~Rossa~

 

Her pencil lay nestled in her pouch; next to the little figurines now worn from years of wear. Rossa’s first experiment with the world of art had proven she had a gift for it; and now she was developing it as much as she could. Her sketchbook was nearby, never far from her these days, so she could draw things that helped her research, her own personal development and networks, and furthermore it soothed her. She found it relaxing to lose herself in the tiny crosshatched strokes of a good sketch; casting an appraising eye to make sure that perspective was maintained. Rossa found herself taking pride in capturing the little things as accurately as possible – and who knew what might happen tomorrow. The late afternoon sun warmed her face as she took a rare break from study. While her memories were still intact, Rossa wanted to capture the likeness of her family members for when the figures became overly worn, but the thoughts were not too forthcoming today. Her mind was a flurry of things: dreams, past and the thought of what might happen in those she had tonight, lessons, interesting little facts stored away about such and such a person … they were all mingling in her mind and making concentration difficult.

 

She tucked it away, and reached for the pencil. The garden was somewhere she always came when Rossa needed to think, or to calm her thoughts enough to think, and today had been no exception. Her visits had been less and less frequent of late – maybe she was becoming used to dealing with the day-to-day stresses of Tower life and the increased responsibilities she had. Flicker… Rossa’s pencil began the initial strokes of the tiny stem in front of her that arched up towards a beautiful just-opening flower. It would be a lopsided bloom when it finally came fully out, but it would be beautiful to look at. The initial peace she felt as the design began to take shaped deepened, and Rossa noticed she was getting quicker at drawing things – her pencil flew over the paper; darkening here and there where it needed it, smudging some lines with her fingertip to give the effects she wanted … yes, the flower was definitely beginning to look more realistic. Rossa had tried studying it while she embraced Saidar once, and ever since that day she had paid far more attention to what she was seeing. It was all in the detail.

 

It was a peaceful feeling. Rossa turned her attention to the flower next to it, a leafy thing that seemed to be more leaf than blossom, and started sketching that, mentally putting the names to each of them as she did so. Her mind was completely calm.

 

Though education is your life, your thoughts shape how you live.

Honey curls embraced the book intently, delving into its dynamics. Dark eyes flitted, transparent with her uneasy sensibilities; its contents pored over, its withered pages doggeared, and the cover cracked as though from the intensity of her scrutiny. Her generous lips an unwilling rosebud, pursed beneath a cropped cap, its fringes hunched, tickling the grass, soft as dovebreasts.

 

The sun a great goldenleaf, and flowers everywhere, but Fie! What mattered earthly scents trapped in their mortal coils when the intrigues of the court just sentenced Arya to death for betraying the Duke? In sooth, it was unnerving, when one considered the art of manipulation: her noble father taught her Stones, how to lead, trap, and deceive, taking and crushing them while veiling your own purposes. Today her face rankled with recurring guilt, and her troubles concerned the past, hers, more than the characters themselves. Slumping, half-hypnotised by the warmth, the scents, her lids met and the padding below rosied with a flush of pleasure.

 

The scratching of graphite slashed into her sleep and stirring she blinked and cried out -- Mother! -- then realised that Lady Wastrel was not, could not be in the garden. Yet the blissed serenity on the Altaran's face had been absurdly similar to the figure in her childhood that it prompted the lump in her throat to obstruct any breath for all of two seconds before she fumbled her wits in horror.

~Rossa~

 

“Can I help you?”

 

The wandering figure of the Accepted she was friends with, Saline, had walked into the garden and had stopped right in front of Rossa. And quite blocking her view of the flowers Rossa was sketching. More blooms had joined the first with the excellently maintained flowerbed a dark carpet for them to stand on. It was both accurate and beautiful … now if only she were a little quicker. While Rossa contemplated her friend’s arrival she absently rubbed some of the pencil to smudge it a bit more, making the “ground” underneath the flowers seem richer, almost as though the lumps were visible in it. She was proud of it.

 

“Hello, Saline.” Rossa kept her voice calm, and looked around the white-clad form to see the grass on the edge of the well-maintained bed. As close as she could get it to be green by use of different shades. She used darker strokes for the tiny edges, and lighter ones where the sunlight caught it. “You look thoughtful, come and sit down. You can tell me what you think of my drawings.”

