| Who | |
| What |
Nivaos has a quick moment of reflection on recent events while working… |
| When |
… |
| Where |
Stables, Southern Weyr |
| OOC Date | 19 Feb 2017 05:00 |
Stables
The stone stables of Southern sweep breezily in arches and vaulted ceilings, done in the same architecture that figures so prominently within the inner caverns. A half-loft in the back shows neatly stacked hay bales, the sweet scents from the fodder drifting down to commingle with the aroma of runner and leather and sweat. There, broad box stalls house inhabitants safely away from the fancies of dragons: nickers and restless stompings fill the air, nirvana to those so inclined.
Did he make the right choice?
It’s a thought that crosses his mind more frequently of late. Nivaos still isn’t sure if his impulsive, if not reckless, decision to rush to Southern was the best of plans.
What will happen to Wyatt and Crilan now, back in the mines in High Reaches? They’d all worked on the plan, only to have elements of it go awry. Something always goes wrong.
They’d had more half-baked ideas just in case but those all got tossed aside in the heat of the moment.
Things changed.
He had to choose.
More like you had to run to save your skin. Some friend you are, Vas.
Scowling, Nivaos shakes his head and clears that thought away as he moves about the stall he’s mucking out. Somewhere down the aisle, a familiar runner snorts and his mouth quirks into a bit of a smug smile.
Innocence. Ironic name to the runner he won through trickery and cheating.
Nivaos sighs, stepping out of the stall and sticking his pitchfork into the wheelbarrow and moving on to the next.
He’ll find a way to make up for his mistakes. Somehow. And to reach out to Wyatt and Crilan.
There’s always another way. He just needs to figure out how.
And not royally fuck it up this time.