Logs:Gallagher's Top Secret Candidacy Diary
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| RL Date: 1 November, 2013 |
| Who: Gallagher |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: Gallagher: Candidate, Brother, Bounty Hunter |
| Where: High Reaches Weyr (mostly) |
| When: Day 6, month 13, turn 32 - Day 22, month 2, turn 33 |
| Mentions: Ali/Mentions, Alida/Mentions, Aseana/Mentions, Azaylia/Mentions, B'gherio/Mentions, Elesi/Mentions, Gaelan/Mentions, Gheara/Mentions, Ghena/Mentions, Gallania/Mentions, Hana/Mentions, Hattie/Mentions, Jo/Mentions, Lansha/Mentions, Leara/Mentions, Laghnei/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Karwick/Mentions, N'rov/Mentions, Pim/Mentions, Rhey/Mentions, Rone/Mentions, Taikrin/Mentions, Tillion/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: This is really long. I'm not certain Gallagher actually keeps a diary. If he does, it's super duper coded, nigh unbreakable. If not, these are his thoughts as though he did keep one. Either way, this is What All Goes On with Gallagher during his candidacy that were things happening in the background, but not IC knowledge to most. If anything here looks interesting to you as something you want to get involved with, let me know and I'll see what we can work up together! |
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| Day 6, Month 13, Turn 32 - Arrival at the Weyr Already the landscape has changed. I was here little more than a month ago and the faces have multiplied in the lower caverns. Winter, it seems, has slowed the trickle of incoming refugees, but the flow isn't frozen solid. Sometimes they're brought in adragonback, sometimes shivering on a train. I wonder how many dead will be found in the thawing of the snow, how many who'd sought sanctuary found only a cold embrace and a different kind of release from the fears following too close at their heels. With so many new faces, extracting the wanted mightn't be so easy a task as I'd suspected. I may have to stay longer than planned. I'll have to play this smart to not get caught. Would they care? They might. Some people have tender hearts, even when the paperwork is in order. I've stashed the warrants where they won't be found. There's something to be said for being on familiar ground. The ex-con and I took care of business first thing. We talked about changing the records, but it was easier to just grease the right palm. And knowing whose palm was the right one? Well, like I said. There's something to be said for being on familiar ground. The bounties will more than make up for what it took to see to it that the appropriate records were "lost." The same assistant got me my knot and I headed for the barracks. Lots of empty bunks. Makes me wonder what it would have been like to Stand during a Pass. If the refugees keep coming in, maybe I'll yet find out what it's like to have forty-nine roommates. Chose a bunk that suits me. Near to the door as I can get without being too near anyone else. I'm told I've got two rest days to get settled in and then it's onto the chore rotation with the rest of them. I'll make the most of my time after I stop in at Ma and Pa's. They'll send one of the gaggle down to jump on me in my sleep if they don't hear the news from me first. Besides, there's the matter of my age. They're not going to like that I'm using candidacy for personal financial gain, so I'd best do the impassioned plea thing about how I've always wanted a chance to Stand, but they had always told me the guard was important and to honor our family's heritage and blah blah blah. That ought to work. Back-up plan: pull out leg hair until I cry. Day 7, month 13, turn 32 My legs are grateful the back-up plan wasn't necessary. Pa's disappointed, but Ma's supportive. She corralled his frustration after a time and their collective support seems solid enough. Ghena is another matter. I'm sure Laghnei won't give me away, but Ghena... She always has loved the spotlight too much, and this is her first time Standing. I walked back with her to the barracks, the barracks we now share, and she told me it wasn't fair. She whined. I used guilt to get her silence for now, guilt that I'm twenty-seven and never stood because Ma and Pa wanted me to go to their home and do good work, that she's only fifteen and has plenty of time. It worked, for how long though, I can't say. I'll have to find a better way to get her to keep her silence. The trouble with Ghena is that she's never been ashamed of anything in her life; the easiest way to blackmail someone is with shame. She's selfish though, so there's that to work with. If I can sort