Logs:Insight
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| RL Date: 5 June, 2015 |
| Who: Jo, R'hin, Leiventh, Tacuseth |
| Type: Log |
| What: Jo and R'hin track down an Igen trading clan to gain some tea and some disturbing perspective. |
| Where: Middle of the Igen Desert, Igen Hold |
| When: Day 1, Month 13, Turn 37 (Interval 10) |
| OOC Notes: Language. |
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There's a lot of sand. Everywhere. All day the previous day was spent scouting out various spots in the Igen desert, R'hin providing a seemingly endless set of visuals. The minor details are all that divides one from the other, and after an exhaustive, fruitless day of searching, he directs them to a small waystation outside which camps a trading family, with whom they pass the evening. R'hin spends much of it seeking gossip -- about the movements of other trading clans, about the nomads, and about the Weyr as well. Come early morning, the traders are packing up to leave, and R'hin's awake, though there's an odd reluctance in Leiventh that means they don't get going until after the trader's wagons have pulled away. It's the fourth place on the second day that finally shows some sort of recent passage -- marks and indentations around the oasis that are not purely animal. Tracks lead them westward, flying for nearly an hour before they sight the group below them. R'hin indicates for them to keep their distance, at least until late afternoon when the group below stop, setting up tents and settling in for the night. It's there, then, that Leiventh descends, far from their animals so as not to spook them, and they walk towards the group, a wariness in R'hin's posture despite his words of assurance. The white-clad nomads seem busy with their own tasks, but a pair of them break off from the chores and walk towards them, one older, one younger. On the hunt, Tacuseth keeps up visual by visual as the blue pair tracks the traders along with R'hin and his dragon. Jo seems easy enough to keep up, keeping mostly silent and imposing as she watches R'hin interact with the trading family they run into. The blue pair, for the most part, stays like a lingering shadow that by the time they slow down to spot the most recent tracks, they're looking eager to land. Following Leiventh's lead in landing far enough away, Jo's already dismounting and stalking after R'hin sans the usual black leathers that she wears. Instead, dressing for the heat, she's in a white tank top and grey woven pants hugging her waist and her knives as she studies the wariness in R'hin's gait. Flanking him, "Thought they were yer friends," she murmurs as they approach, keeping her gaze active in front of them, spotting the pair coming at them with a lingering hand going towards one of her sheathed knives. R'hin, too, wears a light white shirt more reminiscent of his Monaco days, and light gray pants. He is, for once, weaponless, and he gives Jo an easy grin as he spots that movement for her knives. "They are, temptress. You are not. Easy," he murmurs. The pair stop opposite them, the young one eyeing Jo and those knives balefully, the older staring with easy command, gesturing at R'hin. "Sanalar," the bronzerider half bows towards the older, who acknowledges with a nod of his head. "It's been some time, my friend. I have gifts for you," he holds forth the package in his hands, and the younger -- after nudging from the older -- takes it. "May I introduce my friend, Jo? Jo -- this is Sanalar, the eldest of the tribe. We seek a night and a day of insight, if you'll indulge us." The younger snorts, but the older looks, with some interest now, at Jo, then R'hin and finally says, "Do you?" A beat. "Why?" To R'hin's answer, Jo eases and relaxes her fingers away from teasing the hilt of her hidden knife, keep her gaze ahead of them towards those that approach. For him, though, at least she answers back with a click of her tongue and a brief wink. Once she catches the eyes of the younger stranger, her arms come away and fold across her chest in a Faranth-may-care manner and remains there. It's as if she's saying 'See? I'm defenseless' with her posture. She listens to the introductions, her grin easy once she's introduced and a nod is given to the man named Sanalar. A brow lifts at Sanalar when he looks her way, for now remaining silent. Ever watching and seeming to be taking her cues from R'hin. For his answer, R'hin -- after a moment of hesitation, or perhaps wariness, simply says, "It's past time." To that, the older man nods, after a moment, snorting a noise of amusement. It's then that his gaze lands on Jo. "And you? For what purpose do you seek insight?" The younger man is still watching Jo carefully, frowning even more at her change in posture. Something perhaps Jo hears in R'hin's voice for his answer given earns him a slightly curious look from Jo. Her gaze lingers on him longer than perhaps it should until Sanalar's question brings back her attention. Loosening her folded arms, "Cuz," was all it seems the convict rider was going to