Saryl has been managing the Weavenest for some time now.
They aren't quite sure how long it's been since their Creator left on a personal journey into the Dreaming. It's been enough time for things to... Change. Change in ways they aren't sure they're comfortable with just yet.
Looking out the window of their command center, they take careful note of the growing amount of red-colored tents surrounding the Weavenest. Every day sees more disillusioned pilgrims or other such folk building this strange settlement around the Nest - at such a distance as is comfortable for security's sake.
It is difficult, without Yivel present, to manage them. They expect a revolutionary leader, and Saryl is no such thing.
They should count themself lucky that Kaysul seems to have undergone a transformation as of late. His seemingly endless energy and motivation in the name of the Accord keeps the new arrivals satisfied.
Faru has remained at Bellhart, returning to what they were meant to do. From the communication that passes between them and the Weavenest, it seems always that they are rather busy. They've begun to become somewhat more distant, which worries Saryl.
Truth be told, they could use Faru's guidance themself just now.
They look back at their desk, where they have been... Sculpting. Perhaps sculpting is not the correct word here; over hours of painstakingly creating refined replacements for their parts, they've used the leftover pieces of their own body to create some kind of image. It stands up on shaky and thin legs, the jagged body holding a head that can look only up. Arms reach out grotesquely for something they cannot name.
They don't like it whatsoever.
They sit down with a sort of humming sigh, staring at the effigy of shame before them.
... They wish their Creator was here. Things always have so much direction when She is around.