out something she wants more than she wants to out me and hold it over her like a carrot to a mule... Well, we'll see. Day 9, month 13, turn 32 Still getting reacquainted with the Weyr and first-time acquainted with candidacy. Met the clutchsire. He seems decent enough. He was with some who rescued the goldriders at Fort. He's said he'll let me pick his brain over a drink. He'll even buy. (Gallagher 2, Paying For Drinks 0; win!) Got under the Acting Weyrleader's skin for talking about what I think candidates ought to be doing. Supposedly the offer still stands that if I don't Impress, I'm welcome to stay, though I can't see him personally being very keen on my staying on. Then again, he seems like a man with something to prove. That might get him into trouble yet. Though, he's only "acting" Weyrleader. New girl in the barracks today. One of the refugees. She cried when he told her she could. Though that might be because there were so many eyes on her. I wonder what makes her want to stay when everything she knows was taken from her? Was it serendipity for her to be here to ask to Stand or is she just making the most of a bad situation? Did she always want to be a rider or only now that she's been forced away from everything she's ever known? I'll ask Pim if I have a chance. Day 12, month 13, turn 32 She flirted with me. The blonde. The guard. At least, I think she flirted with me. Attention from a guard isn't promising, but maybe if she's more interested in flirting, she won't be poking around any of the things I don't want poked. That came out wrong. Whatever. She's attractive, in her way. There's no arguing that. I must be getting old though, because I don't hunger for the hunt. Flirtations... well, they're well and good, I suppose but Faranth knows I've never been good at them. Too curious to be charming. Too busy unraveling puzzles and spouting philosophy to stop and sort what could be made of a flirtation. Maybe I'm just bored with the pleasures of the flesh. Every meeting is much like the next. Not that there isn't a degree of satisfaction to be drawn from any momentary coupling, but what's the point if you're not trying to couple for good? And I'm not. So what's the point? Day 15, month 13, turn 32 The chores are interminable. Some are pointless. Well, not pointless, so much as thoughtless. Obviously, they're done by others when there aren't candidates about, so why not put the candidates to whatever they'll be most useful with? If they're feeding us, they might as well get the best contributions we have to offer in the meantime. Instead of shoveling runner shit, I could be hunting; I'm like as not a better shot than most they send out. You'd think in a time of shortage, they'd take the time to cultivate the strengths they're offered, even if it's only for the short term. It's not like the chores really teach us something about raising dragons. Sure, there's mucking that'd need to be done, and some degree of nannying, but to spend our days doing these chores? For what? To have something to pass the time that contributes? Nothing wrong with that, but it's a waste. Day 18, month 13, turn 32 We were shoveling snow in the bowl when Karwick started crying. He and I were a ways off from the rest and I hadn't spoken in quite a time, so I was relatively sure it wasn't something I'd said. Karwick was young. Fourteen or fifteen at most by my reckoning. I'd heard him at night, trying to muffle the sounds of nightmares with his pillow. He was one of the lot from Nabol, but I hadn't spoken to him much. I set my shovel in a drift and stepped to where he was working. He wasn't making progress, anymore, just mixing mud with slosh and making things more difficult, but I don't expect he could see through the tears that must've been flowing a time before he couldn't keep in a sob. No use in letting him make a mess, so my hand closed over his on the top of the shovel. "Why not take a rest." It wasn't really a suggestion. "We've been at it a while. Let's get some klah or tea or something." He wasn't in a state to reply, really, with the way his upper teeth were clenched to his lower lip, holding in another sob. Maybe it's strange that I'm better with men than with women when it comes to tears, but in training, there were tears. Tears of homesickness or tears of doubt, frustration, or stress. You hid them, of course. But sometimes, a promising cadet just needed a few words. Sometimes a cadet needed to toughen up. I thought about Karwick and decided he was the former. All I'd heard about him so far indicated he was a good kid. We found an empty tunnel to take our tea in. "Want to tell me