give for an answer. There's a breath with another look landing on R'hin briefly before adding, "Seein' if I'm doin' what I'm s'pose to be." Maybe there's that tall-tale unsure in her tone, but as an afterthought, "Seein' if there's more to me. Insight, ya know." Well. At least she tries to look brazen while saying it. Her first answer earns little change of expression, the elder waiting until her latter words. After a moment, Sanalar nods his head, expression concealing whatever he thinks of the answer Jo gives him. Instead, he flickers fingers beckoningly to the pair, and turns to make his way back to the midst of the slowly growing camp, his younger companion by his side, leaving them with the parting words: "Javae will see to you. You might not like what it tells you. Few do," is added over his shoulder as the pair departs. They receive many curious looks from the others, a few nodding towards R'hin with familiarity but otherwise leaving them alone. His hand dropping to Jo's back, R'hin guides them towards a low slung tent near the edge. "Not too late to change your mind, temptress. Don't need this to tell you there's more to you," the Savannah rider says with a low-throated laugh, but it's honest for all that, tilting his head to regard her. Jo watches the Igen pair with intense study, little expression flitting thorough her face as R'hin beckons them along. Watching the people as they pass by them, "Friendly," is her comment to their demeanor, a brow lifting at the bronzerider. It fades at his words though, the woman studying his own face before she looks ahead and finally gives a non-chalant shrug. "'N let ya miss what's been long overdue for ya, darlin'?" she returns to him with a touch of wry. Shaking her head, "Might be hard, but maybe this insight will show me how much more of a badass I can be. Either that or it'll show me how fucked up I am," and it's the latter that gets her toothy grin. "Unless ya wanna just grab this tea'n split before they give us the bad news." R'hin's, "I'm game if you are," sounds more like the challenge of a school-yard-boy than a wizened Wingleader, and the phrase in and of itself might hint at whatever hesitation he has. Still, his shoulders are squared as he grins at her. "One or the other, I'll be here, too." And then he's holding up the flap of the tent to let her pass inside. The difference is immediate; heat already washes out from inside of the tent, stemming from a brazier in the midst. There are pillows on the ground near the entrance, place around a small, bubbling pot where an older woman sits, cross-legged. Throughout the rest of the tent there are blankets laid out. The woman looks up as they pass inside, expression curious. "I don' even back down from a dirty brawl," is Jo's return challenge to his, trying to up his ante. "What's the worse they can say anyway?" Ominous, maybe, but she carries her bold statement with his own encouraging words and enters the hot tent already with sweat already trying to blind her in the eyes. She pauses once in, stepping aside to let R'hin flank her as she openly cringes at the heat. "Good fuck," she spills, looking over towards the older woman nearby. "Best off my leathers stayed in the Reaches. This heat would've cooked the black off." Her gaze just can't help but to look towards the exit, then looks towards the arranged blankets. "Sanalar sent us," R'hin says to the older woman, who grunts with acknowledgement, and gestures towards the pillows. "Sit, sit," Janae says, briskly. "Stop letting the heat out." R'hin has the grace to look embarrassed, crowding in after Jo, exhaling at the weight of the heat inside the tent. His shirt, loose a moment ago, has already started to cling to his skin. "Even I'd have trouble peeling your leathers off in this heat," he murmurs to Jo with a low-throated chuckle, as he dutifully moves towards the pillows, seating himself, resting hands on his knees, as the old woman reaches to stir the pot. "Ya mean it's s'pose to...?" Jo let's her question trail off about letting the heat keep inside the tent, looking with interest (through sweat in her eyes) at Janae before she follows suit after R'hin. His comment about her leathers him a wry "I like a little torture in my kink, but even me heatin' up in my leathers would be more tragedy than hot. No pun intended." She gently nudges with her elbow before she sits, starting to breathe heavily now as the heat permeates around them. The old woman is humming to herself, mumbling under her breath as she stirs the pot, and after a time, when she appears satisfied -- either by the pot's condition or her guest's state, she fills two cups, passing one to Jo and one to R'hin. "Drink," Janae tells -- no, orders -- them. "All of it." It's been a while since R'hin's been at Monaco, and his bearing of the heat isn't quite what it used to be; sweat's already making its away down his forehead. He leans forward to accept the tea, blowing on it, gaze flickering towards Jo, before he takes a deep draught. The tea is dark and bitter, the aftertaste only slightly