╰ ⋄⋆⋅✧ ⸻ ⧽ @throughstruggle cont. from here
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Neve understands Taash's agitation. Truly, she does. Neve does not often have the displeasure of dealing with the southern cousins of the Templar order, but she knows the lot of them to be corrupt hypocrites who think themselves better if only because they restrict their cruelties to mages. As if it is not the very same rot that infects the wealthy of the Imperium, still coached in the language of religion that would justify their actions. It sickens Neve, it makes her fingers itch with the urge to act. One of the Tranquil down there is little more than a boy of ten. What crime could he have possibly committed for so permanent a punishment?
Yet she holds herself still. Steady. She quells the sick in her belly. Patience is a lesson hard-learned, honed after years of waiting for the proper moment. When she acts it will be for the benefit of the prisoners, not to ease her own feelings.
"They don't," she agrees evenly. "But look at them. They're agitated, nervous," she nods to one of the Templars. His head whips around to check behind them periodically. His hand flexes around the grip of the blade at his side. He's ready to swing without even a reason to. The others aren't in a much better state. Given the current dangers of the roads, it's an understandable paranoia. "Give them a reason to, and they'll spook. Do you think they care enough for their charges to make sure one of them doesn't get in the way? They're defenseless, Taash. And easy to threaten if the Templars realize we want to help them."
She's already pictured the ways this could go down. Too messy, too much room for error on open road like this. She wants to believe they'd hit hard and fast enough, but she isn't willing to risk lives on that bet. "Better to wait until they make camp. We do this, but we make sure we're the ones calling the shots."
