Birthing Date: 12.01.2741
Craft: Dragonhealer (Journeyman)
Cavira will never draw attention from her looks alone. While tall for a girl, at five ten, she is thin, approaching scrawny. Her features, while not quite horrid, are far from beauty. Cavira's nose is far too large for her face, her lips are thin and her eyebrows are thick, brown and unresponsive to any efforts to tame them. Her tan skin and brown wavy hair are unremarkable in the southern continent. Her brown eyes should be equally ordinary, but there is always a determined glint to them that makes some people take a second look. Not everybody, but some people.
Cavira, having never been particularly vain, typically dresses fairly casually, favoring pastel colors and simple cuts that do something to hide her too thin body and practically non-existent breasts. She wears her hair tied back and out of they way of her face and hands. The one luxury she does allow herself appearance-wise is jewelry. Cavira loves jewelry and is rarely found not wearing, at the very least, a necklace, a bracelet and at least two rings. These accessories can sometimes border on gaudy, but Cavira typically saves her flashiest gems for special events, much to her mother' relief.
Cavira, while not vain, is confident. She's nineteen turns old, weyrbred and a newly promoted journeywoman dragonhealer, and she knows she'll be a master eventually. This confidence typically expresses itself in her willingness to express her thoughts, regardless of their correctness. These thoughts are often critical, as Cavira compares those around her to herself and finds them wanting. She is particularly unimpressed with her fellow candidates. So few of them have a back-up plan and the weyrbred ones should know how few of them will Impress. She knows what she's doing and she needs to share this wisdom, Cavira firmly believes, and has no qualms about doing so to Candidates older and more experienced than herself.
While Cavira loves herself fairly thoroughly, she loves her craft even more. After turns of study, she is a confident and adept healer and is confident that she has seen the worst her craft has to offer. This confidence is a bit misplaced, as she is still protected from the truly horrific injuries due to her youth, but it enables her to maintain a calm facade while examining injured patients.
When it comes to other people, when Cavira isn't offering unsought advice, she typically avoids them. Cavira very often quite frankly can't think of all that much to say to most of the fools she seems to end up around for some reason and doesn't see the point in bothering with small talk. If she's not going to enjoy the conversation and you're not going to enjoy the conversation, then why have it? Surely you can find a better use for your time, right? Cavira has lessons to learn, bandages to wrap and numbweed to boil. Go do whatever it is you do. Due to this attitude, Cavira does not have overly many close friends, male or female. And, in all honesty, that doesn't bother her in the slightest. Nope, not even a bit. Whether or not that's the denial talking is...a matter of debate.
Cavira was born in Southern Weyr and was indoctrinated with their liberal agenda nearly from the day she was born. Raised to believe it was ability, not birth or dragon color or anything else coincidental that determined worth, a lesson firmly enforced by her mother, Chasara, Cavira was competitive from the day she could walk. Cavira wanted to be the best, wanted to prove her worth to, well, everybody. She pushed herself at Harper lessons until she could remember the songs perfectly and sing with flawless pitch. She pushed herself at play until she rarely lost a race. The only thing she never attempted was pranking. She wanted to be someone important someday, after all, and important people followed the rules.
When she was finally old enough to apprentice, Cavira, despite her numerous cultivated talents, knew exactly what she wanted to do. She would be a dragon healer, like her father. He was well on his way to becoming a master, she had heard, and she wanted that too. Even if she hadn't seen him since she was a baby, blood would tell, she'd been told. Much to her shock, Cavira was not naturally gifted at healing. She found, to her displeasure, that blood, green or red, made her queasy and that she could hardly tolerate the smell of numbweed. So what was Cavira to do? Sit in on other healers' operations of course and watch until she went numb. It worked, eventually, and, after nearly a turn of sitting on the sidelines and watching, Cavira began to work for real. Her candlemarks of observation, coupled with her steady hands and stoic demeanor, served her well and she quickly recovered from the lost turn of practice. She earned the praise of her masters and was entirely unsurprised when she made journeywoman at the age of nineteen, soon after her father, she had heard, made master. Unfortunately, he had been recently transferred to Eastern and had been unable to attend her promotion, but she didn't care. She didn't need him. She was a journeyman. Although it was a shame his first extended visit with her in years had been cut short...He did seem like a very capable man, after all.
Cavira planned on spending the next turn working harder than ever when it happened. A southern queen clutched on Eastern sands and Southern Candidates would be permitted to stand. Candidacy had never tempted Cavira, and it didn't then, but the thought of tracking down her father, that did interest Cavira greatly. He was a master dragonhealer, after all, and nearly as smart as herself, at the very least. He had interesting things to say, more interesting things than anything her mother knew. Much to the shock of the few who knew her well, Cavira volunteered her services as a Candidate and was found acceptable. Not surprised in the least by her suitability, Cavira took off for Eastern weyr, planning on tracking her father down and telling him that she had been promoted. Not that he probably cared or anything, but he still should know.