LOG: Escape!
Date: Day 4, Month 13, Turn 25
Location: All over High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Exile escape!
Night-time in the barracks and most of the exiles are trying to catch some sleep. Celadion lays in his cot but he's not sleeping. He waits until he sees the guards slip over to their corner for a game of dice and drinks before rolling out from under the blankets and tucking a pillow in his place. What kid hasn't learned that to sneak out of bed in the night right? Moving on hands and knees he creeps over to Rilka's cot to check to see if she's awake. A couple other exiles who have been play-sleeping in the same manner are also slipping out of cots, quiet enough not to alert any guard into his game and booze.
Rilka isn't sleeping, either - and for once, she's sleeping in a bed on her own, not curled up with someone else for comfort. That's possibly alerted some people to /something/, but presumably it's encouragement that perhaps she's going to be all right after all. She's silent-footed as she gets up, leaving her blankets as they fall. Shrugging into her boots - she's otherwise fully dressed, and why not! - she keeps a wary eye on the other sleepers: so far, so good. Big-eyed, she she joins the others, pale face paler than ever with fear and anticipation - and excitement.
One of the larger exiles has slipped a pack onto his shoulders, a makeshift one of the sheets to stash some items they might need. Celadion gives the big man a signal to keep down and scoots forward to catch Rilka up. He has brand new (or hand me down perhaps) boots in his hand by the laces to keep from making any sound. A chin jerk from him is directed towards the door, once they are near the last line of cots. If they keep low, they can make the door without the guards seeing them and at this time of night, after so many days of no trouble, the guards don't have much reason to think exiles have the willpower to come up with crazy plots like this. Still, Cela puts a hand to his belt, a nasty looking shank tucked there thanks to one of those butter knives, a sharp rock and too many hours laying around.
A silent nod confirms that Rilka understands what they need to do. Despite that, she casts a glance back through the front cavern of the barracks that could almost be described as mournful - as though she half regrets all the people she's leaving behind. It doesn't last: she turns again, crouching low and following the others as they begin to make their escape. She, of course, hasn't though to keep her boots off, and despite her best efforts (she can probably be forgiven: she's not used to shoes), one makes a squeaking sound upon the stone floor. She goes still, breath caught, eyes wide: are they going to be noticed?
The rattle of dice happens to trail over on the heels of the shoe-squeak, followed by the groan of the guard who must have rolled them, "By the first egg..." His voice already slurred by whatever liquor they've been guzzling. Perks of the job right? Celadion's eyes have gone wide at the sound of the shoes and he scoots forward to give Rilka a worried look and a 'slow' motion with his hands before peering over the side of one cot. Poor Rilka worried about the exiles not joining them--the ones he'd want to join them are in the infirmary and unable to risk such an adventure. He waits until the next clatter and roll of dice before pointing towards the door. Hopefully there's won't be someone sleeping on the side side of it.
A hasty, but thankfully silent, nod confirms that Rilka understands, though it's not until the sound of the dice that she actually seems to relax enough to be capable of anything more than standing fragile and still, caught in terror. Once it /is/ safe to move again, she follows Celadion's direction, taking it slowly: one step, then another step, then another step, until she reaches the others at the door. It's closed, of course, keeping the warm air in, but by day, it hasn't /seemed/ to squeak overly much. Rilka casts a glance back at Celadion, wary.
Several of the other exiles are pressed against the floor, against the wall beside the door. A few of the wild, savage youngsters who usualy kept out of the settlment fishing most days. They aren't the sort to take this soft living very well. One of them eyes the guards and Cel as to touch his arm, shaking his head in warning to forstall any trouble there. Might be a time for fighting later but, not now. Moving forward, Celadion doesn't look particularly keen on being the first one to try the door but since he's the one to strike up this suggestion, he might as well give this a try. The latch comes open smooth and silent and the door opens enough to let a skinny exile through without a sound. Who knows what opening it wider might do.
It's convenient, really, that a couple of sevendays of throwing up good food has not really turned any of the exiles away from their natural skinniness. Rilka fits through easily, once it's her turn to do so, and this time, she doesn't look back: there's no time for that. At least the caverns are relatively quiet, at this time of night, though still glow-lit enough to make it not too difficult to see where a person is going. Still, Rilka is undeniably on edge as she waits for the rest of them, wrapping her thin arms around her thinner shoulders, staring this way and that for any sign of trouble.
