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Rye landed on the ground when they were given a break. He did a brief inspection of his gear, wiped his mouth with his sleeve. He returned to the skies again, no bludger in sight for him to hit. Rye went dashing around to find one.

I'm sorry you guys are going through this. As I said earlier to those who know, that's another day for us northerners. But, I do hope you guys stay safe and warm. If you're not use to that type of weather, I can't imagine that it would be easy to handle.

Rye spotted a bludger, raising one arm he wield the bat and swung it as hard as he could. It went too far left, going nowhere near any of the seekers. Rye swerved around to look for a bludger to hit again.

Rye had no luck finding a bludger. He stops to see another beater successfully hit the bludger towards their seeker. Rye needed to be on that level, ASAP.

Rye nodded at his new captain, the boy glanced towards the other beaters who, from his prospective, weren't all that great. They kept hitting the wrong target, while Rye hadn't had a chance to take aim at anyone. Rye went flying away looking for bludger to give this damn bat a go.

A masked Rye arrived to quidditch tryouts gripping a broomstick in hand. Through the holes in the mask he wore, his eyes roam apathetically from one face to another. They eventually landed squarely on the captain when he stepped up to address those that were present. The older slytherin, well...