what's going on?" It's the most logical question to start with. I wasn't going to pry answers from him if he wasn't of a mind to speak on it. "The shoveling," Karwick managed after he'd had some sips. He'd calmed some on the walk, no more tears flowing. "With you. All quiet like that. Reminded me of doing it with Karson." "Karson?" "He is-" He caught himself and his glassy eyes had to blink down at his mug. "He was my older brother." He gave the tea his attention and I kept my silent vigil until he spoke again. "He was three turns older than me, but we were close. It was our job to keep the path from the hold to the barn clear when it snowed. Couldn't leave the stock to fend for themselves for days on end come winter. Always chores to be done, no matter how much snow there was. So we were always shoveling. And complaining about it." Karwick hadn't looked at me. "Well, you know what they say, complaining makes the time pass quicker when the work is long and boring." I injected a little lightness into my tone, not true levity, just something not as heavy to buoy up the dark topics at hand. "Yeah. We were shoveling. When the soldiers came." Karwick swallowed convulsively, the memory too real, if I were to guess. "They wanted Karson to go with them. To join the army." Rone's army. "But he didn't want to go." The words stopped because he's chewing his lip, or maybe he was chewing his lip because he had to stop the words. "But they made him?" I guessed, keeping my tone quiet and gentled. "Tried to." Swallow. I shifted, placing my hand on Karwick's shoulder. I was used to seeing boys as men. Men in training, but still men. But boys in training in Crom wouldn't be recruited like this, wouldn't be used like this, except in a dire situation, the like of which I hope never to live to see. And in this moment, I didn't see Karwick as a man, but as a boy. A boy who shouldn't bear this alone. Perhaps a touch to the shoulder is too simple an act, but sometimes simple acts have the most power. "They held me back. Held us all back as he lay dying." Karwick started to shake. "Even my father wasn't strong enough to break against so many and get to him." His breath drew raggedly and he was not seeing his tea. Not seeing this tunnel. Not seeing the Weyr at all. "I know Karson knew he wasn't alone when he died," The boy's green eyes were abruptly on me, wet once again. "But it doesn't change that I feel like I should've done more. Could have done more. If only I'd been stronger." He's a branch of a boy, all legs and arms with seemingly not much between. I had no words for his experience. For his pain. I know death, but not like this. So I let my hand rest. "The soldiers wanted to take me after that. My ma convinced them I was only twelve and wouldn't be of use to them. Called me horrible things. Weak. Cowardly. Scared. In that moment, anyone would've believed it all. Especially..." He hesitated, reaching to wipe tears off suddenly flaming cheeks, "Especially since I pissed myself." The admission came too quickly and with a sigh, his shoulders sought to hunch in his shame. I found words. Maybe they weren't right, but they were what I had. "Many a brave man has pissed himself looking death in the eye and gone on to live. The ones who have reason to be embarrassed are the ones who laid down and went quietly." I squeezed his shoulder. That got a ghost of a smile; it wasn't a real curve of his lips but just the faint idea that someday his lips would find a way to smile again, in spite of everything. It was the tiniest bit of hope. "Ma sent me to the Weyr after that. They only burnt half our crops since Pa managed to reason with them that they'd cost him the labor to harvest, so the least they could do is leave us with something. I think the man he convinced must've felt some kind of remorse for how things had happened, or he wouldn't've let himself be convinced. At least if I Stand and Impress I'll be doing Karson proud." He stole a breath. "And I'll never die alone." I squeezed again. I don't know how dragons choose, whether they take the fearful and weak with the clear-headed and strong, but it would have been a crime to let Karwick's hope die. "You look for him, then. Your lifemate. Come hatching day." I patted then, though awkwardly. I frowned, feeling inadequate, so I added, "It may not always feel like it, but somehow, someway, you'll sort how to live with all that's happened, and things will get better. Won't ever be perfect, but better." This much I knew to be true from the hard lessons I've earned in life. No matter how bleak the world seems, how loveless, how cruel, or how unfair, as long as