Celadion stands his guard at the door, letting exile after exile through the thin crack that's allowed and all the while looking over his shoulder towards the guards, expecting them to take a break any moment. Each time the dice roll is another chance to send a few more bodies out the door to join the line of people scooting along the silent inner cavern towards the exit. Luckily there are not that many of them, or perhaps it's just sad that so few want to go or are healthy enough to try it. It's a bit of a trick to get the larger lad with his burden of extra supplies out the door without the hinges giving them away but at last even he is ot of the barracks. With his heart hammering, Celadion edges into the hall himself, fumbling to get the door re-latched without a sound.
Rilka waits with bated breath for the door to be re-latched; she doesn't breath again until it is. Clearly, even Rilka has had to leave the dorm for vital bodily functions, but her expression as she looks around is one of bewilderment: she, at least, has no idea what direction they need to be going on. Too many doorways; too many options. A few of the others are clearly in the same boat.
It's a confusing mess of tunnles. The pathways all non-sensical to the exiles for certain! Celadion has been keeping particular attention to his way though -- oh, and he's been dropping bits of his dinner along the way too. Feeling along the hall as they come to a T in the pahts, it takes him a moment to find his trail and he motions for the others to come along. Thank goodness they are all used to dark caves, and that the weyr puts out glow baskets. Big babies. At the next cross section of halls he waits, counting heads and checking on the wild-eyed escapee's. From here the air is cooler indicating they are indeed heading to the 'out' and hopefully not horrible lost inside the weyr's belly.
Though, as yet, they've not encountered anyone, Rilka is making absolutely certain her shoes make no sound at all as she follows the group through the caverns. Her eyes are wide, now, it seems, with awe as much as excitement and fear: they're going through parts of the weyr she's no doubt never noticed before, even if she /has/ seen them. Once or twice, someone has to reach back and grab her arm to keep her moving; at least /other/ people are paying attention. Finally, someone (not Rilka) asks, in a whisper, "Where are we going to go?"
"We're going to the water." A voice in the dark whispers, the face that peers towards Rilka is mud-painted, silly exile. Celadion slips up closer and now that they have a moment, he can get those boots on. Hopefully they won't need to be so quiet here. "I saw a building last night when I made my guard chase me down to the water." Yeah, not very nice of him making the guard do that but he had to see the area. "We can go there." He snatches one of the glows from the basket in the hall and stuffs it into a pocket, might need it later on. "Monsters can't get inside things." Here's hoping anyway.
By the water! There's a susurrus of appreciation for that notion: even Rilka's eyes are shining with pleasure. Evidently, for the most part, people are satisfied with the plan. The dark haired girls leans up against the wall, though, examining the tips of her fingers that peek through the over-long sleeves of her sweater. "Where is the outdoors?" she asks, finally. "How do we get the rest of the way? I want to feel the sun on my back." The moon will probably do just as well, though.
There's a soft shushing from a few lips as Celadion lopes forward and puts a hand to Rilka's elbow. "We go down this next all." Pointing towards the shadows of the Inner Caverns, "And we can get out that way. Like going to the latrine. Marco left a few cloth strips, right Marco?" A grunt in the darkness must be 'right'. "We have to be fast from the mouth of this cave to the building, so we don't have anyone see us. You have to run, as fast as you can."
Rilka gives Celadion a funny little crooked smile as he puts his hand on her elbow; she nods. "Fast," she whispers, barely audible. "I can be fast." So can the others, apparently, who nod in agreement, even though /they/ don't break the silence again. Rilka tips her head towards the passageway ahead, asking, without doing so outloud: now? Are we ready? Can we keep going?
Celadion nods his head quickly, eagerly and he forces the fear down with a gulp. Moving forward he picks up the trail and takes the turn in the cavern to head to the inner cavern on quick, not so silent feet thanks to the new boots. Luckily the weyr is fairly quiet this time of night. Looking over one shoulder he makes sure the others can see where he is going and ducks around the corner to wait for them to scoot around so they can make the last leg towards the outside and some much needed fresh air.
There's a low murmur of voices in the nighthearth, but whatever they're doing, it seems to be keeping their attention pretty firmly fastened. Still, it causes a falter in Rilka's step, enough that the whole line has to pause for a moment or two before she's willing to move again. Onward: one step at a time.
