The sky was a boundless field of white coursing with small bumps and valleys, like the mountain range it was hovering over. It rarely snowed on Pre'Mian since it was a jungle planet with a twin star for a sun. The only areas that ever had any chances of getting snow were the mountain ranges. Much to the chagrin of some of the residents, The Ring of Fire happened to be at a high altitude in a mountain range meaning they'd get snow.

Not all of the residents hated snow, though. Most were indifferent, a handful really hated it, and at least one person that resided in the inactive volcano turned dragonry absolutely loved it. In fact, she loved it enough that she would summon up snowstorms just to see it again--despite her sister's complaints. She was one of the few people with powerful healing and battle magic to be dubbed a white archmage instead of a black one. Storm Mage Willow, the head healer at RoF.

As the first flake came drifting down, narrowly escaping being melted by the actual ring of fire at the top of the volcano, the blonde-haired woman stretched out her hand to catch it. Willow opened her eyes--which almost matched the color of stormy skies--and watched the intricate creation of ice melt in her hand. The healer smiled to herself, looking back up into the white and grey sky. She was very lucky her sister was away with her dragon, otherwise she'd be griping about the cold.

Willow didn't blame Lani for it, though. She felt the same way about heat as the Firelancer did about cold. That's what happens when people are on the opposite ends of the magical spectrum. Perhaps a few others would complain, but it was still early morning now. No one would know that she had summoned the storm. The white mage stood for a few more moments at the window opening onto what would be called the 'weyrbowl' at some places, watching more and more flakes fall until it was a regular blizzard.

Once snow had begun to coat the center of the lush, green crater the storm mage stepped away from the window. Others would have been out of bed and about their early morning duties by the time she'd left the window. In fact, she could hear footsteps and talking in the hallways inside the cliff. Rock was bad for muffling sounds, at least where there was plenty of room for it to travel. Blade, Willow’s husband, was already up and out of bed when she headed back into the apartment to get dressed.

All of the apartments had an area for one or two dragons to comfortably sleep. Willow frowned at it as she passed. So far she’d stood as a candidate at two clutches, but no dragon had ever chosen her. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for it-but she wanted a dragon. She didn’t really know why other than that she’d always liked them and had been very upset when none of the hatchings had even given her a first look. Discouraging really, so she had given up after two disappointments.

The hallways were bustling with activity as various people got ready for various activities. Mixed Media of course was a strong number of people, and all were somehow made to do their share whether they liked it or not. Luckily for them, probably all had magic which sometimes made their chores go quicker. The place couldn't run with a bunch of slackers around-though the lot of them would have preferred to be slackers, no doubt.

Willow's job was as the head healer. She took care of the sick or injured, trying her best to return them to health with magic. There were doctors, also. She knew about magic, reading, writing, and acting. Not medicine which was used most of the time except in more dire cases when it was necessary for a quick recovery to save a person's life.

Luckily there was a lull in the inter-dimensional and interplanetary wars, so she was getting a break. Christmas was coming up, though, so she'd organized a small skit for the Christmas party. It was interesting, though it would probably only stay within Mixed Media.

Many of the male dragonriders that had come to visit RoF stayed clear of Willow, or at least the ones that were trouble. They’d learned a little while ago that here they kept their hands off the women-or suffer the consequences. A few had been hit in the crotch by the ornamented end of the healer’s staff when their behavior had become…inappropriate. It wasn’t a lesson they’d soon forget, either; unless they were that desperate and that stupid. These women weren’t your average dragonry folk-they were warriors, with attitudes.

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