 

Still a little lost in thought, although she looked a bit startled, Saline crossed the garden to sit beside Rossa, folding her knees up delicately and probably finding the most comfortable piece of grass to sit on. It was nice to have her as a friend. They disagreed on some points, but it was inevitable. Generally, though, it was just nice to have someone she could talk to, even if both were suspicious of each other. There was Nerome…

 

He had been occupied with his studies, being the dutiful trainee. Rossa could relate. A lot of her time was spent studying, but she did miss him. With a smile, Rossa turned to Saline and passed over the sketchbook. “Here, please, tell me what you think.”

 

Perhaps love is the process of my leading you gently back to yourself.

- A. St. Expury

Despite having likened her friend to her lady mother, it was a genuine pleasure to see Rossa, one of the two whose hand toiled with hers to create this shrine of feathery tendrils and supple branches. There, the young women devoted themselves in cultivation of all that was beautiful. Infested by a strangeness she accepted Rossa's invite in a fog, devoting her attention to the tormoil within. Drawing her knees closer she reflected on the companionable closeness they shared at the moment. A tinge wistful; if only her life could be captured thus, a contented vignette. Change was not a negative influence, not necessarily, especially since people themselves were the agents of change. Influence of her friends would change her, but they might be able to know her good intentions in spite of any changes she affected. The dynamics of the connection between Rossa and Saline now, there had been some doubts she harboured that the other was well capable of in terms of influence and motives, but she intended on thinking less about the nature of their friendship and in fact -- simply enjoy it as long as it lasted.

 

- What if you do not like the person you change into and cannot find your way back?

 

- What is this nebulous hope for redemption, for one's friends to absolve them, when one cannot let go of the issues herself? Oh Saline you a wretched creature.

 

A countervoice took up the argument in an authoritarian manner, and suddenly it came to her. Life was the potential for change, change was inevitable, and not to change would be the living death. In a still of beauty and immortality. A finished piece will never change, pradoxically it could always change under an artist's portrayal, and the interpretation of its appreciative audience. It was perchance the most mystical, and mysterious of practices.

 

Browsing Rossa's sketchbook she was duly impressed. Amongst various scenes she saw most frequently the specimen of flowers and seeds, though one rough sketch there laid a beginning of a familiar face she thought she recognised, but it was better not to speculate even if Nerome had asked her to pass along a letter in the Yard before. For the more intricate drawings webbed script covered the properties of the herb as well as a scrawl with Rossa's name and date it was drawn. Its tremendous organisation reminded Saline of Lillian, whose meticulous notes awed her.

 

- How I would like to be able to draw.

- Why can't you learn?

 

"You know the Keeping weaves they teach us in Intermediate, Rossa? Your creations are keepers." Smiling she locked eyes with the Altaran noble, "These are absolutely amazing. This one for example is so true to life, I'm really lost as to how you do it." She was serious and sincere about her question, on the other hand she had flipped to the one of the trainee again, and the Taraboner's eyes sparkled with impish glee as she watched Rossa.

~Rossa~

 

Rossa was pleased at Saline’s reply and the appreciation of her drawings made her smile. She shared the smile with her friend, and was rewarded with a smile back. The pride Rossa felt in her work, she wanted to share with her friends because no one had been this close to her before, not without wanting something in return, or just playing Daes Dae’mar to further their own selfish cause. Rivals, she had those a-plenty. Friends were somewhat thinner on the ground.

 

“I can tell you a little about it, if you like?” Rossa looked at Saline and took the sketchbook back, opening it to a clean page. She plucked her pencil from her belt pouch and hovered it over the paper, wondering what she should draw to demonstrate. Well, there was no better thing to demonstrate skill than to sketch a person, and as Saline was the only other one of those here, Rossa decided to draw Saline.

 

“You see,” Rossa began, sketching a vaguely circular shape on the page and adding lines through it where the eyes would be positioned and her other features. “It’s all a matter of perspective. Just like in real life, things would look out of proportion from different angles – it is just the same with drawing, I find. Look at this, I’ll show you.” Sketching a second oval with similar lines in different places, and then a third, she began to add features on those lines. In the first picture the aspect would be from the front, so the Taraboner’s features would appear as though talking to them face to face.