Muffled whispers from the escapee's and grumbles from behind Rilka and a worried few looks back from those ahead of Rilka and frantic arms motions of 'cmon-cmon' until she joins them with back-patting and murmurs of how good she's doing not being seen. Damn nighthearth! Celadion pauses near the bowl entrance and peers out into the dark night and the blanket of white snow. Hopefully this doesn't end badly--as in, right into the mouths of a few waiting dragons.
No doubt there are a few people regretting Rilka's inclusion by this point, but then, they must be pretty used to what she's like. And at least she hasn't started /humming/ or anything. She does, however, let out a little gasp as the snow becomes visible; she sounds /delighted/.
Celadion opens his arm for Rilka, bobbing his head and weaving back and forth until, hopefully, she comes closer to him so he can keep a better eye on her. Maybe? It's grasping at straws really. He squints into the dark and then whispers quietly, "I'm going to go first and leave my marks in the cold-stuff. Marco will be the last to make sure no one gets lost." He's bigger and can scoop up any who are having problems, or so the thought must be. He waits a moment to see if everyone understands, patting himself to check for that shank and the glow in his pocket.
At least for now, Rilka is cooperative, and approaches Celadion as requested, though she can't keep the tremor of excitement from shuddering through her too-thin shoulders. The exiles ready themselves, shivering in the chill but mostly as excited as the dark-haired girl is: they nod, some enthusiastically, some a little more cautious. "I'm ready," whispers Rilka, firmly.
Watching Rilka, checking that she is ok, focused as Rilka can be, Celadion nods his head and draws his borrowed clothes around him a little tighter. Then he's bolting out into the snow of the bowl, canting his head up to be sure no naughty dragon is going to drop down and snatch them up like snacks.
Rilka has a tiny little smile for Celadion as he looks at her, but as soon as he bolts, she's after him, running helter-skelter, her hair flailing behind her, her too-long sweater no doubt not doing much to help her speed. Still, she's not /slow/, no more than anyone else is. Perhaps it's too cold for the dragons to want to be out in the bowl this evening; perhaps most people have gone home. So far: so good.
Celadion runs for all he's worth. Thank goodness he hasn't really been sick like many others. The cold air puffs out of his lungs in a harsh mist as he crosses the bowl, looking skyward as he goes, trying to stick to the sheltering cliffs untl he has to break for the building he's aiming for. Too bad he's taken a wrong angle to miss the lake, but luckily the path is the faster direction to the stables and out of the freezing cold.
If Rilka is disappointed by the lack of lake - which she must be - she makes no mention of it. Anyway, she's running too hard, and after all these weeks of relative unactivity, that has got to be worth something. Her breath comes faster and heavier, the cold air no doubt making the exertion hurt, but /on/ she runs. There's just no stopping, not now.
Once inside the doors of the stable, Celadion presses himself against the inside wall and counts the people who dash in after him. It's quiet in here, too cold for mainland folks to put up with when they have warm toasty beds. There's only the startled snort of runners in the dark and that sound makes Cela's heart race. It could be people, or little seamonsters or.....who knows what? He hunches down, diging in a pocket to take out the glow from his pocket so they can make out just what is in this strange new place.
Once inside, Rilka has to lean forward, bracing herself against her legs, and pant: it takes her a little while to really adjust to the no-longer-running bit, though once she does, she glances around the place with interest - and fear. "What was that?" she whispers. It's probably safe to talk, now, but she's not risking it, not with sounds like /that/ around.
A 'ssshh' comes out of the dark in response to Rilka's question. Sure they should be safe, but that strange sound is heavy, like a person. Celadion crawls across the straw, holding the glow up to see around. Hay bales, runner saddles and various leather goods that look very odd to anyone just seeing them for the first time. Then again, these could be straps for dragons. Maybe? Celadion gets to his feet and peers over one of the stalls, finding a sleepy-eyed runner who snorts and runs away into the paddock. Startling enough to make him gasp and fall back in alarm at first.
It can't /really/ be surprising that as the runner charges past them, Rilka lets out a shriek, her eyes boggling, her look of terror complete. One of the others hastily puts a hand over her mouth, grabbing her by the shoulders to keep her still, but they all look wary.
