[Celehar had done his best not to make his absence from Mari's gathering obvious, but he had avoided it. He had considered the invitation, very solemnly - and he imagines that the camaraderie that the younger members of the group could find among themselves would be helpful.
And yet, when he had contemplated standing, making his way to the hut that had been designated for it, the strength seemed absent from his limbs. It's a phenomena he remembers mostly from his days at the Untheileneise Court, the black mud of a mood that made dragging his eyes open a near-impossible task, some mornings.
He's settled himself against one of the building walls on the far side of the little settlement, taking advantage of what reprieve the shade can offer, settling his spirit and gathering his nerve by working through one of the devotions, when a sudden flurry of activity nearby catches his attention. He lifts his head, finally leveraging himself upright, to catch the passerby.]
Is aught amiss?
In the Desert
[Celehar starts his efforts by looking for the wraiths.
It's equal parts habit and practicality. Habit, to seek answers from the dead, even if his and Sunny's efforts to speak to the wraiths hadn't borne fruit - and practicality, in the habit of the faded figures to drift towards any and everyone who spent time beyond the Ferryman's light. Celehar has even collected a sentinel or two of his own, on this journey.
But if he has, it stands to reason that the same has happened with Sunny - and a collection of wraiths is a touch easier to spot against the dunes than a single young boy, especially as Celehar's efforts bring him further out into the sands than he's been before. The next time he crests a dune, he draws to a halt, staring at the canyons that start to develop ahead, dropping down into a ravine.]
OTA - Recruitment / Search
[Celehar had done his best not to make his absence from Mari's gathering obvious, but he had avoided it. He had considered the invitation, very solemnly - and he imagines that the camaraderie that the younger members of the group could find among themselves would be helpful.
And yet, when he had contemplated standing, making his way to the hut that had been designated for it, the strength seemed absent from his limbs. It's a phenomena he remembers mostly from his days at the Untheileneise Court, the black mud of a mood that made dragging his eyes open a near-impossible task, some mornings.
He's settled himself against one of the building walls on the far side of the little settlement, taking advantage of what reprieve the shade can offer, settling his spirit and gathering his nerve by working through one of the devotions, when a sudden flurry of activity nearby catches his attention. He lifts his head, finally leveraging himself upright, to catch the passerby.]
Is aught amiss?
In the Desert
[Celehar starts his efforts by looking for the wraiths.
It's equal parts habit and practicality. Habit, to seek answers from the dead, even if his and Sunny's efforts to speak to the wraiths hadn't borne fruit - and practicality, in the habit of the faded figures to drift towards any and everyone who spent time beyond the Ferryman's light. Celehar has even collected a sentinel or two of his own, on this journey.
But if he has, it stands to reason that the same has happened with Sunny - and a collection of wraiths is a touch easier to spot against the dunes than a single young boy, especially as Celehar's efforts bring him further out into the sands than he's been before. The next time he crests a dune, he draws to a halt, staring at the canyons that start to develop ahead, dropping down into a ravine.]