women who found him were easy to remember because they told him off—a lot. So it’s the library. But that wasn’t any help. Naridin went to the library every week, and all the names he heard there were lost to him.

“Naridin!” the novice said suddenly, but quickly covered her mouth. Naridin felt his shoulders drop.

“That is my name. You remembered.” Unlike me. Great. Now I’m going to look like an idiot. Can’t even remember a name… He could remember every book he read, every author, and anyone could ask him the nitty-gritty details and he could answer immediately, but Naridin couldn’t even remember who the Tower librarian was, although they met atleast twice a month. No wonder I don’t make many friends. I can’t even keep a name!

Displeased with himself, Naridin sighed. “I can’t seem to remember yours.” he uttered apologetically. "My memory with names and faces isn't very good."

Thankfully, the man didn’t seem to be annoyed at her. Rather he seemed to be annoyed with himself. His face was slightly scrunched, and his shoulders were low, as if he was upset about something. Mirazhe looked at him inquiringly, all traces of laughter gone now.

Finally, Naridin – she had to remind herself to call him that – sighed. “That is my name. You remembered. I can’t seem to remember yours. My memory with names and faces isn't very good." Mirazhe didn’t fault the man. Lots of people had trouble remembering names, and oftentimes she was one of them. The only reason she had remembered his name was because he was different from everyone else. He was over a foot taller than her, for one, and he was Aiel, the only one she had ever met. She really should have remembered his name earlier. He had every right to forget here. She was one girl in a sea of a hundred, of average height, and with black hair and eyes. Every other girl practically had her same coloring. I’m not special at all, she reflected a bit glumly.

Shaking off the depression that threatened to drop on her again, she smiled at the man. “That’s all right. There’s no reason you should remember my name after all these years. After all, we only met once, and there’s nothing special about me that would help you remember. The only reason I still remember yours is because you’re the only Aiel I’ve ever met.” Wait. Is he an Aiel? She was pretty sure he was, but her memory was fuzzy, and it could be that her mind was playing tricks on her. She had gotten several things mixed up before, and it had always been rather embarrassing for her. So, slightly worried, she asked, “You are an Aiel, right?”

The girl—no, she was a woman, although a bit younger than him—smiled, but there was nothing cheerful in her smile. Or atleast it was how it seemed to Naridin. “That’s all right. There’s no reason you should remember my name after all these years. After all, we only met once, and there’s nothing special about me that would help you remember. The only reason I still remember yours is because you’re the only Aiel I’ve ever met,” she said, then added, “You are an Aiel, right?”

Naridin nodded in reply. It wasn’t really hard to tell. Blonde hair was almost as common in that side of the Spine of the World as it was in the Three-fold Land, but there were other signs—the complexion (although that had lightened a bit) and the eyes, along with his length. Why she sounded worried about being wrong, he wasn’t sure. Wait, he’s the only Aiel she had met? That made sense. His people didn’t have a reason to cross the Dragonwall, not since the car’a’carn disappeared, and channelers were either kept as Wise Ones or sent to the Blight—like him. He was unusual, alright, even when he was among other Aiel.

“But you’re wrong.” he commented. “About not being special, I mean. In the Three-fold Land, you would stand out like a fish in the dessert. I’ve grown up around people with light-colored hair and eyes, and your dark ones would be hard to hide. I’ve been in the wetlands for a few years now, but dark eyes and hair still seem remarkable to me. And if you’d remove that gloomy look in those eyes of yours, they’d be beautiful.”

If there was one thing he could boast about besides his memory with books, it was his occasional ability to tell how someone was feeling. Sure, he could be as clueless as a rock sometimes, but there were moments when he noticed things most people wouldn’t. However, Naridin wasn’t being soothing. He had said everything with an expressionless face and a matter-of-factly tone, then finished with a blink.

Mirazhe was surprised when the Aiel started to speak. “But you’re wrong. About not being special, I mean. In the Three-fold Land, you would stand out like a fish in the dessert. I’ve grown up around people with light-colored hair and eyes, and your dark ones would be hard to hide. I’ve been in the wetlands for a few years now, but dark eyes and hair still seem remarkable to me. And if you’d remove that gloomy look in those eyes of yours, they’d be beautiful.” After finishing, he blinked and looked at her.

She wasn’t quite sure how to take his comment. From anyone else, it probably would have been a compliment, and she would have blushed furiously before managing to stammer out something that was remotely understandable. However, it was coming from a man who hadn’t said more than 2 sentences the entire time they’d been sitting there. Not to mention that it had been delivered in a neutral tone of voice. She couldn’t tell if he was stating a fact, or paying her a compliment.

Nevertheless, she blushed faintly and looked down. “Umm, that’s nice to know. I think.” Mirazhe hated how unsure she was about everything. Why couldn’t she just be like every else, and be confident? She didn’t know anyone as horribly shy as she was. Even after all these years, she could still barely look someone in the face, never mind actually saying something intelligent. It was horrible. Absolutely horrible.