Celadion isn't going to take another chance like that again. Yikes. Spotting a ladder he points that way. Even if the four footed beasties seem more afraid of them than...well...just afraid of them as the exiles are, it doesn't mean they should sit down in the hay getting stepped on as they regroup. He climbs up awkwardly--new thing ladders. Then he pokes his head around and eyes the loft. Only hay and a good vantage of the stables. After climbing all the way up he motions to the others to join him, reaching for any packs or supplies that aren't easily carried up.
Another of the exiles pushes Rilka towards the ladder, evidently of the opinion that the sooner she's up there, the safer they'll all be. And really, he's unlikely to be far wrong. The thin girl clambers up the ladder gingerly, crouching in the hay at the top before carefully moving away to allow the person behind her to follow. Whatever she thinks of their new home is difficult to read in her expression: she's rocking again, back and forth, back and forth, her face a mask.
Celadion's tone is disapointed really, he wanted to be out at the lake, at the water. "Well, at least we are out of the awful wind and cold-stuff." He pats Maro on the back one the other man has come up with the big pack and then turns his attention to checking on Rilka. "How are you doing? That creature didn't hurt you did it?"
Rilka watches, as the other exiles settle themselves. She seems somewhat surprised to be addressed by Celadion, but after a moment, the faintest of smiles blossoms on her face. "No, no, it didn't. It /ran/." She's rather impressed by that. "We're safe here, aren't we? They aren't going to feed us to their creatures and we aren't going to have to leave." It's not the water, but it's better than what they had, at least.
Celadion's lips twitch in the dark, or rather in the faint twinkle of light from the glow, "They won't even know that we're missing." Such a small group of exiles the great-big-weyr wouldn't notice them right? "We can scout out the best way to go from here." And hopefully a decent snowfall through the night will hide their path to the stables too. He nods about not being fed to anything, "And not get sick from them."
"There's a whole world out there," remembers Rilka. "There must be a place for us." She's encouraged by this, and the rest of what Celadion has to say: her smile broadens. "I like it better here already. And it isn't /too/ cold." Thank goodness for hay.
"We have blankets too." Celadion says victoriously. Thanks to Marco! A grin for Rilka and once he's sure she's ok, he moves on to check on the other exiles who came along, counting heads as he goes. "We'll be ok." Assuring himself more than the others. It's a first step to freedom anyway.
Location: All over High Reaches Weyr
Synopsis: Exile escape!
Night-time in the barracks and most of the exiles are trying to catch some sleep. Celadion lays in his cot but he's not sleeping. He waits until he sees the guards slip over to their corner for a game of dice and drinks before rolling out from under the blankets and tucking a pillow in his place. What kid hasn't learned that to sneak out of bed in the night right? Moving on hands and knees he creeps over to Rilka's cot to check to see if she's awake. A couple other exiles who have been play-sleeping in the same manner are also slipping out of cots, quiet enough not to alert any guard into his game and booze.
Rilka isn't sleeping, either - and for once, she's sleeping in a bed on her own, not curled up with someone else for comfort. That's possibly alerted some people to /something/, but presumably it's encouragement that perhaps she's going to be all right after all. She's silent-footed as she gets up, leaving her blankets as they fall. Shrugging into her boots - she's otherwise fully dressed, and why not! - she keeps a wary eye on the other sleepers: so far, so good. Big-eyed, she she joins the others, pale face paler than ever with fear and anticipation - and excitement.
One of the larger exiles has slipped a pack onto his shoulders, a makeshift one of the sheets to stash some items they might need. Celadion gives the big man a signal to keep down and scoots forward to catch Rilka up. He has brand new (or hand me down perhaps) boots in his hand by the laces to keep from making any sound. A chin jerk from him is directed towards the door, once they are near the last line of cots. If they keep low, they can make the door without the guards seeing them and at this time of night, after so many days of no trouble, the guards don't have much reason to think exiles have the willpower to come up with crazy plots like this. Still, Cela puts a hand to his belt, a nasty looking shank tucked there thanks to one of those butter knives, a sharp rock and too many hours laying around.
A silent nod confirms that Rilka understands what they need to do. Despite that, she casts a glance back through the front cavern of the barracks that could almost be described as mournful - as though she half regrets all the people she's leaving behind. It doesn't last: she turns again, crouching low and following the others as they begin to make their escape. She, of course, hasn't though to keep her boots off, and despite her best efforts (she can probably be forgiven: she's not used to shoes), one makes a squeaking sound upon the stone floor. She goes still, breath caught, eyes wide: are they going to be noticed?
