[open] it's gone to hell and they wonder how
(along the southern wall, and the air above the barracks.)
It's not quite the reprieve Tibarn was hoping for; as much as he doubts he'd dream anything this strange, he was still hoping that he'd somehow wake up back in the Laguz Alliance's base camp, just in time for another strategy meeting with Ike and Ranulf.
But beggars can't be choosers, and all things considered, standing near a wall in a different part of the forest, under a mercifully clear sky, is much better than tangling with the Burning Stream From Hell. (He's reasonably sure that if it has a name, it's something a bit more serious. But he doesn't really care, because his version is probably much more descriptive.) And getting away from that storm is more than just a reprieve -- it's a chance to do what he's wanted to do since he got here: take wing and figure out just what he's stuck in the middle of.
So he shifts, taking hawk form and making his way high into the sky, until he's far above the town below and the land is spread out before him like a map.
...albeit a horribly inadequate map, one that would probably get any cartographer fired.
He stays up there for a few minutes, circling the sky and wondering if his eyes are just playing tricks on him, but nothing changes: hardly a mile out and everything is too hazy to distinguish. A ridiculously short distance, for a hawk's vision; his eyes may not be as good as Janaff's (and he sorely wishes Janaff were here now, for if anyone could see through this, he could), but Tibarn still has a good long time before he should have to worry about his senses failing him. This isn't right.
Finally he descends, swooping down to the ground and shifting back out of hawk form, his irritation with the landscape obvious in his expression. "Well, that was a bust."
It's not quite the reprieve Tibarn was hoping for; as much as he doubts he'd dream anything this strange, he was still hoping that he'd somehow wake up back in the Laguz Alliance's base camp, just in time for another strategy meeting with Ike and Ranulf.
But beggars can't be choosers, and all things considered, standing near a wall in a different part of the forest, under a mercifully clear sky, is much better than tangling with the Burning Stream From Hell. (He's reasonably sure that if it has a name, it's something a bit more serious. But he doesn't really care, because his version is probably much more descriptive.) And getting away from that storm is more than just a reprieve -- it's a chance to do what he's wanted to do since he got here: take wing and figure out just what he's stuck in the middle of.
So he shifts, taking hawk form and making his way high into the sky, until he's far above the town below and the land is spread out before him like a map.
...albeit a horribly inadequate map, one that would probably get any cartographer fired.
He stays up there for a few minutes, circling the sky and wondering if his eyes are just playing tricks on him, but nothing changes: hardly a mile out and everything is too hazy to distinguish. A ridiculously short distance, for a hawk's vision; his eyes may not be as good as Janaff's (and he sorely wishes Janaff were here now, for if anyone could see through this, he could), but Tibarn still has a good long time before he should have to worry about his senses failing him. This isn't right.
Finally he descends, swooping down to the ground and shifting back out of hawk form, his irritation with the landscape obvious in his expression. "Well, that was a bust."