Disclaimer: All characters and locations owned by Tamora Pierce. Plot-line and actual written words are owned by myself.
Lark
Lark was weaving a soft-looking rug from some sort of fleecy yarn when Tris walked in. Feigning nonchalance, she examined the warm colors and rounded shapes stretched on the loom. She was so distracted by her pretence it was a moment before she noticed Lark had stopped her work and was looking at her.
"I was meaning to take a break, anyway," she said with a smile. "Why don't you sit and join me?"
Tris sat obediently.
The silence was brief, and then Tris spoke. "Have you ever felt like you couldn't control your own mind?" she asked Lark.
"Often," answered Lark in her reassuring voice, "and not just when I was your age."
"You mean it's not going to get any better?" Tris almost wailed.
"It'll get better," said Lark, "but, knowing you, never quite good enough."
Tris picked at a fingernail stub. "It's just, my mind is all that's really worth anything in me – " she confessed, but Lark cut in uncharacteristically.
"You know that's not true."
Tris hesitated. "All the same, I hate this feeling of it running away from me, dragging me to places I have no interest in going to."
"That's perfectly understandable," Lark replied.
"So what do I do? Just weather it out?" Tris asked with a distressed frown.
"I'm afraid there's little more you can do, and next to nothing I can do for you," said Lark sympathetically.
Tris was halfway up the stairs to the roof before it dawned on her that she'd not told Lark a word about the nature of the unbridled thoughts that were burdening her mind. She smiled. Having someone she could trust without exposing the cause of her embarrassment was a great relief.