The rattle of dice happens to trail over on the heels of the shoe-squeak, followed by the groan of the guard who must have rolled them, "By the first egg..." His voice already slurred by whatever liquor they've been guzzling. Perks of the job right? Celadion's eyes have gone wide at the sound of the shoes and he scoots forward to give Rilka a worried look and a 'slow' motion with his hands before peering over the side of one cot. Poor Rilka worried about the exiles not joining them--the ones he'd want to join them are in the infirmary and unable to risk such an adventure. He waits until the next clatter and roll of dice before pointing towards the door. Hopefully there's won't be someone sleeping on the side side of it.
A hasty, but thankfully silent, nod confirms that Rilka understands, though it's not until the sound of the dice that she actually seems to relax enough to be capable of anything more than standing fragile and still, caught in terror. Once it /is/ safe to move again, she follows Celadion's direction, taking it slowly: one step, then another step, then another step, until she reaches the others at the door. It's closed, of course, keeping the warm air in, but by day, it hasn't /seemed/ to squeak overly much. Rilka casts a glance back at Celadion, wary.
Several of the other exiles are pressed against the floor, against the wall beside the door. A few of the wild, savage youngsters who usualy kept out of the settlment fishing most days. They aren't the sort to take this soft living very well. One of them eyes the guards and Cel as to touch his arm, shaking his head in warning to forstall any trouble there. Might be a time for fighting later but, not now. Moving forward, Celadion doesn't look particularly keen on being the first one to try the door but since he's the one to strike up this suggestion, he might as well give this a try. The latch comes open smooth and silent and the door opens enough to let a skinny exile through without a sound. Who knows what opening it wider might do.
It's convenient, really, that a couple of sevendays of throwing up good food has not really turned any of the exiles away from their natural skinniness. Rilka fits through easily, once it's her turn to do so, and this time, she doesn't look back: there's no time for that. At least the caverns are relatively quiet, at this time of night, though still glow-lit enough to make it not too difficult to see where a person is going. Still, Rilka is undeniably on edge as she waits for the rest of them, wrapping her thin arms around her thinner shoulders, staring this way and that for any sign of trouble.
Celadion stands his guard at the door, letting exile after exile through the thin crack that's allowed and all the while looking over his shoulder towards the guards, expecting them to take a break any moment. Each time the dice roll is another chance to send a few more bodies out the door to join the line of people scooting along the silent inner cavern towards the exit. Luckily there are not that many of them, or perhaps it's just sad that so few want to go or are healthy enough to try it. It's a bit of a trick to get the larger lad with his burden of extra supplies out the door without the hinges giving them away but at last even he is ot of the barracks. With his heart hammering, Celadion edges into the hall himself, fumbling to get the door re-latched without a sound.
Rilka waits with bated breath for the door to be re-latched; she doesn't breath again until it is. Clearly, even Rilka has had to leave the dorm for vital bodily functions, but her expression as she looks around is one of bewilderment: she, at least, has no idea what direction they need to be going on. Too many doorways; too many options. A few of the others are clearly in the same boat.
It's a confusing mess of tunnles. The pathways all non-sensical to the exiles for certain! Celadion has been keeping particular attention to his way though -- oh, and he's been dropping bits of his dinner along the way too. Feeling along the hall as they come to a T in the pahts, it takes him a moment to find his trail and he motions for the others to come along. Thank goodness they are all used to dark caves, and that the weyr puts out glow baskets. Big babies. At the next cross section of halls he waits, counting heads and checking on the wild-eyed escapee's. From here the air is cooler indicating they are indeed heading to the 'out' and hopefully not horrible lost inside the weyr's belly.
Though, as yet, they've not encountered anyone, Rilka is making absolutely certain her shoes make no sound at all as she follows the group through the caverns. Her eyes are wide, now, it seems, with awe as much as excitement and fear: they're going through parts of the weyr she's no doubt never noticed before, even if she /has/ seen them. Once or twice, someone has to reach back and grab her arm to keep her moving; at least /other/ people are paying attention. Finally, someone (not Rilka) asks, in a whisper, "Where are we going to go?"