less so. Trying to lounge back in a more comfortable position for herself, Jo straightens up once the woman passes a cup over towards her. Nodding, she glances at R'hin as if daring him to drink it first. It's once their eyes meet that she's only slightly behind in bringing the bitter tea to her lips, the slight narrowing of her eyes being the only indication of its bitter taste. Still, she drinks deep. Janae makes a noise of satisfaction once both haven drunken the tea, standing up. She moves, first, to R'hin, mumbling something as she touches his head with some sort of feathery-object, before she moves to Jo and repeats the gesture. It's hard to tell whether it's the heat, whatever's within the tea, or something else that leads to a sudden lethargy that makes limbs heavy; when the old woman tells them to go to the blankets, R'hin struggles, starting to push himself up, then dropping heavily back onto the pillows with a surprised exhale, pale eyes wide as he tries to focus with difficulty on Jo. It's not a pleasant sensation indeed for anyone used to being in control. When Janae approaches, Jo idly (and a bit warily) watches her like a hawk. She watches the woman move to R'hin with tht feathery object, and then come towards her and touches her head with it with all that mumbling. Her lips parts as if to say something about it, likely, but much like R'hin, the sudden lethargic heaviness is over her and she seems to be having a hard time even moving her arms (likely to reach for her knives) in a race to stand. Rather, she simply slumps over like a piss-poor drunk, her gaze hazy and the "Whadda--?" slurring from her mouth as her gaze latches onto R'hin around the same time his does. Indeed, the lack of control is likely a struggle for the convict rider as well. That tension, stress, and fear fades away along with consciousness -- although something lingers. As they lie there, slumped over, the tent appears to fall away, the heat rises, and despite the fact that it's visibly day time in the desert, there is a cool breeze which stirs their heated skin. The woman is gone -- (what woman?) R'hin pushes to his feet, slowly, blinking as he looks around. He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is cut off by the sound of wings, of rushing air, as a dark shape descends towards them. Jo is easy to fall despite her fight with consciousness, and when the woman is gone and all that is left is R'hin and the cool breeze, she looks to what she could see of the sky before looking around. Her gaze lands last on the bronzerider before she too slowly gets to her feet and hears the wound of wings. She takes a step back from the dark shape coming towards them, her eyes widening as she throws a look in R'hin's direction. For now, it seems she's in too much shock to even speak. R'hin, too, doesn't seem to be able to form words, and yet the, "Who are you?" that seems to boom out of the air around them sounds so much like R'hin as to be mistaken for him, the bronzerider glancing at Jo with a sharp shake of his head. That shadow descends, kicking sand into the air, resolving itself into Leiventh. And yet there is none of the still, taciturn bronze in the dragon before them: instead there is constant movement, a low thrumming sound as sharp talons pierce the sand as he walks towards them. "Leiventh?" R'hin finally utters a word, bewildered. And again, this time in time with the parting of Leiventh's mouth: "WHO ARE YOU? YOU ARE NOT KNOWN TO ME." The bronzerider is still even in the wake of the dragon's approach, something unfamiliar in his gaze: a sudden terror. That booming voice has Jo wincing a bit from it, looking to R'hin and catching that shake of his head. She steps back more to end up level with him, watching the growing arrival until it turns into the familiar bronze shape of Leiventh. That he's the one asking such a thing has her frowning all the more before she utters, "What's Leiventh doin'?" And, well, at this point she's now trying to step aside to peer around the bronze in order to see if Tacuseth is going to make a cameo appearance, too. To R'hin, "I can...hear him," she says in almost wonder, tapping a finger against her ear. She doesn't seem to expect him to answer since when she turns to mention it, she sees that look of terror so unfamiliar on the man. Leiventh lurches forward, abruptly, and vanishes into the air like coiled smoke a moment before he makes contact with the frozen figure of his rider. The look that R'hin bestows on Jo in the moments after is one of confusion, unfamiliarity -- like he doesn't recognize her at all, either. "What...? Who...?" The sentences are not-quite-completed, like he's struggling to verbalize the aftermath of whatever that was. Beyond them, the desert fades, and in its place the all-too-familiar-cliffs of Keogh rise, foreboding and far taller than memory serves. On the high heights, though eyes shouldn't be able to pick them out from here, the guards of Keogh patrol back and forth. When Leiventh vanishes, Jo looks around and to the sky as if the dragon had taken