Resistance was futile. That is not true, Kahn'a thought, but in the very least he conceded to follow the mountain of a man without making a rukus. It was certainly a much more preferable fate than to be slashed and scorched after all. But even then, as fancy and comfortable as it looked, a cage remained a cage, and the hunter longed for more. He complied to the orders of River's men, making it unnecessary for them to maintain their tight escort. Without a word, he followed the Roegadyn to the inn room, and listened to what he had to say. No complaint, no request, no sound in fact. Everything was concealed deep within himself. With eyes devoid of will, he watched the company exiting the place.
It was then, and only then than the spark of life got inspired into his body again. At first he simply snapped his eyes about, acquainting himself with his new shared cell. Yes, yes, no doubt would a prolonged stay here be much more enjoyable, but there was no place with cushions deep enough to smother him and his guilt. Then Kahn'a moved towards a low-table. A fine work of carpentry, officers really were pampered in the Flames, even in detention. Without ceremony, Kahn'a dropped the hat and gloves that were not his on the table. He breathed out, fatigue creeping back on him now that he was granted some peace of mind. What was going to happen now? Information had been spilled, they would certainly be making moves upon it. Their investigation, as they called it. However, there was no telling how long it could take, and the Keeper knew it in himself: he would turn mad before seeing the end of it if he remained here while his comrades were out there, probably unaware that the Immortal Flames now had the slightest of leads on them.
Loyalty.
Kahn'a smirked pitiful and cast a look at the other person present in the room. Titor Jaraba. By the looks of it, he had been messed up badly as well. Had he spoken too? What did he tell them? Those were questions pounding against Kahn'a's teeth, but there was an odd comfort in silence. He simply laid his eyes on the Hyur, and he felt like he understood him. No words were needed for that. Was this the defeat of loyalty? Or...was there any to begin with?
Before his mind could sink in dark patterns, the Miqo'te paced around the room, inspecting the furniture, the accommodations. He looked thoroughly at the furniture, but saw no furniture. The table turned into a temporary wall to hide behind, under enemy fire. The rug could serve to make men trip if it was pulled from under their feet with enough force. And the chairs were no more than planks with four sticks he could use to bludgeon his way out. He stopped in his tracks and stared longly at the chair.
"Have you spoken?" his broken voice then suddenly asked.
Slowly, he shifted on his feet to put the Hyur in his sight again. Expecting an answer, he stood there, while that little mind of his was already busy weaving a plan for his escape.
It was then, and only then than the spark of life got inspired into his body again. At first he simply snapped his eyes about, acquainting himself with his new shared cell. Yes, yes, no doubt would a prolonged stay here be much more enjoyable, but there was no place with cushions deep enough to smother him and his guilt. Then Kahn'a moved towards a low-table. A fine work of carpentry, officers really were pampered in the Flames, even in detention. Without ceremony, Kahn'a dropped the hat and gloves that were not his on the table. He breathed out, fatigue creeping back on him now that he was granted some peace of mind. What was going to happen now? Information had been spilled, they would certainly be making moves upon it. Their investigation, as they called it. However, there was no telling how long it could take, and the Keeper knew it in himself: he would turn mad before seeing the end of it if he remained here while his comrades were out there, probably unaware that the Immortal Flames now had the slightest of leads on them.
Loyalty.
Kahn'a smirked pitiful and cast a look at the other person present in the room. Titor Jaraba. By the looks of it, he had been messed up badly as well. Had he spoken too? What did he tell them? Those were questions pounding against Kahn'a's teeth, but there was an odd comfort in silence. He simply laid his eyes on the Hyur, and he felt like he understood him. No words were needed for that. Was this the defeat of loyalty? Or...was there any to begin with?
Before his mind could sink in dark patterns, the Miqo'te paced around the room, inspecting the furniture, the accommodations. He looked thoroughly at the furniture, but saw no furniture. The table turned into a temporary wall to hide behind, under enemy fire. The rug could serve to make men trip if it was pulled from under their feet with enough force. And the chairs were no more than planks with four sticks he could use to bludgeon his way out. He stopped in his tracks and stared longly at the chair.
"Have you spoken?" his broken voice then suddenly asked.
Slowly, he shifted on his feet to put the Hyur in his sight again. Expecting an answer, he stood there, while that little mind of his was already busy weaving a plan for his escape.