you want to carry on, you'll always find a way. Never surrender. Day 22, month 13, turn 32 Tillion was loud. Everything about him was loud. His mouth, the way he moved, the way he pulled attention magnetically, even his clothes. It baffled me when he told the story at dinner of how he managed to slip the pack of Rone's recruiters and find his way to the Weyr. "I'd been with them only a seven," He told the story the same way every time and this was his opening line. "Just long enough that they stopped paying so much attention to me and not long enough for me to have my brains scrambled by the pro-Rone mumbo-jumbo the officers were always spouting." I thought about mouthing the words along with them, they were so repetitive this third time he'd told the story tonight, but I was already alienating myself from most of the candidates enough; the last thing I needed was to antagonize one of the ones well-liked by the rest. "Come nightfall, I took my chance and slipped out when the watch was asleep at his post. I can't be sure, because I never saw them myself, but I heard hounds not far off some nights while I found places to sleep and stuff to keep myself fed, so I assume they were tracking me." Once again, my intuition twisted like a noose in a wicked wind. How could a seventeen turn old pretty boy like this not only manage to slip Rone's camp so easily, and manage to not starve or get frostbite in the five days he claims before a dragonrider found him during sweeps? Something still doesn't add up. Maybe he's a spy, or maybe he's just a glory hog. I'd be inclined to think the latter, which only makes me think the former more. If he is a spy, Rone could've picked a subtler one. But even so most of the candidates seem happy enough to spill their guts to him, the girls especially. I'm keeping an eye on Ghena. Making sure she doesn't get too close, doesn't say anything I wouldn't want spread around. She knows better, but if she'd know better in a moment, I can't say. Day 27, month 13, turn 32 It's that time of turn again. The time to reflect and make resolutions for the turn to come. I have one. Just one this turn. I've felt more and more as time wears on that there's little point to-- well, everything. Not in the sense that I'm some kind of sissy depressed, just seeing less and less order and meaning in the world around me. I've less purpose. Less passion. If I were telling it true, the reason I don't mind taking the chance that there might be a lifemate on those sands for me is because I have to hope that there's more to things than this. I'm a day early, but tomorrow's to be a busy one. Day 28, month 13, turn 32 and day 1, month 1, turn 33 - Turnover I'd be in trouble without Laghnei. She told the assistant minding the candidate roster that she was taking me on a family function for turnover and she'd be responsible for me, otherwise getting out of the Weyr would've proven problematic. I could have asked Taikrin, but that'd be cutting a bit much into her turnover plans, whatever they are. Laghnei'll take me and leave me and know where to find me if the eggs start rocking, though they oughtn't for sevens yet. We stopped in Crom proper first to pick up Nan's turnover gifts. You'd think the woman didn't do anything all turn but make turnover gifts for the lot of us. Laghnei barely could fit everything into Cerzoth's packs. She looks older. I confess to worry now that I'm not there to look in on her. We had to take tea with the others, of course. No seeing Nan without the rest. My cheeks were so pink from pinching by the time that we left, you'd think twenty turns had melted away from me while I'd been away. It smelled like porcine when we arrived. Winter lessened the impact with the way it froze the earth, but it always smelled like porcine, and not the kind that makes your mouth water. But I wasn't here for the pigs. Bright eyes peeked through the half-shuttered windows as I worked my way through the snow from Cerzoth. There was a time when they would've bowled me over, but they've learned since. I almost sighed. Turnover is hands down the most uncomfortable time of the turn. There's no escaping the scowl on Aseana's mouth when she opened the door; a mouth that used to be pretty but has seen too many scowls now to qualify. I told her she's looking beautiful anyway, it saved me headaches later to let her show her disdain for me sooner. "Happy turnover, kids." I greeted, but, even to me, it sounded hollow. Day 5, month 1, turn 33 I stabbed myself again. Elesi laughed. It was a cycle that repeated every few minutes in the time Elesi and I sat at the nighthearth working on the simpler