"We're going to the water." A voice in the dark whispers, the face that peers towards Rilka is mud-painted, silly exile. Celadion slips up closer and now that they have a moment, he can get those boots on. Hopefully they won't need to be so quiet here. "I saw a building last night when I made my guard chase me down to the water." Yeah, not very nice of him making the guard do that but he had to see the area. "We can go there." He snatches one of the glows from the basket in the hall and stuffs it into a pocket, might need it later on. "Monsters can't get inside things." Here's hoping anyway.
By the water! There's a susurrus of appreciation for that notion: even Rilka's eyes are shining with pleasure. Evidently, for the most part, people are satisfied with the plan. The dark haired girls leans up against the wall, though, examining the tips of her fingers that peek through the over-long sleeves of her sweater. "Where is the outdoors?" she asks, finally. "How do we get the rest of the way? I want to feel the sun on my back." The moon will probably do just as well, though.
There's a soft shushing from a few lips as Celadion lopes forward and puts a hand to Rilka's elbow. "We go down this next all." Pointing towards the shadows of the Inner Caverns, "And we can get out that way. Like going to the latrine. Marco left a few cloth strips, right Marco?" A grunt in the darkness must be 'right'. "We have to be fast from the mouth of this cave to the building, so we don't have anyone see us. You have to run, as fast as you can."
Rilka gives Celadion a funny little crooked smile as he puts his hand on her elbow; she nods. "Fast," she whispers, barely audible. "I can be fast." So can the others, apparently, who nod in agreement, even though /they/ don't break the silence again. Rilka tips her head towards the passageway ahead, asking, without doing so outloud: now? Are we ready? Can we keep going?
Celadion nods his head quickly, eagerly and he forces the fear down with a gulp. Moving forward he picks up the trail and takes the turn in the cavern to head to the inner cavern on quick, not so silent feet thanks to the new boots. Luckily the weyr is fairly quiet this time of night. Looking over one shoulder he makes sure the others can see where he is going and ducks around the corner to wait for them to scoot around so they can make the last leg towards the outside and some much needed fresh air.
There's a low murmur of voices in the nighthearth, but whatever they're doing, it seems to be keeping their attention pretty firmly fastened. Still, it causes a falter in Rilka's step, enough that the whole line has to pause for a moment or two before she's willing to move again. Onward: one step at a time.
Muffled whispers from the escapee's and grumbles from behind Rilka and a worried few looks back from those ahead of Rilka and frantic arms motions of 'cmon-cmon' until she joins them with back-patting and murmurs of how good she's doing not being seen. Damn nighthearth! Celadion pauses near the bowl entrance and peers out into the dark night and the blanket of white snow. Hopefully this doesn't end badly--as in, right into the mouths of a few waiting dragons.
No doubt there are a few people regretting Rilka's inclusion by this point, but then, they must be pretty used to what she's like. And at least she hasn't started /humming/ or anything. She does, however, let out a little gasp as the snow becomes visible; she sounds /delighted/.
Celadion opens his arm for Rilka, bobbing his head and weaving back and forth until, hopefully, she comes closer to him so he can keep a better eye on her. Maybe? It's grasping at straws really. He squints into the dark and then whispers quietly, "I'm going to go first and leave my marks in the cold-stuff. Marco will be the last to make sure no one gets lost." He's bigger and can scoop up any who are having problems, or so the thought must be. He waits a moment to see if everyone understands, patting himself to check for that shank and the glow in his pocket.
At least for now, Rilka is cooperative, and approaches Celadion as requested, though she can't keep the tremor of excitement from shuddering through her too-thin shoulders. The exiles ready themselves, shivering in the chill but mostly as excited as the dark-haired girl is: they nod, some enthusiastically, some a little more cautious. "I'm ready," whispers Rilka, firmly.
Watching Rilka, checking that she is ok, focused as Rilka can be, Celadion nods his head and draws his borrowed clothes around him a little tighter. Then he's bolting out into the snow of the bowl, canting his head up to be sure no naughty dragon is going to drop down and snatch them up like snacks.
Rilka has a tiny little smile for Celadion as he looks at her, but as soon as he bolts, she's after him, running helter-skelter, her hair flailing behind her, her too-long sweater no doubt not doing much to help her speed. Still, she's not /slow/, no more than anyone else is. Perhaps it's too cold for the dragons to want to be out in the bowl this evening; perhaps most people have gone home. So far: so good.