himself to the air. She turns to R'hin last, mirroring his confusion before she then notices that the desert fades. "Wha--?" But then, of course. She recognizes where they are now. When Keogh and all that it is surrounds them, her face visibly blanches. Her face turns to stone as her dark gaze lights upon the guards patrolling. One step back. Two steps back. "This isn'..." she starts to say, shaking her head. Despite the walls being so tall, her head tilts so far back that she nearly stumbles to her knees. For surely, if guards are nearby, her father is surely to follow. The gates of the courtyard rumble open, the sound almost physical, shaking the ground underneath them. From under the tall portcullis, a larger-than-life figure strides, familiar to Jo despite the fact that he's shrouded in shadow, her brothers trailing in their father's wake. The rumbling continues as, behind them, a wagon train rumbles past, a teenager beating out some pattern on a drum, echoing around them. The backwards steps of Jo's takes her into R'hin, who reaches out hands to steady her through habit, though there is a blank lack of recognition in his gaze. The wagon train turns his head, turning his attention away from the approaching figures. Jo's father, Jothan, bears his dark eyes on his wayward daughter, with the eldest of her brothers flanking him the most. Jo is lost in shock at first, falling against R'hin without even acknowledging it. That shock slowly turns towards the wagon train and her hands seems to instinctually reach for her knives at her side. "Ya should've rotted in those mines," Jothan's voice could be heard all around rather than from his lips, the tone deep and overbearing. "Yer the no-good criminal'n whore like I knew ya'd to be. Just like that ---" Jo's harsh exhale of a cry tears off the rest of his words, darkened by he response, "Don'cha DARE speak her name ya bastard! Don'ch--" The wagons continues to rumble by, even though by rights it should have long past. The sound of drums is still in the air, the beat turning darker in response to Jothan's words, and his daughter's ragged response. In the silence that follows Jo's cry, R'hin can be heard exhaling. "Jo," is all he murmurs, with a sudden realization, like he's just remembered who she is. "Jo," he repeats, with relief, reaching for her shoulder. Behind Jothan, and her brothers, more figures walk out of the hold. Guards on the heights and residents on the ground alike, staring, taking account of this strange confrontation, witness to it all. To Jo's cries, her brothers laugh. Rather, Alan and Eran laugh, both looking more like Jothan - almost carbon copies of the man. Jolan is recognized, frowning, and their youngest, Lijo seems to be so faded as to be never there at all as he merely stands to the side. Her cries only stop once R'hin have a hold on her, him getting her shoulder easily and bringing her gaze to his as her cries start to fall silent. To him she grips his hand to her shoulder as if in taking support from him, the laughter still heard behind her. Another laugh can be heard, as if in counterpoint. A woman's laugh that rises louder than that of her brothers, some distant, pleasant memory from childhood stirred, though the laughter fades as the last of the wagons rumble past, with it, the sound of drums fading away. R'hin clings as tightly to Jo as she does to him, wild, pale gaze fixed on her now, shuddering as a shadow passes overhead with a voice faintly reminiscent of his barely heard in the air. Footsteps can be discerned, as more people approach, and what remains of Jo's family starts to close in, hemming them in place. Jo turns towards the female laughter like a canine catching a scent, murmuring aloud, "Ma...?" before the wagon pulls away and the laughter fades. Her grip on R'hin tightens, staring at him and catching that shadow overhead. She looks in time to see her family close them in, her panic starting to grow. "Get....get the fuck away!" she screams, to which her father answers, "Don'cha want yer turnday gift?" Suspicion colors her gaze as she drags her dark eyes from R'hin to Jothan behind him. "I've been waitin' a long time to give it to ya," he continues to say, and with a big hand, he gestures towards something right behind her. It's clear Jo doesn't even want to look, but once she reluctantly turns a bit from R'hin to see behind her...the crowd had parted to reveal rows of sheet-covered parcels the size of corpses. It must be the final straw, for the convict rider tugs on R'hin's arm with a grunted, "We're outta here." She looks set to barrel her own family down where they stand to get out - away from the covered bodies. "Wh--" R'hin's unfinished question is torn away as Jo drags him along, but he doesn't protest. As they barrel into her family, they vanish into smoke in the same way Leiventh did earlier, though the sound of their laughter lingers in the air. Other figures from the crowd reach out to grasp at them as they run past, one -- an older woman -- yelling, "Rathin!" at them, though R'hin doesn't