unknown date (OOC: 13th of Saun, 717)
morning
This day had just gone from bad to worse.
Bad, because he had not eaten today and he was hungry.
Bad, because the cold weather seemed to have returned. Bad, because the chill in the air meant Quio was no longer certain again that it was Saun. He didn't know what season it was. Bad, because he no longer had a shirt; he had torn it to bits thinking he wouldn't need it, that it would be hot out. Bad, because it was hard to keep himself warm and keeping himself warm meant burning more body heat, and that meant he needed food more than ever and he hadn't eaten since noon trial-last and he was cold and hungry.
Bad, because he did not know how much longer he could do this.
Worse, because he knew where he was now. Worse, because he'd been hoping hoping hoping for a reprieve he was not going to get.
Worse, because he had broken through cover on the shoreline and found himself looking upon a harbor city about two miles south, finally, but it turned out that wasn't good because it was a city he thought he recognized.
Foster's Landing.
Worse, no, abysmal because Foster's Landing was associated with pirates. It didn't have a navy. He didn't know what he'd been thinking when he'd thought he'd seen a navy ship before. It hadn't been a navy vessel that he'd seen escorting the men. It had been a pirate ship acting as a privateer.
Abysmal, because there in the harbor he saw the men's ship anchored along with the pirate ship that had led it south along the coast, and what was he going to do? He'd thought when he'd found a town he would be safe again. He'd thought he would be able to find food and shelter and clothing and help. But Quio was not safe here. Not with the men. Not with the pirates.
He could not go to Foster's Landing.
"Shit," he croaked out, a ghost of a word sounding sad, and frustrated, and very, very tired. His voice had healed some from the previous days' damage, but he still could not speak well. Quio rubbed at his face.
For long moments he stared out over towards the city, shaking his head slightly in plain disbelief, but he should have known. He should have known it would not be that easy. Only belatedly as he was standing there did he think, if I can see them, they can see me. He was roughly aware of Foster's Landing, what and where it was, and he knew it was near to Etzos, connected to its mother city by a shallow river heading north, but he did not know how far away from Etzos he was or even if he would be safe there.
Probably not.
And he was still standing too far out in the open. Where anyone with a lucky glance or good eyes or a spyglass might see.
Shit, he thought again, just as tiredly, and ducked down and made his way slowly inland. Trying to avoid any suspicious eyes.
morning
This day had just gone from bad to worse.
Bad, because he had not eaten today and he was hungry.
Bad, because the cold weather seemed to have returned. Bad, because the chill in the air meant Quio was no longer certain again that it was Saun. He didn't know what season it was. Bad, because he no longer had a shirt; he had torn it to bits thinking he wouldn't need it, that it would be hot out. Bad, because it was hard to keep himself warm and keeping himself warm meant burning more body heat, and that meant he needed food more than ever and he hadn't eaten since noon trial-last and he was cold and hungry.
Bad, because he did not know how much longer he could do this.
Worse, because he knew where he was now. Worse, because he'd been hoping hoping hoping for a reprieve he was not going to get.
Worse, because he had broken through cover on the shoreline and found himself looking upon a harbor city about two miles south, finally, but it turned out that wasn't good because it was a city he thought he recognized.
Foster's Landing.
Worse, no, abysmal because Foster's Landing was associated with pirates. It didn't have a navy. He didn't know what he'd been thinking when he'd thought he'd seen a navy ship before. It hadn't been a navy vessel that he'd seen escorting the men. It had been a pirate ship acting as a privateer.
Abysmal, because there in the harbor he saw the men's ship anchored along with the pirate ship that had led it south along the coast, and what was he going to do? He'd thought when he'd found a town he would be safe again. He'd thought he would be able to find food and shelter and clothing and help. But Quio was not safe here. Not with the men. Not with the pirates.
He could not go to Foster's Landing.
"Shit," he croaked out, a ghost of a word sounding sad, and frustrated, and very, very tired. His voice had healed some from the previous days' damage, but he still could not speak well. Quio rubbed at his face.
For long moments he stared out over towards the city, shaking his head slightly in plain disbelief, but he should have known. He should have known it would not be that easy. Only belatedly as he was standing there did he think, if I can see them, they can see me. He was roughly aware of Foster's Landing, what and where it was, and he knew it was near to Etzos, connected to its mother city by a shallow river heading north, but he did not know how far away from Etzos he was or even if he would be safe there.
Probably not.
And he was still standing too far out in the open. Where anyone with a lucky glance or good eyes or a spyglass might see.
Shit, he thought again, just as tiredly, and ducked down and made his way slowly inland. Trying to avoid any suspicious eyes.
"Speaking in Rakahi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"
"Speaking in Common"
"Speaking in Ulehi"