high hopes
( 乌鸫 ) — The final deliberations come sooner than he expects. Though, he expects it is because of no shortage of folly as the last days of their assignment creep upon them. Dead end leads to another dead end. False leads, temporary hopes that the situation may change. There was more time wasted in trying to appease the mages of this desert land and only briefly do his thoughts flicker to the dark mage that follows, followed behind the old tactician like a shadow. Appeasing the mages, trying to capture the damned beast. None of those responsibilities were his.
The lot of them had tried to play nice. Now, the others tired of waiting. They would take the battle to Leto, whether she perished or was captured by their hand would be left to the fates. He couldn't care less either way. Still, their plan is flawed. There's too many variables, too much left to chance. All of it hinges on the implication that he could get her to give the chase without the beast fleeing outright.
The entire plan is flimsy. Contrived at best, but he can offer no other suggestion. They had little to work with. Precious less to confirm what was true and what was false and the overgrown lizard that calls itself Yevaud provided less help. ( He was not interested in this hunt. Happy to answer questions, but never to provide straightforward answers. ) But, Morfis grew impatient with them. As did the church as they return queries with no more answers than they had before. No more solutions than they had before.
In the end, all that he was tasked with was making sure that the beast came, followed, died in the catacombs. Exactly, in that order. He is not asked to think.
The wind picks up and the sand swirls beneath his feet, dyed red with the blood, with the strains of a hunted quarry strewn about their feet. ( What a waste, he thinks, to be using what they had so dutifully hunted as precious little more than a lure for the serpent. ) It's luck. Sheer, unbridled luck that he spies the serpent coiling, unfurling in the skies at the edge of the island where they had seen it last. Wounded from her previous altercation with Yevaud, but a stubborn enough of a creature that it has not yet fallen.
His hand is already at his sword but does not draw it. It would serve them no purpose yet. Instead, he turns toward the archer that accompanies him against his better wishes — "Mozu." He murmurs in a soft voice, hesitant to speak any louder at the risk of drawing any more of its attention than they need. "Send the signal."
No sooner does the flare go up that there is a wail, a scream and it is neither of their own.
@ team leto!
