ezekind:
The problem is that Wyn is right. He usually is. It would be different, if he was so certain of himself and wasn’t right, but he generally makes sound decisions, ones that are the best for both of them, all things considered. Ezek trusts him, trusts Wyn with their life, and if Wyn thinks this is a good decision, thinks they can join this Gambit and save some money and find somewhere they like enough to stay, then Wyn is almost certainly right about that. They’re sure his god has told him as much, too—and there’s always been something compelling about that, to Ezek, the idea of having a god who tells you when they approve. Ze’karzen only ever showed: if you had her favor, you made it across the Rift in one piece, and they had crossed the Rift more times than they could count.
But the idea of it still unsettles something in their chest. They don’t know which way this group is traveling, but there are only so many options for where they might be going, if they’re looking for work: south to Kredia, which would be the best option; north, through the desert; or inland. And they cannot ignore how uneasy it makes them, the idea of leaving the coast, of moving away from the world they know, the water, the shore.
It isn’t that they’ve never been inland. Of course they have, though it has been admittedly rare. Their people came from the water; they do best, around it. Within sight of the sea. Maybe it’s more superstition than it is fact, but they worry; the idea of trekking through a desert alongside a misfit group of travelers feels like anathema to them. They let their conflicted feelings play out across their face, as they think it through, working bit by bit through the benefits, contrasting them against the detriments.
“I don’t love the idea of giving up control over where we go,” they admit, after a moment. And then, as they so often do, they concede, too: “But if you trust them, if you think it’s a good idea, it can’t be that much worse than what we’ve been doing.”
...
He watches them openly as they consider his proposition. It’s a skill he learned quickly, how to read every little expression that crosses their face, and they offer them openly just now. He can see the apprehension, and understands it, prepares to let this be the end of it. But it gives way to something else, something willing to consider it. And he can’t help the hint of a smile that plays on his lips as they speak after a pause.
“No, neither do I,” he agrees, with a nod. “But I believe for once the benefits outweigh the risks. And if it’s any consolation, the ones I’ve met seem young, willing to listen. I think swaying the path in our favor would be no trouble if we give good reason. The desert, for example, we'll tell them we’d rather stay away from the desert. Too hot, not enough water, even less ice, the sort of magic it would take to make it comfortable, not worth the trouble if they want our expertise, which I’m certain they do.”
It’s a tangent, one he only realizes he’s on once he’s halfway done with the complaints. Wyn waves his hand, as if to brush off that matter, no need to get into what he knows Ezek already knows, agrees with, here and now with a larger matter than their dislike of the desert is.
“But they seem trustworthy enough, and it’s always better having others we can call on for aid than expecting to run into enemies who outnumber us at any port city here or especially across the other side of Haelion. And as it is,” he shrugs, not wanting to make this sound like the deciding factor, because it’s not, but wanting them to know, “Ulegelu agrees with the choice. It’s the first He’s offered even a hint of a path since we came to this city.”
