The grass of the cherry orchards were soft in early summer, but never full of mud. How was the ground so perfect here and so uneven in other places? Was it magic, or simply good landscaping? Her feet felt comforted as she walked around Bahamut's stone temple and into the neat rows of trees whose branches were a mix of brilliant green and soft white. Her pack was slung across her shoulder as she tilted her head up to the sky -- so far blue ruled the heavens, meaning she wouldn't have to perform the first day of her duties here in miserable weather. Vera smiled slightly and pushed back her hood. The white uniform was enough. She wasn't going to be in full formal attire only to be mocked by the large creature lazing amidst the trees.

Captain Agrippa assigned her to guard the dragon only for a few turns of the sun. The bruise on her cheek was the only remnant of the fight that sent her here, outside all of trouble Trone's Merchant Guild was causing the Captain as she walked around in the sun. Vera entered the opening in the trees with a sigh and let her shoulder strap slip down the crook of her arm, into her hand. There was another white uniform there with her. Vera put her free hand over her brow to shade her eyes and realized she recognized the dark hair of the woman. It was the girl Eragos trained, Eithne. And she was producing puffs of smoke that might have been used to signal armies, ( had only they been in a time of war... )

It was a tired hand that seized the knot, but somehow he managed to hoist himself out of the passageway and into the tunnel. Since the incident on the river not a single soul had troubled them. Ilúvatar did not know whether to be troubled or pleased by that fact. Certainly it was cause for concern. And certainly he did not need to mention that fact to anyone else. From heel to hairline they were all a tangle of nerves and apprehension. Even the normally calm Eibhear was scowling at everything that moved in his direction. One thing to hope you would make it out of something such as this alive - another entirely to be on the verge of doing it, and suspecting that whatever quiet you feel and see is nothing more than a trap. They were all weary of suspecting it, even now when the air was the cleanest it had been in ... a long time. Strange to think a Dwarven mine's putrid mix of coal and sweat, blood and copper, would somehow be the most pleasant thing one had smelled in days.

( He didn't trust it. )