The calm from the morning's lesson lasted until Eric reached the mess hall. The noise was a physical assault after the deep, resonant silence of the reed and water. Clattering trays, shouted conversations, the scrape of a hundred chairs—it was chaos. He flinched, his new-found sensitivity feeling raw and violated.
He saw his roommates at their usual table. Silver was waving his arms, recounting some story. Opal was listening to Mantra with a slight smile. Gary was staring into space, methodically breaking a roll into pieces. They were a bubble of familiar chaos within the greater storm.
Eric collected a bland-looking stew and bread and made his way over. He slid into an empty seat beside Bart, who gave him a wordless nod.
"Where've you been?" Silver asked, not pausing his story. "You missed Lancel's morning hell-sprints. It was glorious. Gary almost puked."
"I had… extra training," Eric said, stirring his stew.