mending. They left the hard stuff - the garments and such - to the talented seamstresses of the Weyr, but candidates chores included helping with things like tablecloths or napkins. Things that needed minor fixes to be serviceable. I'd worked with a leather needle before, which I suppose is part of the point of mending as 'training to become dragonriders,' but those for sewing are so much daintier, I found them unwieldy between my fingers. Elesi's fingers were nimble enough with her own that she was able to watch my face while she made lines to close the gaps of the fabric. It's not like I made noise when I stabbed myself, but it was unexpected enough each time to make me grimace. She was one of the older candidates, twenty-one or more. "It's not that funny, you know." I pointed out. "Oh, but it is!" She insisted with one of her broad smiles. "You're always so painfully competent at everything, Gal. It's nice to see you clumsy for a change. Helpless even. It's sort of even a little cute." Her flirtations I recognized as the harmless sort. The sort with no real intentions behind them. Those were alright. "Yeah? So all I have to do to get a girl around here is act helpless and clumsy, huh?" I let my lips slide into a smirk, shifting my grip on my needle. "That's all you have to do most places. Or men in general. Some women can't help themselves when it comes to men that can't seem to take care of themselves." Elesi's eyes rolled, though there was more than humor behind the remark. "Anyone we know in particular?" "Not we, but I. My sisters. Their husbands. My mother always thought marrying a wealthy but inept man was the way to go, to get a little more power in the relationship. My father was anything but, so it was really just a theory she was testing through the lot of us." Elesi's stitches came together evenly, her words following the rhythm of her hand whether she meant them to or not. "Ahh. But not you?" "I wouldn't have it." Elesi smiled again, although this time, it was smug. "She's still trying, of course. Making plans for when I'm back. I bet her face was priceless when she found out I was Standing." "You weren't there to see it?" I asked just before stabbing myself again. She didn't bother to hide her laugh, though I thought it was both from my punctured pride as well as the thoughts of home. "Oh, no. I was already here. I wrote them. They'd sent me away with my little brothers when the rumors of Rone's army and how they encouraged loyalty reached us. They're seventeen and fifteen, my brothers. The right age. One of my older brothers stayed behind to help my parents with things, but they worried the boys wouldn't be safe and they worried the Weyr would corrupt them." She smirked; evidently she doesn't share this concern and perhaps even relishes the idea. It's probably the thought of her mother's face that holds the humor for her most. "Mmm. Yes. You've got to watch us tawdry weyrfolk," I gave her an answering smirk before going back to my work. It's true I haven't been weyrfolk in fifteen turns, but I like the claim. Here it has meaning. Day 9, month 1, turn 33 At least I can be grateful that candidates get more free time than trainees. I've been putting mine to use. Outside of duties, I make myself out to be the altruist, which isn't always far from the truth. I help in the lower caverns with tasks that put me close to the Nabol refugees. There are many and their stories vary. Some sound too much like Karwick, and others like Elesi. The ones I watch most, though, are the ones who rub my gut like Tillion. There were many stories about what Rone's army required of people in Nabol. That they required able-bodied sons to help thicken their ranks and that they burnt fields of the uncooperative was common knowledge. The stories that circulated less involved the supplies seized or damaged, making winter harsh or even downright unlivable. The tales of cotholds temporarily commandeered by the army as lodging for their more important members. One thing was agreed by all (or near enough to): even a thin winter in the Weyr was better than what those who stayed in Nabol faced in the wake of the unrest. It's interesting to me that so many just don't care who wins out for the Conclave nomination. Not that Rone's making friends with his current tactics, but most hope that no matter who gets chosen to lead Nabol, peace will return once the decision is made. Indecision is deadly. Working with them, among them, I've gotten a lead on the first of the bounties. It's amazing how close strangers become by grace of similar circumstances. They're tight-knit here and it's hard to get lips