01-19-2015, 12:11 PM
A swish of fingers brought up the images, hovering in perfect clarity over the Wallet on the arm of the chair. Sören leaned forward a little to scrutinise them, unperturbed by their content. Dead bodies meant little when he was caught on a mystery - even if the men had been colleagues of Declan's, with grieving families left in their wake. A second gesture opened a series of meteorological reports, which offered nothing to elucidate the theory of freak weather, though it was a volatile and mountainous area, so it did little to rule it out either. Still, the explanation just didn't wash.
The network had been strangely quiet on the matter of the lake, which tested Sören's curiosity. Either it meant nothing of interest - possible - or else there was a reason for the delay. The balance of possibility was still flimsy enough to allow doubt; they might find nothing at the lake but the frozen bodies and an enigma with nothing to say for itself. For now he was trusting Declan's judgement, but that did not stop the ring haunting in the back of his thoughts; it was potentially more promising of a lead - more certain, anyway - but lost to him now. He had to remember that.
His gaze drew back to his single bag, well-worn and much used, evidenced by the curled remains of old luggage labels and a few equally battered keepsake talismans looped through various zips and handles. To Sören's eye, it also glowed dully with the impressions of old magics. But Declan was right; it contained no hiking gear. "To be arranged on route,"
he agreed somewhat ruefully. Sören's sense of fore-planning did not always include such trivialities; he was more cerebral than practical. Not that it had escaped his mind entirely; rather, he'd not wanted to delay the outset of his journey from Moscow.
"Freak weather? If your man really did find something, what makes you think it was coincidence he never got to tell you what? What reason would villagers have to keep their lips sealed about a few fatally dropped hailstones?"
He flexed his fingers, but did not hold a fist. Currents of energy raged beneath the veil in his mind; he would be able to protect them both. Probably. But they ought to consider more mundane methods of protection, in case Noah's team had fallen ill of more human evils.
The network had been strangely quiet on the matter of the lake, which tested Sören's curiosity. Either it meant nothing of interest - possible - or else there was a reason for the delay. The balance of possibility was still flimsy enough to allow doubt; they might find nothing at the lake but the frozen bodies and an enigma with nothing to say for itself. For now he was trusting Declan's judgement, but that did not stop the ring haunting in the back of his thoughts; it was potentially more promising of a lead - more certain, anyway - but lost to him now. He had to remember that.
His gaze drew back to his single bag, well-worn and much used, evidenced by the curled remains of old luggage labels and a few equally battered keepsake talismans looped through various zips and handles. To Sören's eye, it also glowed dully with the impressions of old magics. But Declan was right; it contained no hiking gear. "To be arranged on route,"
he agreed somewhat ruefully. Sören's sense of fore-planning did not always include such trivialities; he was more cerebral than practical. Not that it had escaped his mind entirely; rather, he'd not wanted to delay the outset of his journey from Moscow.
"Freak weather? If your man really did find something, what makes you think it was coincidence he never got to tell you what? What reason would villagers have to keep their lips sealed about a few fatally dropped hailstones?"
He flexed his fingers, but did not hold a fist. Currents of energy raged beneath the veil in his mind; he would be able to protect them both. Probably. But they ought to consider more mundane methods of protection, in case Noah's team had fallen ill of more human evils.
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