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03-11-2016, 09:39 AM
It’s the first time something like an order has bounced along the walls of the Basin. Black ears prick forward, acknowledging and dragging an unwilling consciousness out of the attached mind and body. There are no words - specifically - to the call, but the duet that rings through the open space of the valley is clear and insistent. I am here. It announces, and so should you be. Heaving himself to all fours, the old man gravitates toward the sound, obedient (if not enthused) as all the other blobs of color emerging from their night time hidey-holes.
The others move with purpose, a tense kind of excitement that clips their steps short and quick, a perfect contrast to the black's drawn out amble. No news is good news for deadbeats like him, in both readings of the phrase.
When he arrives it seems that everyone has something of note to share, except for lazy bastards that sleep all day that is, and so for once he stands blessedly quiet, letting the others exchange their comments and concerns. Tingal, Gull, negotiations, promotions, and the ruinous state of the sentinels he takes in without complaint, but at wolves he violently balks. “Why the fucking wolves?” He snarls, heedless of the gold and red youth blinking sleepily at Rexanna’s side. “With all due respect,” he hedges, cognizant of the current company, “What kind of substitute is that? Unbonded, uncontrolled by magic or force? Ludicrous. Unless our dear old Sparky plans to augment the mutts in some unnatural way, we’re better off trying to repair the Sentinels. Who else but us knows that they’re not in fact working anyway? Surely we can keep up appearances until a real solution arrives." Here he swings his accusing glare to the new General, Ki'irha. “Is it not the warriors job to guard the borders? We should look to our own."
His distress is blinding. The Theif's offer slips away from him unanswered and though he finds himself wanting to backtrack, to return to her pocket of conversation and start again, he's not sure this gathering of strong wills and easily offended egos will allow it. He peers fretfully in her direction, trying to convey meaning through silent will, though fully and painfully aware that no such dreams come true.
The others move with purpose, a tense kind of excitement that clips their steps short and quick, a perfect contrast to the black's drawn out amble. No news is good news for deadbeats like him, in both readings of the phrase.
When he arrives it seems that everyone has something of note to share, except for lazy bastards that sleep all day that is, and so for once he stands blessedly quiet, letting the others exchange their comments and concerns. Tingal, Gull, negotiations, promotions, and the ruinous state of the sentinels he takes in without complaint, but at wolves he violently balks. “Why the fucking wolves?” He snarls, heedless of the gold and red youth blinking sleepily at Rexanna’s side. “With all due respect,” he hedges, cognizant of the current company, “What kind of substitute is that? Unbonded, uncontrolled by magic or force? Ludicrous. Unless our dear old Sparky plans to augment the mutts in some unnatural way, we’re better off trying to repair the Sentinels. Who else but us knows that they’re not in fact working anyway? Surely we can keep up appearances until a real solution arrives." Here he swings his accusing glare to the new General, Ki'irha. “Is it not the warriors job to guard the borders? We should look to our own."
His distress is blinding. The Theif's offer slips away from him unanswered and though he finds himself wanting to backtrack, to return to her pocket of conversation and start again, he's not sure this gathering of strong wills and easily offended egos will allow it. He peers fretfully in her direction, trying to convey meaning through silent will, though fully and painfully aware that no such dreams come true.
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