 

On the second oval, Rossa drew the nose far to the side and only drew one eye so it looked as though the Accepted had been caught in profile, looking slightly down at the ground. The final one was a shorter, squatter oval and Rossa drew the lines to it looked as though the woman was looking up at the artist, large eyes shining thanks to careful use of leaving the paper clean. Deftly, Rossa added the lines that would give shape to the Accepted’s cheek and jaw, and added a few more lines to indicate locks of hair tumbling in uncharacteristic waves about her face rather than the usual Taraboner braids. “Do you see what I mean? A few simple lines put in a very slightly different position changes the aspect of the picture entirely. I suppose life is like that sometimes.”

 

Though she was not adoit at drawing, Saline was able to gauge quality of other's works, especially in Rossa's portfolio. Staring at the lines as almost magically a rather deer flushed from woods Saline was delineated she saw firsthand how Rossa was skilled. Another face joined the first, this one a side profile, almost a three-fourth view as Rossa etched, one stroke, then another showing the gentle slopes of her cheek. Immersed in her demonstration, the Altaran noblewoman spoke calmly and in a straightforward manner that Saline somehow sensed a sort of intimacy... closeness, mayhaps in a meeting of the minds, to pass on knowledge to another who showed passion. Feeling a tad self-conscious at the other's scrutiny she kept still as she could while being dipicted, not really smiling. When the third face emerged however she startled, then threw her head back and laughed in delight. It was a perfect hopeful puppy-eyed look of adoration, and she squatted on her heels on impulse to replicate exactly that as she stared up at Rossa, observing aloud. "My perception changes you as well, see. Your head is altered, hmm your chin is sharply angled from here, and I never knew how long and thick your eyelashes are, dear!"

 

More solemn she continued: "Some lives are stark enough that they can be represented with a few lines or expressions, but anything created like this can never be dismissed." Didn't know what possessed her to say it, really. Her smile faltered.

 

~Rossa~

 

She turned to her Taraboner friend and smiled. Someone appreciated her art! There was something troubling about the woman’s tone though that made Rossa’s intuition prick up. The expression of jollity had quickly slid off her face, compliments fading to comments like late summer into autumn chill. The smile became slightly subdued. Rossa lowered her eyes, (thickly lashed, indeed!) to her sketchbook again and pointed at each of the pictures in turn.

 

“Do you see though, Saline? Each of these pictures is you, yet you only really like one of them. We all have faces that we dislike about ourselves. Drawing helps me to find them, I think.”

 

She continued, tracing the lines of the third portrait, where the sketched Saline looked up with large eyes to stare out of the picture up to the sky above. Some of the pencil lines smudged, but the integrity remained, if only softened.

 

“Drawing has taught me to alter my perception of things a little, and with some thought applied to it you can tell a lot about a person.” She used a finger more smudge … there, perfect! “You can learn a lot about a person from their posture and, in older people, by their faces themselves, although obviously this doesn’t work for Aes Sedai. Lines about the eyes do, as a rule, indicate laughter, and lines around the mouth could indicate smiles or frowns – you have to watch the rest of a person to find out more. Slumped shoulders portray a defeated attitude whereas a straight back gives off a feeling of confidence. The little things, as I said, make all the difference.” The pencil flew again, drawing a little design of a chain in the corner with a rose in the centre of it – the insignia of House Venye. She would not be defeated by situations! Her chin came up fiercely.

 

“You made a good point though, Saline. Sometimes things are not as they seem – that is when you put two and two together, and hope to arrive at an answer of four. A person that walks with a limp in one leg, if faking, might switch from leg to leg if they are not fully aware who might be watching. It is always worth bearing little things like this in mind.” Whoever thought sketching would lead to a brief brush on the topic of politics?

 

“Why don’t you try to draw me? Start off with an oval, and divide it into quarters the way I did. Then add my eyes and shape my jaw, add hair – that sort of thing. It may take a bit of practice, but pay attention to details and it should reap rewards you never expected.”