Cruck’aa was frustrated.

Perhaps he shouldn’t be – perhaps the constant gloom that stuck to the caravan was warranted. Yet he couldn’t find it within himself to mourn for the Drow that had been attacked, nor for the Drow who attacked them – though he didn’t believe anyone felt sorrow for her. Cruck’aa had barely spoken to the Drow before that night, and much of his anger had been directed at the other Drow for so brazenly attacking himself, Pavel, and Jo as she did. And yet, despite the attempt on his and his family’s life, he saw no reason to continue dwelling on the past. It was unneeded.

Cruck’aa scratched the underside of his beak, and slowly stroked the neck of a smaller songbird. It trilled quietly in the dark and rubbed into his talon harder.

He cast quick glances about the wagon, checking that the other birds hadn’t been woken up. Satisfied that all were asleep, he scratched harder. Cruck’aa had kept every single bird content so far through the journey, something he’d hoped wouldn’t be ruined by a songbird’s call.

Crickets sang loudly outside his wagon, and had it not been for the current situation, he’d be outside, soaking in their beautiful song. As it stood, Cruck’aa had no want to venture outside his wagon and risk interaction with anyone, even Pavel, Jo, or Serena.

Cruck’aa knew he had no reason to be distressed or saddened by what had occurred in Daggerford. Death was a part of life, and though that part felt worse when it was someone you knew, someone you might have cared about, those feelings would fade in time. After all, the caravan had been traveling for three days since then; even if he did feel anything towards the Drow, by now, those feelings would have vanished. And yet, despite his knowledge that that should be the case, the gloom that clung to the caravan at Daggerford still retained its grip.

Pavel had lost his general politeness, opting for a much shorter fuse with almost everyone. He wasn’t rude per say, but now, he seemed more like an actual guard captain than who he truly was. As though he believed that by doubling down in his duties, he’d prevent another unfortunate death. Because of this line of thinking, Pavel had been snappier towards the caravan members, stricter towards the other guards, and dismissive of anything he considered “off task” as the caravan was moving. While this sat well with the wagon owners, all of whom had praised Pavel for his commitment to the caravan, it didn’t sit right with Cruck’aa, and many others.

Cruck’aa twisted his beak into a frown. He assumed others weren’t happy with his attitude, but truly, he hadn’t a way of knowing. Jo seemed to have been avoiding everyone, remaining silent on her patrols, and taking her meals alone. And he hadn’t seen Serena sign a single sign since Daggerford, her face set in a constant look of worry. Her movements seemed sluggish, her spark from before now gone, and Cruck’aa worried about her ability to perform should the caravan fall under attack. Insofar, that didn’t seem like something he had to dwell on.

He did not know how the rest of the caravan felt. Cruck’aa didn’t care much for them, including Serena’s teamster.

Frustration bubbled up at the thought of her, enough that Cruck’aa carefully put the drowsy songbird back in its cage.

He did not like that woman and her wily charms, always finding new ways to wrap Serena around her finger. It didn’t help matters that Serena seemed to be enjoying it, giving no attention to the job they were hired to do. A job that was now much harder.

Cruck’aa sighed, plopping himself down in the middle of the wagon.

A complexity had emerged, throwing him for a loop. While he knew that Larion was their main suspect, one of the newest additions to the caravan, a bald man in red robes, had been complicating matters. He’d hitched a ride with Larion, having apparently known him before, and seemed to have been in his shadow ever since. Cruck’aa didn’t know the bald man’s name, but he did know that his presence seemed to frighten Larion to no end. Before, in the rare times that Keenblade had ventured out to eat with the others, he did so with an air of confidence, one that offered no room to even look in his direction. Now, with the bald man constantly with him, Larion seemed tenser, almost paranoid, if Cruck’aa had to guess. While he rarely made appearances outside his entourage, now, Larion seemed to come out each day, preferring to eat and talk with the other wagon owners, much to the muted chagrin of the bald man.

The bald man in red held some kind of influence over Larion, Cruck’aa knew that for sure; Larion never once had seemed like a door mat, and to have his demeanor change with the sudden appearance of the bald man, well…

He must be someone of importance.

Cruck’aa let out a quiet trill.

He’d have to speak to Pavel about this. If he could manage a moment alone with the busy guard captain.