[The days following the Circle's fall have not been kind to Myr.
He had--mostly--recovered physically from the injuries he'd taken rescuing Viren. He was--ostensibly--free from any lingering compulsion left on him. (L's description of how light a touch was involved in setting it did little to ease his mind and much to amplify his own guilt over his complicity in what had happened.)
But the full horror of what he'd enabled won't leave him, nor can he ignore it--quite the opposite, as he spends the hours he'd otherwise be sleeping (and suffering nightmares) trying frantically to learn the fates of those the Circle had taken. Tried to think of what he could do, if anything, to make restitution to those his own sense of duty tell him he betrayed.
He is in the middle of one such fruitless attempt--really not even an attempt anymore, really just pacing a circle around and around the cottage with his watch clutched in one hand--when the sound of scales sliding over the front walk freezes him in place. That had been a sound he associated with pleasant conversations in the garden, once.
No longer.
The knock makes his tail flag with unconscious alarm; he clutches his watch the tighter, then stalks stiff-legged toward the door, retrieving his staff on the way.]
Is that you, Guangyao?
[If the dropped pretense of politeness doesn't give him away, the barely leashed tension in his voice surely will.]
ITS TIME
He had--mostly--recovered physically from the injuries he'd taken rescuing Viren. He was--ostensibly--free from any lingering compulsion left on him. (L's description of how light a touch was involved in setting it did little to ease his mind and much to amplify his own guilt over his complicity in what had happened.)
But the full horror of what he'd enabled won't leave him, nor can he ignore it--quite the opposite, as he spends the hours he'd otherwise be sleeping (and suffering nightmares) trying frantically to learn the fates of those the Circle had taken. Tried to think of what he could do, if anything, to make restitution to those his own sense of duty tell him he betrayed.
He is in the middle of one such fruitless attempt--really not even an attempt anymore, really just pacing a circle around and around the cottage with his watch clutched in one hand--when the sound of scales sliding over the front walk freezes him in place. That had been a sound he associated with pleasant conversations in the garden, once.
No longer.
The knock makes his tail flag with unconscious alarm; he clutches his watch the tighter, then stalks stiff-legged toward the door, retrieving his staff on the way.]
Is that you, Guangyao?
[If the dropped pretense of politeness doesn't give him away, the barely leashed tension in his voice surely will.]