acknowledge, doesn't stop, even if his muscles tighten beneath the grip that connects he and Jo. In the distance, drums and laughter draw them onwards, past the crowd, into the darkness that the wagon train disappeared towards, a flickering flame of light serving as a beacon. "Come..." is all Jo can get out as she latches onto R'hin and runs right through her family without stopping. Hands try to grab down the line of people as they go, her name Jolie being whispered and bandied about in her ears that she has to shake her head to get them loose. She follows the drums, running like there were guards on their tail, running towards that flame of light like it was their lifeline. The light grows steadily near, but they never quite reach it, running for minutes, hours, forever. Running until they are shaking and sweating, running until they collapse into the soft blankets that appear from nowhere to cushion their fall. The transition from waking dream to waking isn't easy to recognize; the tent is heated, the sound of drums and laughter still rings in their ears, and flickering fire can be seen through the not-quite-closed flap of the tent they're lying in. The constant, from dream-to-reality is the grip of R'hin's hand on Jo's shoulder, shaking in no way in response to the cold draft that sneaks through that flap now and then to graze over their sweat-soaked forms. Jo would keep running until the darkness fades or she collapses where she stands. It's difficult for her to realize where they are, the sweat drenching her body as she slowly tries to sit up and finds R'hin close with his hand on her shoulder. Her dark gaze follows the cold draft as she too shakes, the woman trying in vain to calm down her breathing as she gets her bearings. In a barely-there voice, "R'hin," she states his name, her eyes closing as a wave of dizziness briefly washes over her. R'hin's, "Jo," sounds more like relief than recognition, though it is that, too. He doesn't try to sit up, instead making a groaning sound as he tries to roll onto his side, muscles slack and largely unresponsive. Moments later, the old woman appears, making a tsking sound at them. She's carrying two small clay jars, the first of which she offers first to Jo -- inside is cool, clear water. "The tent on your right is set up for you, but I'd suggest you stay here until the boys can help you," the old woman says, moving to bend over R'hin, now, offering him the second jar. "I'm here," Jo tells him, perhaps hearing the relief in his voice as she reaches up to grip his hand on her shoulder. When he rolls over, she releases him to scoot up to settle beside him as the old woman appears. She takes the water gratefully, draining it the moment her hand came in contact with it. She's barely able to nod to the lady's words, and she idly busies herself by slowly running her hands over herself, to look for any injuries. The old woman snorts a little, as she notices Jo's self-inspection. "It's all in your mind. But that's worse -- you can heal a wound. The scars of the mind stick with you." Once R'hin's gulped down his water, she collects both jars, and disappears, this time closing the tent flap firmly. The sounds still pervade, but the heat in the tent is now steady, undisturbed by the cold air. "Leiventh," R'hin exhales, unable to prevent a little shudder, pale eyes gleaming in what little light there is as his gaze turns on Jo with a press of his lips. "Did you see...?" his, what he saw, goes unsaid. Jo looks at the woman when she speaks, frowning at her for something said. Where usually there would be a cocky quip to chase down any words, this time the woman is met with silence from the convict rider. Jo gives the jar up and leaves, watching the path she takes as R'hin speaks on Leiventh. "I saw him," she confirms it quietly, her voice a bit hollow. "I heard him." She turns to look at him, wiping a hand over her face as she adds, "Leiventh'n Keogh." "Leiventh and Keogh," R'hin repeats, near-soundless laughter following. Slowly, he pushes himself to a seated position, enough that he can drag himself closer to the bluerider. Despite the heat, there's still a little shudder running through him as he seeks to pull Jo into a hug. Muttering at her, "Whose fucking idea was this, anyway? Arse," has a hint of amusement, but not untrue cursing for all that. Cold and distant in his chosen place on the desert sand, Leiventh watches, glowing eyes reflected by the far distant fires of the camp, but does not stretch out for his rider. Neither, it seems does R'hin reach for him. (To Tacuseth from Leiventh) Drawing into that hug, there's a faint amused snort from Jo as she holds onto him tight. "Aye, could've been worse," she says in a tone to suggest that what was seen and experience was nothing to rattle. "Yeah, could've been. As for who's idea it was, I can' even remember with my head all muddied." She idly brushes with her fingers his hair from his damp face, studying his face in the moment that follows before she asks quietly, "Yer alright?" The desert shadows, cool from the night, seems