And that name, ringing through the air between them, was the only word she needed to say. The change in his demeanor was visible, and his dark eyes instantly stormed over as all the complicated mess of feeling he had for his weyrwoman -- he refused to say 'former' -- rolled over him.
((Vastolth. Get back here now.)) The voice was insistent and left no room for negotiation. He could feel the bronze grumbling, but starting to shift his weight and move.
"Follow me..." he turned away, relieved to face away from her while he composed himself. Was she going to tell him to leave her alone? He wouldn't do that, not unless Tyne asked him to, and he would ask for a transfer anywhere at that point to not have to be so close and so far from her again. Whatever this healer had to say, he was going to make sure that she knew he was there to stay.
He led her to his weyr. A sevenday or so had passed -- S'ryll stopped counting the days as they no longer mattered -- and he'd settled in nicely. It was not, as he'd made it sound, a weyr the size fit for a blue, but nor was it a huge weyr. Regardless, it was already outfitted as if he'd lived there for a Turn. The whole thing screamed casual comfort, from the floor coverings, to the small touches in the decor. It was sparse of 'things,' the little knickknacks that some riders had, but those that were there were nice. The central table had what was obviously dragon shell on it, the edges cast in silver and made to stand on edge. A couple paintings even adorned the walls, artist abstracts or some strange perspective of a runner in one, or a dragon in the other. Fluffy pillow replaced the standard ones on the couch, and a soft blanket was thrown over the back. And it all fit him, his personality, even at just first glance, so nicely.
"Have a seat where you'd like, Healer Idri," he said as they entered. He heard dragon wings beyond the chamber, and the bronze gave a rumble to announce his arrival.