Then she realized she had forgotten to introduce herself – and blushed more. Her wits really were deserting her. Before she knew it, she’d be a doddering old fool, and then no one would want to talk to her. Well, she might as well try to fix the situation while she could. “I’m sorry. I just realized that I forgot to give my name. It’s a miracle I’m still breathing,” she muttered under her breath. Then she smiled brightly. “Hi, I’m Mirazhe Tomai.”

“Umm, that’s nice to know. I think.”

The woman was bashful, indeed. What she had to be ashamed of, he may never know. A lot of Aiel were wrong to say wetlanders had no shame; they were ashamed of many things. None of them Naridin understood any more than they understood his dishonor. The novice spoke again.

“I'm Mirahze Tomai.”

That name was familiar. Naridin’s brows furrowed slightly then rose just as quickly. “Mirahze…” he murmured in wonder. “Now I remember. We met at the library.” He touched his chin thoughtfully. “I’m going to remember that name from now on.”

Somewhere, a bell tolled twice. Naridin lifted his gaze to the Black Tower. So he had missed lunch. Typical of him to sleep through noon. That meant he would be late for the sparring classes with the recruits. He had not planned to come, anyway. He did not enjoy sparring. The Aiel wasn’t even supposed to be in those additional classes; he was just everyone’s sparring partner. It seemed many of the recruits wanted to swing a sword at him. Not showing up would earn him another few hours of chores or somewhat, but he was used to them already. If he had faced his father’s anger in the Three-fold Land, he could face the Master of Soldiers a few more times.

Naridin suddenly realized he had been staring at the Tower. He returned his gaze to her and blinked, then recalled something else. “I remember you liked to read. Maybe you will like to read this.” And he showed her the book he had. “I’m done reading it.” He had just finished it when he had fallen asleep on the grass.

Mirazhe sighed silently in relief as the Aiel murmured her name in recognition. It was embarrassing enough that she had remembered his name shortly after seeing him again, but it would have been even worse if he still hadn’t remembered her even after she’d given her name. It would have been disappointing, to say the least. She knew she wasn’t one of those girls that always stood out, but it would have been nice to be remembered. Of course, it wasn’t as if she could fault him for not remembering, considering how long it had been. Still, her previously happy mood had left her, and she was starting to feel depressed again. Thankfully, the Soldier, which is what she thought he was, hadn’t seemed to notice her lapse back into melancholia.

“Now I remember. We met at the library.” Then to her surprise, he said, “I’m going to remember that name from now on.”

He was interrupted by the sound of bells. They rang twice before going silent. Mirazhe sighed. She would have to leave soon. There were classes that had to be attended, chores that had to be done… She had skipped out on lunch to get some alone time, but she had ended up talking with this man. And because she had skipped lunch, her stomach would be protesting soon because she had also skipped breakfast. Idly, Mirazhe wondered if Naridin had also skipped lunch. She didn’t know what he had been doing behind that bush, but the fact that she hadn’t noticed him probably meant that he had been there for a while, which probably mean that he had skipped lunch as well. If she hadn’t interrupted him, he probably would have had time to go get lunch. But now he had to go hungry and that made her feel even worse. It was as if a dark cloud had suddenly descended upon her, smothering her with gloom.

The sound of the Aiel’s voice brought her out of her gloom. “I remember you liked ot read. Maybe you will like to read this. I’m done reading it.” He held up a book she hadn’t seen before, and offered it to her. She blinked. He was giving her a book to read? That was so… so nice of him. Gingerly, she reached out and took the book from him. Why was he lending her the book? First, he promised he would remember her name after he’d forgotten it, and now he was giving her a book to read because he remembered that she liked to read herself. He didn’t make any sense.

It took her a little while to find her voice but finally she managed a shaky, “Thank you.” Then, because she felt like she had to say something, she said, “What is it about?”

Naridin noticed that Mirahze’s thanks was shaky. She was probably confused as to why Naridin lent her his book. The soldier did not reply and let her muse on that. He was not eager to keep the book, anyway. He had too many in his room already—his bed only had so much room under it—and it wasn’t anything special. He hoped she would not think of paying him back.

“What is it about?” Mirahze asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s about a Tairen seafarer’s adventures on his way home.” he answered slowly, suddenly feeling wistful. Unlike the character, he could not go home no matter how much he wanted to. He was fathoms away, and his family seemed to have forgotten him. Longing for home was a waste of time.I’m burdening myself. There was little to read on his face when Naridin was gloomy—his seemingly lazy eyes hid it well. Mirahze need not see anything. The Aiel continued after a short pause, his own descent into melancholy hardly noticeable. “The main character’s experiences are interesting, and there are a lot of cultures described there.”

He fell silent for a while, looking pensive, and then pulled himself to his feet. He had chores after his class, and if the Master of Soldiers was going to add more of them for punishment, he had better start working, and visit Edeleas’ office, too.

“When you want to return that, you can come back here. I’m not here all the time, but it’s often enough.” he told Mirahze, his mood a little lighter. “For now I’ve spent enough time away from my duties.”

He gave her a slight nod, and then went on his way.