The lack of progress had surpassed frustrating to become truly infuriating to Sorore. The temporary camp that had been set up at her ‘whim’ as some of the soldiers mumbled buzzed with activity. Sorore couldn’t even go out to see, as the paladins had insisted that they be keep at its centre- the heavily-guarded command tent. The hours passed, made slower by each progressive report of little and less. The glances at the instigator became more obvious with each one, and even one had open irritation in his eyes. In any other circumstances, she might’ve been embarrassed, apologized even. But now? All she felt was that sense that she should be out there searching. There was something out there. She knew it, just as thoroughly as she knew her name. The lack of evidence, however, was doing little to convince the soldiery to adopt her enthusiasm. A good few had set off with the paladins, leaving the rest to eye the forest from behind camp-fires. The commander, by contrast, sat at a table and scribbled away in a journal. “We should be out there,” complained her brother, and for once, she entirely agreed. “Perhaps you should,” said the commander, transcribing in a leather-bound journal. He was a curious man, his reputation among the soldiers and priests of the church more curious still. By all accounts, he was capable, notably so, but she sensed a thinly veiled controversy around the man. People choose their words carefully, even when his back was turned, which was uncommon, to say the least. The tension between him and the paladins was another thing. Animosity between the church’s agents and those of Angorrah’s armies were far from rare, and was even officially documented in some cases. But there was an extra edge to their behaviour around Naia, expressed in a occasional glance or muttered word. The man, as far as she had been told, was not particularly remarkable in any other way. Apparently he’d been adopted by some northern noble, or so the rumours went. Was it the lack of noble blood that made them wary? She had little enough cause to judge him for that, having no lineage of herself to speak of. She’d found the existence of such division rather silly, when they all existed under the same church. Perhaps that was another thing she could only understand with time. “But we should,” she pressed, “we felt it. We can find it.” “There might be some who doubt you,” the man said conservatively, “I am not one of those. However, the paladins and myself are in strict agreement on this one- we’ve already taken more risks than we might’ve otherwise not have.” “If you were so opposed, why did you permit us to join you at all?” “It wasn’t entirely my choice to make,” he said, his eyes returning to the journal. That was one of the things that rubbed her the wrong way about the man - his demeanour. He slipped from commander to background in the space of a few words. Despite that, he proved to have a justification for nearly anything, and had managed to argue the paladins into submission more than once. That was certainly no small feat, and spoke of an oratory that was beyond any regular solider. She examined the colour of his eyes as they focused on whatever he was documenting. They were flat, not dead perhaps, but more like a wall of sea-green fog. She was put in mind of the whispers from the kitchens about this man, what he might have done, or seen. On the whole, however, he’d been nothing but amiable throughout the entire journey. He always seemed respectful to both his own men, the children, and even the townsfolk. Sorore knew from personal experience that was far from always the case. He’d even been playful once or twice, when the paladins were out of ear-shot, more like a uncle rather than their overseer. Although Sorore was affable to the many tradition of the Angorrah ‘court’, she appreciated the levity. That still begged the question - why had the Choir, who was to her understanding in charge of all their affairs, deigned this man to be their guardian? It did strike her as strange for them to send the living emanations of the Lost Ones this far from Angorrah. For such a scrutinized figure, he seemed awfully trusted. Either way, he’d proven himself to be a more interesting conversation than her brother, but that wasn’t a high bar. “I still think we should be out there,” she said as she took a seat on a barrel. “Convince me, then,” he said, laying down his pen and leaning forward to stare at the girl. “I’m sorry?” she said, unsure if he had actually just said what she thought he’d said. “You claim to have visions, describe them. Explain why I should let you walk into an unknown section of the woods, in the middle of the night, when you yourselves have indicated a vague threat.” Her eyes narrowed, suspected that she was only being entertained, but there was no harm in trying. “Well, it’s… it’s difficult to explain. It’s like… you’re somewhere else entirely, but, at the same time, you’re not. You’re right here. Or wherever your were.” One of the man’s dark eyebrows arched, as he hunched forward. At least he didn’t