to seek out Leiventh with a barely-there touch. Tacuseth is nearby, his attention split between dragon and his rider, sifting through memories enough that a faint trace of Leiventh is being reflected back at him. A query, perhaps, with no words. (To Leiventh from Tacuseth) His quick, "Yes," is habit, and the pause and more thoughtful, honest, "No," is harder won, but won all the same. Her brush of fingers against his face makes R'hin smile, though, as he murmurs, "The last time my limbs were this unresponsive was that that time after Hraedhyth's flight. Don't think we left your weyr for mm, at least two days?" That he's seeking to distract her from talk of this is clear, though less so whether he's also seeking to distract himself. The cold winds do not retreat at Tacuseth's touch, the blue's familiar desert climes welcomed into his mental landscape, winds stirring still desert sand. The query, however, goes untouched, the fluttering of sand perhaps suggestion he has no answer to give. (To Tacuseth from Leiventh) "He always remembers Tacuseth," R'hin says, abruptly, oddly, head cocked to one side, gaze distant. Jo seems to catch the honesty in his voice for the second answer, nodding to it. She snorts when R'hin brings up the memory of that flight, quipping back, "Uh-huh. At least. Didn' even think ya had it in ya, old man. Proved me wrong, over'n over, eh?" She's willing to let the distraction linger, her grin without its mask of ego and deception to hide behind. It fades a bit when he brings up the last, her head tilting slightly in askance to it. Her gaze drops for a moment in silence, then lifts to meet his before she states, "Hey. Ya know I don' ask cuz, it ain' my business. I'm only sayin' this cuz I regard ya as a good friend. Don' have many of those, see. Anyway. Ever ya wanna clear that head of yers," and she gently taps a finger to the side of his head, "I'll be 'round. Even when I ain'. Take all the time ya need, darlin." And so, much like his rider, Tacuseth's shadow merely stays and floats through those cold winds. Ever the silent presence and always one of few words, the blue seems content to remain a shadow reflection of the bronze. (To Leiventh from Tacuseth) R'hin's gaze refocuses on Jo as she speaks, though not for long; he drops his head, exhaling a breath, remaining there for long enough to gather his composure. It lasts, by no coincidence, for three heartbeats. Even when he lifts gaze, there's something brittle in his countenance despite the all-too-familiar amusement in his voice: "You may come to regret that offer, temptress." His hand traces down her arm, and then he braces himself: "Should we see if we can snag something horrible to drink and find this tent of ours?" Studying him and nodding a bit with just the slightest lift of a smirk, "I'd never regret you, R'hin," Jo gives with a slight incline of her head. From this ex-con, it was a rare sign of respect. "After all," she adds, straightening up, "ya saw mine just as much as I saw yers. I think we can file this one under the fucked-up category more'n the badass one." She holds his arm for that brief moment before letting it pass, slowly getting to her feet. "Perhaps they'll get us this tea we came all this way for, too, while we're at it," she adds to drinks and their tent, trying to stretch aching limbs. It takes R'hin a lot longer to get to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself, while he chuckles under his breath at Jo's words, but there's something warm and earnest in the look he gives her all the same. "I'm not keen to relive it," he admits, which is probably why the drink part. "I'll settle for a place to crash next to you, at this stage." The arm that he reaches to sling around Jo's waist might be for more than a steadying of himself, or herself. He moves for the exit, the twin shocks of freezing night air, and bright fire taking a moment to adjust. That drum beat wasn't just in the dream, dancing undoubtedly serving to keep those still braving the cold air warm. The old lady is nowhere to be seen, but the tent she referred to is visible. "I'd rather drink than talk 'bout it myself," Jo is in agreement, having that arm of his settle about her waist as she looks towards the exit. As she slowly help guide them out, she states into the chilly air, "Well, if there's one thing I can say 'bout ya, old man, it's that it's never dull 'round ya. Never dull at all." And then it's off to find them a drink. "Words to live by," comes the amused response from the old bronzerider. They'll find drink, certainly, but not before knowing looks from those gathered around the fire, looks that seem to follow them in their retreat to the tent. The drink is spicy and immediately warms the extremities -- potent, too. Perhaps not quite potent enough to chase the dreams away, judging by R'hin's tossing and turning of the night, and his exhaustion come morning. But they do, at least, leave with the tea they came for by the time the nomads depart early the next day. |
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