the dwarf states, he yawns, scratches his belly and turns to his sleeping accommodation, walking slowly there, leaving Antares with his overly worried self to take care off.
The young mage breathes in- then closes his mouth without a sound, eyebrows raised in some surprise: trust in the good will of others from master Stonehand?
And his own found sadly wanting, it seems, when the press of events came calling...
Antares dips his head, the blush of small shames coming to his cheeks with realization: he had been thinking ill of these men, even going so far in their hasty rush over as to suspect some were - perhaps - knowing agents of the dancing star, evil in their hearts and harm for all behind their every action... Yet likely they were men not unlike himself; men worried about the safety of their town and loved ones and seeking solutions in an uncertain, seemingly unknowable world... (And certainly getting seemingly more and more unknowable with every drink they drank!). Despite repeated warnings, he had fallen into the easy trap of assuming the worst!
And yet, what if they weren't? What if they were indeed agents of the Dark Man? Or, perhaps worse, what if the good they sought could not, in any way, meet his own understanding of that lofty concept? What then the part of caution? The part of trust? The part of assuming the best of every stranger you meet until proven otherwise? (And sometimes beyond then, if the proponents of second chances are to be believed?)
"A... complex man is master Stonehand, friend Stellan. At once trusting and suspicious, secretive and- Lady Beatrix!" She and Stoneburner are even now seeking a man to stop a fight that no longer exists!
"Ah. Perhaps we can locate her before then?"
And they set about doing just that -- troubled, late-night thoughts of right and wrong still whirling and twirling ineffectually in at least
one of their heads.
In truth, the night does pass uneventfully enough even if any crack of a branch outside gives certain elves a sleepless night. Or maybe it's the tent rattling snoring of a large Cleric. In any event, as the sky begins to brighten, a new sound arrives. The patter of rain against the tent and barracks. Stellan shows up to the tent, pokes his head inside and says "Shall we go?" his face already rain slicked. "It's a lovely day for a walk in the woods."
"I believe that may qualify as an outrageous lie, friend Stellan." Antares gives his friend a small, tired smile, although his emerald eyes themselves are quite awake, and have obviously been for some time: he had given up even trying to pretend to sleep just before the rise of dawn, and was now fully dressed, just finishing his interrupted letter to Teacher Dysare.
"Although the sound of raindrops on canvas is in truth lovely," he admits.
"And quite calming as well."
He has always loved rainy days...
And it even seems to pacify lady Merryburg's seismicity -- although that might be a sign of rising consciousness instead?
OOC:
Antares will want to find someone of trust to deliver the letter to Dysare (against compensation, of course), then have breakfast at the camp's kitchens before starting the trek proper? He'll try the old man they talked to yesterday to recommend someone for the former, assuming he can find that worthy?