Celadion runs for all he's worth. Thank goodness he hasn't really been sick like many others. The cold air puffs out of his lungs in a harsh mist as he crosses the bowl, looking skyward as he goes, trying to stick to the sheltering cliffs untl he has to break for the building he's aiming for. Too bad he's taken a wrong angle to miss the lake, but luckily the path is the faster direction to the stables and out of the freezing cold.
If Rilka is disappointed by the lack of lake - which she must be - she makes no mention of it. Anyway, she's running too hard, and after all these weeks of relative unactivity, that has got to be worth something. Her breath comes faster and heavier, the cold air no doubt making the exertion hurt, but /on/ she runs. There's just no stopping, not now.
Once inside the doors of the stable, Celadion presses himself against the inside wall and counts the people who dash in after him. It's quiet in here, too cold for mainland folks to put up with when they have warm toasty beds. There's only the startled snort of runners in the dark and that sound makes Cela's heart race. It could be people, or little seamonsters or.....who knows what? He hunches down, diging in a pocket to take out the glow from his pocket so they can make out just what is in this strange new place.
Once inside, Rilka has to lean forward, bracing herself against her legs, and pant: it takes her a little while to really adjust to the no-longer-running bit, though once she does, she glances around the place with interest - and fear. "What was that?" she whispers. It's probably safe to talk, now, but she's not risking it, not with sounds like /that/ around.
A 'ssshh' comes out of the dark in response to Rilka's question. Sure they should be safe, but that strange sound is heavy, like a person. Celadion crawls across the straw, holding the glow up to see around. Hay bales, runner saddles and various leather goods that look very odd to anyone just seeing them for the first time. Then again, these could be straps for dragons. Maybe? Celadion gets to his feet and peers over one of the stalls, finding a sleepy-eyed runner who snorts and runs away into the paddock. Startling enough to make him gasp and fall back in alarm at first.
It can't /really/ be surprising that as the runner charges past them, Rilka lets out a shriek, her eyes boggling, her look of terror complete. One of the others hastily puts a hand over her mouth, grabbing her by the shoulders to keep her still, but they all look wary.
Celadion isn't going to take another chance like that again. Yikes. Spotting a ladder he points that way. Even if the four footed beasties seem more afraid of them than...well...just afraid of them as the exiles are, it doesn't mean they should sit down in the hay getting stepped on as they regroup. He climbs up awkwardly--new thing ladders. Then he pokes his head around and eyes the loft. Only hay and a good vantage of the stables. After climbing all the way up he motions to the others to join him, reaching for any packs or supplies that aren't easily carried up.
Another of the exiles pushes Rilka towards the ladder, evidently of the opinion that the sooner she's up there, the safer they'll all be. And really, he's unlikely to be far wrong. The thin girl clambers up the ladder gingerly, crouching in the hay at the top before carefully moving away to allow the person behind her to follow. Whatever she thinks of their new home is difficult to read in her expression: she's rocking again, back and forth, back and forth, her face a mask.
Celadion's tone is disapointed really, he wanted to be out at the lake, at the water. "Well, at least we are out of the awful wind and cold-stuff." He pats Maro on the back one the other man has come up with the big pack and then turns his attention to checking on Rilka. "How are you doing? That creature didn't hurt you did it?"
Rilka watches, as the other exiles settle themselves. She seems somewhat surprised to be addressed by Celadion, but after a moment, the faintest of smiles blossoms on her face. "No, no, it didn't. It /ran/." She's rather impressed by that. "We're safe here, aren't we? They aren't going to feed us to their creatures and we aren't going to have to leave." It's not the water, but it's better than what they had, at least.
Celadion's lips twitch in the dark, or rather in the faint twinkle of light from the glow, "They won't even know that we're missing." Such a small group of exiles the great-big-weyr wouldn't notice them right? "We can scout out the best way to go from here." And hopefully a decent snowfall through the night will hide their path to the stables too. He nods about not being fed to anything, "And not get sick from them."
"There's a whole world out there," remembers Rilka. "There must be a place for us." She's encouraged by this, and the rest of what Celadion has to say: her smile broadens. "I like it better here already. And it isn't /too/ cold." Thank goodness for hay.
"We have blankets too." Celadion says victoriously. Thanks to Marco! A grin for Rilka and once he's sure she's ok, he moves on to check on the other exiles who came along, counting heads as he goes. "We'll be ok." Assuring himself more than the others. It's a first step to freedom anyway.