The Weaver hid behind a pile of barrels as Rumel and Haramhold left for the dining hall. He smiled at Rumel's slight grumbling. If he didn't like the way the spirits were painting the ship, he should be thrilled when he saw The Weaver's sail flying proudly from the ship's mast. Dashing up onto the deck, The Weaver gave a nod to the spirits artfully embelishing the ship. "Beautiful work, my friends. Don't let Rumel's words discourage you. He'll come to realize the value of aesthetics in creation some day." With a wink, The Weaver carefully climbed the mast up to the crow's nest, the sail carefully held under one arm. Unfolding it, he made a few quick adjustments. The plain white sail that Rumel had wanted fluttered slowly to the ground, and the tapestry fell into the space it had formerly occupied. "There. Rumel's craftsmanship, Haramhold's dedication, and my eye for color. The ship is almost perfect. It just needs...a natural touch." The Weaver gazed off towards the forest where he had left Soreal, Jongo, and Fayruz. He sincerely hoped Soreal was alright. She seemed troubled, on the day she should be the happiest.
Then The Weaver saw another sight. Carolinus, walking away from the training grounds. Even from this distance, The Weaver could feel the anger burning off his brother. It was worrisome. Almost as worrisome as the sight at the training grounds The Weaver chose to ignore. So many emotions running rampant today. He hoped the banquet tonight would go smoothly.
The Weaver snuck into the kitchen via a back door. He wasn't afraid of his siblings, but he quite enjoyed the smells that Llassar and the culinary spirits conjured from biological stuffs. Which is why he was surprised to instead find Jongo. Making...something. "Hello again Jongo. Fancy seeing you here. Llassar finally cave to your constant pleas to help with dinner?" The Weaver stood behind his eldest sibling, and took a whiff of the creation upon the counter. Delicious, in an odd sort of way.