to open, harder if it seems you're digging. Even criminals can go unpunished by grace of being "one of their own." But slow and steady progress has narrowed the likely suspects down to three. Once three becomes one I'll make arrangements with the ex-con. Day 14, month 1, turn 33 I might've sorted out which one of the three is the wanted man, but it was a bad time to be eavesdropping in the stores. I ran into the Weyrwoman's assistant. It was a pleasant exchange, but hardly helpful to my goals. Still, her I wouldn't mind seeing more of. Day 17, month 1, turn 33 Met the Weyrwoman. Maybe someday I'll get to explain to her why she should have people, at least those she doesn't know well call her Weyrwoman. It's easy to tell by looking that she's a physical woman. Maybe a crash course with the Crom guard could help her understand order, discipline, respect, and how it all plays together. I didn't always like being called by my rank when I was training the cadets, but I've come to fervently believe it's necessary to maintain structure. If Rone's army came to 'Reaches door today, I can only imagine the disorganized mess they'd meet. I hope I'm wrong about that. I hope I won't have to find out. I bought the blonde a drink. ... Day 20, month 1, turn 33 Went hunting with the blonde. It was good to get out. Good to feel the heat. She's got talent for the kill. Probably for the hunt too. I should take care that I'm not her next prey. The trip turned short when we wrestled some piglets and decided to deliver them to some that could use it in Nabol. It was a fortuitous turn of events in the end. I ran into one of the three while I was bathing and casual chat let me glean enough details to eliminate him from the potentials. One down, one to go. Day 23, month 1, turn 33 I. Hate. Kids. Kids who hit on me, or call me handsome are worse. The kid can try to excuse it with Weyr culture all he likes, but a twenty-seven turn old getting with a sixteen turn old is sick no matter how it goes. I told him twenty, but the number's arbitrary, really. When he stops being a child then he can hit on people. So long as he's still whooping loudly in hatching caverns after having grown up in a Weyr, and acting too big for his britches, he's a child. By that logic, certain bronzeriders need to stop sticking their dicks in whatever moves, but I digress. I had potatoes and gravy at dinner. They were good. Day 26, month 1, turn 33 I'm becoming increasingly aware that no one has any idea what the fuck they're supposed to be doing. Holders don't know how to behave toward Weyrs in an Interval. Weyrs don't know how to behave toward Holds. I don't understand what's so difficult about it: you do your duty; how is this hard? Duties change in an Interval, but not enough to stray from the basics. The Weyr protects the Holds, the Holds provide for the Weyr. It seems the definitions are out of date for an Interval, and no one can agree. Maybe no one's tried to. It's these moments I wish I was Blooded and had my ass planted on a big bronze so I could take them all in hand and show them what unreasonable twats they're all being. I may have gotten a little passionate about it in the Living Cavern. The blonde didn't think the time and place was right. She was right. Maybe I should take my leave. Forget the bounties. Forget the eggs. Just go back to being a guard. Only, even as a guard, it wouldn't bother me any less. I'd just have a different vantage point from which to watch the inevitable fallout. Day 3, month 2, turn 33 Check. One left. A few of the right innocuous seeming questions to the right ear gave me the confirmation I needed. I went to see the ex-con. It'll take a day for me to make sure the things are in place. Day 5, month 2, turn 33 Plans foiled, but not botched. No one the wiser. Just bad timing. Another attempt will be made. Day 10, month 2, turn 33 The herb took effect as expected. I was fortunate that he'd been in Snowasis that night and wasn't a large man, if one can count a seventeen turn old as really a man, so the few I passed in the tunnels readily accepted that I was helping him. He looked drunk enough anyway, with the stumbling and mumbling. I met a new incarnation of the ex-con's smirk. It might unnerve me. Maybe it was just how expertly she tied him up that's really the source of my concern. Between us and her dragon, we got him loaded up and the flight to Nabol was quick. The guards at the Hold proper told us to deliver to the camp, so we went there with a name. Delivery went as expected, more or less. The ex-con hung back, keeping her name and dealings; we agreed it would be best to keep her name