Logs:Cleanup Duty
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| RL Date: 27 November, 2013 |
| Who: H'kon |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Vignette |
| What: H'kon is in command and does commandy things. |
| Where: Refugee Camp, Outskirts of Nabol |
| When: Day 16, Month 5, Turn 33 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Aukiri/Mentions, Madilla/Mentions, K'del/Mentions, Y'rel/Mentions |
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| The camp was getting smaller. Camp sizes had been an inverse measure of the progress made in the relocation of the men and boys, the settling of the whole matter; one small camp brought an end into sight. They all came from somewhere. He'd told Arekoth, told K'del and Y'rel, told the riders under his command. And soon all would go somewhere, if perhaps not back. Not soon enough, perhaps. He was tired. His riders were tired. And the men in the camp... Most of those left were the worst. The rest were simply those who were overlooked, the good children ignored for their siblings' bad behaviour. A wrong to be righted. But even with the freckled boy before him, H'kon's mind wandered from the task at hand, mostly to well up behind the throbbing split in the skin above his eye, and the bruise beneath it. Every time the camps were combined, or those on the outskirts were brought closer in when space was cleared, fights broke out. It was always the remembered faces that did it, rather than the strange, always the dredging of old and frustrated emotions. He focused. The boy gave him much the same story as had so many others; a family found and threatened, a need to enter into Rone's service to safeguard them. From some, H'kon believed the story. From others, he was not certain. Men and boys were more difficult to read when their hopes were worn thin. Those who were adamant in the rectitude of their actions, those were the ones H'kon was most inclined to trust. And the ones most difficult to relocate. Mostly, he would just pull them off those who were once their peers, and interview them over again. He asked the boy where he'd been before he came to Rone's army while drums beat in his head, nonsense rhythms that no tower could interpret. The Weyr. Born there? Born in Igen. But he'd be content to return to the Weyr. Gather his head. That was a thing all those in the camp could benefit from. Despite their efforts, dead had been found, even after those fallen in the raid had been accounted for. H'kon had not wanted blood, though he'd not been so naive as to assume there would truly be none. The boy at least seemed he could be useful. H'kon made a note of his name, and also of his origin at Igen. Keep him under watch at the Weyr, even for a week, and then proceed. It would be one more out of the camp. And any iota of certainty in a place so bereft of it had value. He dismissed the boy with instructions to pass on to a bluerider, waiting. That boy had been the last of the day; H'kon closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, then traced the bandage that covered the healing split above his eye. Request supplies. Update the ration count. We'll have an aerial count in the morning? « Caladioth wants to fly. » Good then. They can sweep at first light. The environs also, lest there are more would sneak away. For all it now seemed more favour than anything. He took his fingers from the bandage. I'll also need to see this cleaned. « Feilanth's? » No. He'd been more aware than he'd wanted of Charya's breasts brushing his shoulder when she'd seen to it the day before. « When she goes up again, I'll catch her. » Go between. « Just for you. » And stay there. H'kon got up from the stump he'd made his chair. I'll find journeyman Rastiel. « He's got breasts too. » They're less a torment. Before turning in, he wrote a quick note for Madilla by firelight, an estimate of time, - a thanks for the journeymen she'd spared them, a wish for the children's wellbeing - and saw it attached to the requisition for healing supplies. This would go with the bluerider and those few lucky enough to return to the Weyr. After his tasks were finished, H'kon checked in with this night's watch, and laid out his bedroll at Arekoth's side. He waited for sleep, counting the thuds in his head in words he'd not written, and names he would come upon again the next day, in turn. |
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