The Starsmiths say it is 3 Turns, 9 months, and 19 days into the 10th Pass.

Creche
There are two busy rooms here. The first, a large, brightly colored playroom, is filled with toys, small, soft rugs, and child-sized tables and chairs. Another section of the room has small beds which are able to be pulled out for sleeping at night. The second room, separated from the other by a thick hanging, is the infants' sleeping room. This is pretty obvious, as there are two rows of baby beds, several rocking chairs, and many, many stuffed animals around. Both rooms are usually overseen by a nanny or two, though there are those moments when an unsuspecting parent is called into duty for a while.
Madri is here.

Madri
The Turns have been kind to this woman: few lines mar features save the fine creases that mark humour and nature and the jagged scar that now highlights her right cheek from apple's crest to angled jaw-line. A lasting reminder of her recent encounter with Thread. One time sun-caught wavy brown hair has been bleached a lighter brunette by daylight's kiss, while rich carmel-hued rivers cascade into loose curls and layers that swing mid-back. Skin, now caressed with the sun's golden light would have been fair were it not for the long hard days working out in the elements. Evenly set eyes slanted just enough, reflect a more amber tone rather than the one time hazel, but still glow with an inner exuberance that can only be credited to her adored lifemate. Full lips, high cheekbones, and a firmly set chin add to her overall appearance. Height is on the average to tall-ish side and the overall frame of her body is curvy with lean and toned muscles keeping things slender and fluid; a 'gift' from long turns of active riding.
Light has been eclipsed by night: blackness dominates across a tunic of nubbly linen plunging neckline nearly meeting the hem as it falls only halfway down her torso. Raven hues of the outer jacket drape shoulder from round neckline, edged in fine woven trim. Shadows play along fitted sleeves, desinged not to impede but yield to Madri's movements. The night is again confined by the blackened skin tight leather of her trousers that follow her legs to greet her boots a study of midnight indifference.
Madri is 44 Turns, 11 months, and 20 days old.

Nomi
Slender and slight, with quixotic grey-green eyes and a tumble of soot-edged, blood-red curls, this feisty woman has finally grown into her peaked ears and big teeth. Tanned and toned, a certain felinic power has been gained along with her health and she moves with surety and even a measure of grace. The shadow of her dragon lurks just beneath the surface.
A simple copper ring bands her to someone, whilst a fancy gold-twined knot claims her for Fort Weyr.
Dressed for the heat of summer, light sisals in pale blue and gold lay loosely on Nomi's thin frame. Her sky-hued shirt is slit with white and open at the back as far as is seemly, whilst weightless skirts of honey and amber float high above her beaded sandals.
Nomi is 24 Turns, 4 months, and 8 days old.
Reaffirmed in her knot and her dragon and her man, Nomi has trouble containing her newly-flown happiness.

It is the end of shift for Madri, having returned from wherever it was R'ish had sent her and N'tan off to (and where they'd opted to go) and having caught up on a rather obscene pile of notes, scrolls and general work regarding her new weyrlings. It's here she's come seeking a little bit of sanctuary, taking delight in those moments of just her and the babes. As far as she's concerned they are alone and for the prying eye they will find Fort's Weyrlingmaster down on the ground and frolicking around in simplistic joy with Tamidra, Tamari, and Thamir.

Nomi has her eyes and her ears within the Weyr and it did not take her long to find the Weyrlingmaster. She might well have just guessed that when Madri is not with the weyrlings, she would be with her other children. It is with some hesitation that the little weyrwoman dares to intrude on the mother and her children, but encroach she does. "Hullo, Weyrlingmaster." Closer, still, to stand nearby and smile down at the triplets, "No trouble telling them apart?"

Madri knows that voice all too well and with her back to the direction it comes from, it enables her to wince just a little. The four had been in an entangle mess of runner-play and frivolity, so it will take a couple more moments for this mom to detangle herself, at least to some degree and glance back towards Nomi. "Weyrwoman." Inquisitive gaze asks what words don't before she bothers to add. "None whatsoever. Mother's always know their children best."

"Indeed." Nomi looks irritatingly happy, bright-eyed and bushy tailed. Freshly bathed and dressed for summer, she is obviously comfortable in her not-proddy skin again but for the stiffness in her limbs that shortens her motions and shreds any innate grace. She cannot be anything but delighted with Sidiji's flight and will not disrespect this woman by pretending otherwise. But she is not unaware of their awkwardness, together, and does not at all intend any harm. "Do you mind if we talk a moment, Madri? Though I am loathe to intrude on what little free time you have."

The Weyrlingmaster is not without her own sense of contentment but she will indeed loathe the request to seperate from her children. Time is short and precious these days and every moment with them is a cherished one. A sigh ensues but so does a nod and Madri will slowly extricate herself from the tangle of near-toddler limbs and surrender their attention to one of the nurses who so conveniently walked it. Turning her gaze back on Nomi, she'll focus, "And what is it you would wish to discuss?"

"Tamari, Tamidra, and Thamir, actually." Nomi tries not to look pleased she managed to get their names right -- if indeed she did. "And Thari too, for that matter." The Weyrwoman has nothing to offer in return, of course, and comes to Madri as supplicant without a sacrifice. "Forgive me if it is too soon to speak of your children, Madri, but there seems no reason to wait either. I've asked the Weyrleader to move into my weyr, again." Their weyr, really, once, "And I would make a home for his children as well, please, if you would allow it?" Nomi does not want to supplant Madri from their lives, as if she could even try, no, nor negate the home the Weyrlingmaster makes for them. "They spend much of their time in the creche, I know, and that is good I think. But I want them to be welcome in my home, too, in addition to yours. The babies and Thari too, if she spends any time here. I'd like to be a part of their lives, Madri." So small, this Nomi, unsure of her place and struggling to make room in her busy life for Th'deus and all his other families. "Please? I'd like your blessing for this, Madri, or at least your permission."

[Switch from online work-slow Rp to email.]

Nomi allows herself to be backed out of the creche. One doesn't brave a momma bear in her den, to be sure. She will stand in the doorway awhile, ignoring the pain in her arm and trying to maintain her composure with the armor of polite diplomacy she wears so well. "I do not plot with children, Madri and am sorry you think so low of me." Nomi has no ploy here, no plan, no agenda. "But I am a part of his life again, as he is mine. I love him." Simple words. Honest words. "A Weyr needs a Weyrleader, Madri. And a man needs his children around him." Her insult rolls off her as water off an oiled firelizard. Nomi knows her worth and is proud of the likes of herself: hardworking and diligent, respected, respectful, fairly charismatic and occasionally even clever, she is not ashamed at all of who and what she is. "I love him, Madri. And through him, I will love these children. Of course I don't intend to raise them, but I do intend to love them. I had hoped you might understand this."