out of things as much as possible. I was conducted with my checkmate to one of the larger tents. I handed over the bounty and our transaction was swift enough. Easy business and easy marks. I was going to be on my way as quick as I'd come, but as I stepped out of the tent, a face at the nearest campfire caught my eye. He was close enough to the flame and the sketch had been well-drawn enough that I had little reason to doubt that this boy was bounty number two. But had bounty number two been collected on and he pressed into service to work off his charge of thievery? Or did they truly not see what was right under their noses? I was about to move closer to find answers to some of my questions when something else caught my ear. Betrayed by my gut, I listened as the officers I'd just spoke with discussed with levity the fate of the boy I'd just delivered. I bring criminals to justice; what they detailed was not justice. My heart felt like it stopped for half a breath. Nothing, not anywhere on Pern or lurking in the deepest depths of the evil heart of man makes me angrier than abuse of power. Lying on bounties isn't acceptable. It wasn't the first time it'd happened and it wouldn't be the last. It was enough to give the boy by the fire a reprieve from my attention. I left and spoke nothing of what I'd heard to the ex-con. Why make her aware of the burden? I gave her her cut and took my leave, telling her I'd look her up when I had another delivery to make. I didn't tell her that it might be some time before that happened. I had a lot to think about. Day 13, month 2, turn 33 I asked Laghnei to give me a ride to Crom. I took a trip to the Drummer's Rest to update my bounty list. I was in luck that the latest batch had come in only the day before. Sure enough the kid by the fire was still on it. This raised more questions than gave answers. The most convenient way to get them would be to go back to the camp, find the boy or those who knew him... But my face was now known there. Even if those in the Weyr remained unaware, and there was no saying they were now that I'd shown my hand, none at the camp that I'd want to talk to would want to talk to me. I never liked getting outside help when it could be avoided; the more people the greater the mess. But sometimes it was the best option. I needed a drink when I got back. I'm normally comfortable with having more questions than answers, but I wasn't after the trip to Crom. In Snowasis, I got yet one more question without an answer. Where have I seen the dark haired rider before? Day 16, month 2, turn 33 Having rubbed elbows with the Nabol refugees, it wasn't overly difficult to find someone who could find the information I needed and couldn't get for myself. I met him quietly. It almost went entirely wrong when the blonde came along. I know she saw something. Maybe heard. But she seemed more interested in kissing me to get me to smile than interrogating me. Is she playing games with me? I'll have to be on my guard. Dangerous she once called me, if only she could see the mirror that shows how well that word can apply to her. Day 19, month 2, turn 33 An oversight. I got so wrapped up in the things that actually matter that I lost track of the one detail that could wreck the rest for me: Ghena. We were assigned to chores together today and I admit I didn't take as much care with her ego as I should have. I made her mad, and normally this would be fine. Only, this time she has leverage. She's said she's going to go to the Headwoman unless I can give her a compelling reason not to. She's given me three days. Dramatically. But I'll take it. It's three days to sort out what she could want more or what weakness of hers I can exploit. It's time. They say the hatching will be soon. Maybe if I'm lucky, that alone will distract her. Day 22, month 2, turn 33 They've announced the hatching's imminent. The Fortian suggested perhaps Faranth's comet would give me a reason not to be there when the eggs rock. I didn't expect to still be here. But maybe I was right and there's more to life. Maybe there's a bronze waiting for me so I can make things change for the better in a few turns. I didn't sleep much last night. I haven't sorted what to do about Ghena, and I haven't heard back from my fisher, so there's no saying that I'll want to be here to sort the other two bounties in the end. Maybe I should go now, before the eggs hatch. Go home. Go back to that life. I might be there soon enough even if I stay. It's too much to think about. I'm addled. Maybe a nap will help me see the world clearly today. |
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