offer a patronizing smile. “We were somewhere else, or it felt like it, anyway,” her brother interjected, “a forest.” Sorore was only too eager to grasp at the lifeline. “Yes, yes! We were in a forest. The trees were tall, taller than I’d ever seen. Some of the roots were so large, it was like walking on the city roads.” The commander sat back in the chair, tapping his fingers on the table, but nodded for them to continue. That was encouraging, at least - the paladins usually ignored the specifics. They were too sacrosanct in their belief, which Sorore supposed made a certain amount of sense. “The carriage was, well it wasn’t there any-more. And then I was on top a cliff, with a waterfall across from me. So I-“ “I am failing to see how this translates to this,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “let me rephrase the question. What made you think there was something of value here?” “I-” she began, before pausing. It was a transient, airy feeling, as rock-solid certain as she was. “The waters,” he brother filled in, “there was a voice from the waters.” “The… waters?” Naia said, a dark eyebrow arched. They were losing him, Sorore knew, but she pushed forward. “The waters, yes. There was a shadow - it told us that ‘she was close’ and that we needed to find her.” “How, exactly?” said Naia, rolling the pen between his fingers. “Well, they said to follow ‘the hate’.” He was silent for a moment, tapping the handle of the pen on the desk. A speck of ink dripped to spread over the wood. “So, ‘follow the hate’. Were you able to?” Frare crossed his arms, a signal which indicated he was about to say something insolent. “Of course we were,” she said, getting out in front of him, “it lead us here.” “And what else?” he said, cocking his head and staring at her. “How far are you going to push this? We know what we saw,” said Frare. “Oh, I’m sure you did, but what do you have to show for it?” Naia said, his face a careful neutral, “let’s examine this from another angle, shall we?” He sat back in his chair, and spread his arms, fingers pointing inwards at himself. “You have me, a commander of seventy men, sent on a subjugation mission far from home. There’s little and less support out here, both from a military and a logistics perspective. If I was to run into a large force, and we were too slow to outrun them, we’d be in a great deal of trouble.” He pushed back up onto the table, leading forward to indicate the twins. “And I have here two of the most valuable people to the church, who, while certainly strong and intelligent, don’t have the capacity to defend themselves from anything substantial, at least not yet.” Her brother bristled at that, but Sorore laid a hand on his arm. The words may have been painful to hear, but they were not inaccurate. “So, then they come and attempt to convince me to let them go into a unknown woods, by themselves, to search for… something of value, when they have admitted that there is likely danger here.” Each new clause was punctuated by a tap of his pen. “So, do you understand the position we’re in now?” “Yes,” said Sorore glumly, kicking at the grass underneath her feet, “it’d be unsafe for us to go.” The man sighed, and for one second Sorore thought it was of exasperation - that she had missed some point he’d made. “I understand you feel a need to find… whatever is here. But I think we both can agree that you’re better off here, while the paladins search. I think that pair will do better than any of us, if there’s anything to find, that is.” Sorore thought about telling him about the argument she’d overheard in the early hours of yesterday, or was it today? The time seemed to slip away in the woods, perhaps an after-effect of the visions she’d had. She reconsidered, figuring that if Lillian needed to tell the commander she would have done it herself. “Want to bet?” Frare said, from his perch upon a barrel. Sorore smacked his shoulder, giving him a frown, but deep down she was tempted to do something similar. “Bet?” Naia said, with a more genuine smile this time, “bet on what?” “I bet that Lillian or Niche will find something,” Frare said, leaning back and puffing out his chest in a gross display of confidence. “Maybe they will, maybe they won’t,” said Naia, clearly enjoying whatever game he was playing, “and what is it that you put up as your stake?” “Your reputation,” Frare said, with a sharp grin. “Oh? How so?” “I know why you were sent out here,” her brother said, “and, I know that we’re a good in-road for you. If they find nothing, I’ll make sure everyone knows that the Bequeathed have undying respect for you.” The smile on the man’s face had shifted from casual to something rather more insidious. “Hmm, an attractive offer,” he said, “and as for my own side of the bet?” “I want a fight with that female knight, the one from Hebeen.” Any of the tension evaporated with Naia’s chuckle as he stretched his arms. “Nieth. Damafelce wouldn’t appreciate the confusion. I can promise she’ll won’t be as gentle as Lillian, however. Right, lord Frare, you’ve got yourself a deal.”