He felt a flicker of something: a slow creep in his veins, the hush of a breath on a candle's suffocated flame, a quiet, seeping heat crawling through his blood. It wasn't excitement—he couldn't be excited about something like this, too grim and too tired and too disillusioned—but it was determination. Relief, that it was finally starting. Anger, at what his world had come to, and a desire to save not only it, but the forest too.
It felt dangerously close to courage.
And one by one Amalia laid out their votes, slips of paper marked mostly by R's, and just like that, Ronin was their leader. Rory ran his tongue along his teeth. The room felt lesser without Wessex, but he had no idea where she was, and it was beginning to bother him.
Ronin spoke wisely, and Rory felt a weight ease off his shoulders. This had to be better than Zariah. It had to be the right choice. A tempered, measured man, interested in the opinions and advice of others—a man who cared, though, as he peered at the charismatic reborn dude, he couldn't help but wonder what had changed his mind. (He wondered if it mattered. He decided that it did.)
Then he picked Amalia and Jigano as his advisers. Both of them spoke up, and Rory looked down at his hands—studying their farmer's callouses, the pale, small scars. "I'll see what I can do about that Adviser position to Zariah," he said into the following silence, glancing at Deimos and Kiada, both who had offered training. "But she seemed happy to take it back after everyone bickered, so I'm not sure she'll appoint me. Anyway: I have no experience with combat, or weapons more refined than a pike. I'd like if someone could teach me, even before army training starts."
He bit the inside of his lower lip for a moment. "Oh, and if you ever need me to set something on fire—don't hesitate to ask. And..." It was a time for honesty and bluntness, right? A solid foundation. He looked at Ronin. "What made you change your mind?"
It felt dangerously close to courage.
And one by one Amalia laid out their votes, slips of paper marked mostly by R's, and just like that, Ronin was their leader. Rory ran his tongue along his teeth. The room felt lesser without Wessex, but he had no idea where she was, and it was beginning to bother him.
Ronin spoke wisely, and Rory felt a weight ease off his shoulders. This had to be better than Zariah. It had to be the right choice. A tempered, measured man, interested in the opinions and advice of others—a man who cared, though, as he peered at the charismatic reborn dude, he couldn't help but wonder what had changed his mind. (He wondered if it mattered. He decided that it did.)
Then he picked Amalia and Jigano as his advisers. Both of them spoke up, and Rory looked down at his hands—studying their farmer's callouses, the pale, small scars. "I'll see what I can do about that Adviser position to Zariah," he said into the following silence, glancing at Deimos and Kiada, both who had offered training. "But she seemed happy to take it back after everyone bickered, so I'm not sure she'll appoint me. Anyway: I have no experience with combat, or weapons more refined than a pike. I'd like if someone could teach me, even before army training starts."
He bit the inside of his lower lip for a moment. "Oh, and if you ever need me to set something on fire—don't hesitate to ask. And..." It was a time for honesty and bluntness, right? A solid foundation. He looked at Ronin. "What made you change your mind?"
