The more things change, the more they are the same.

Characters R'sner, N'sir
Synopsis R'sner has words to share.. *takes place right after T'ven is Troll doll*
Out-of-Character Date June 15, 2018

Igne Weyr - South Bowl
The orange hued sandstone layers comprising the bowl walls curve gently, but ever presently in your view. Fine sand shifts underfoot, a slightly paler version of what is found upon the walls. It gives way along the eastern edge to a section of contrasting green grass where a series of cleverly engineered pipes provide water to the fenced off area of the feeding grounds, and keeps the shimmer of the shallow lake beyond from dissapearing during the dryest periods of the turn. A distinctly squared entrance farther south is the tunnel leading out to the lands beyond. Traders and tithes arrive here at regular intervals and it is not uncommon for part of the bowl to be set up with a series of tents and wagons as wares are displayed and sold. To the west, the bowl wall has been eroded by the desert winds into strange shapes. At their base are found the weyrling barracks and training fields.

It was not heated and illicit things that had occupied R'sner's thoughts, so to find them so clearly in the dark eyes of the weyrling beside him is briefly startling. A sharper inhale, a brief flash of his eyes as they drop unintentionally toward the curve of his mouth, a straightening of his spine as he stands stiffly against Toith's side. Unprepared but recovering quickly, though it still takes N'sir's farewell to T'ven before R'sner seems to remember that the other weyrling is present. And in the wake of that departure, R'sner is moving once again. But while his fingers might tighten at his arms, and an altogether /familiar/ sort of light in those cobalt-blue eyes of his, it is away from N'sir that he slides to put distance between them, rather than to eliminate it. "You should eat something more," comes in a voice much rougher than he'd prefer, but the suggestion holds firm.

N'sir brushes his tongue over his lips, dark lashes sweeping down in a half-lidded gaze. "Mm. I really should," is murmured in tones that match Elianneth's husky croon. "But rules," is added as he flashes a smile that is both winsome and wicked at the same time. Clearing his throat, he pushes off Toith's side, tugging his hair free of his collar as he drifts over to the bench to snag another eggey pie from the basket. "I swear I have eaten more food since the hatching then I have in the past turn." Taking a bite of the pie, he sucks crumbs off his thumb before padding back and sinking down to sprawl on the ground near Eli and Toith. "Have you eaten?"

"I don't need to eat." Said in a clipped and somewhat growling fashion because what R'sner needs /now/ is a cold shower thank-you-very-much, and he's rather displeased about it. Twitching fingers get shoved into the pockets of his flight jacket that he is, for some reason, still wearing despite the sun rising up over the rim. "We need to talk." Which is probably not the right way to start upon the topic he means to discuss, given the sullen and somewhat dangerous expression turned once more toward the bowl wall rather than the weyrling settling on the ground. Res remains standing, leaning stiffly against Toith's shoulder. "It's important," he adds, dropping his gaze to try and meet N'sir's with seriousness rather than heat.

"Everyone needs to eat," N'sir points out in those same husky tones. Taking another bite of his pie, he licks his lips, dropping into a languid sprawl on the ground next to Eli. At the announcement, his head tilts back, long curls whispering over the sand as he indulges in a slow stretch. "Talk?" Course, R'sner's looking all sullen and dangerous and N'sir? He thinks that is impossibly sexy. Course, Elianneth is NOT helping, her own husky little croon filling the air with a sound that should probably not be there at the moment. "You have my undivided attention," N'sir assures as he stretches out one long leg and settles his weight on his elbows.

"I need you to be serious," and not giving him looks that make it exceedingly difficult for R'sner to remain professional. A moment of hesitation comes before he's pulling his hands from his pockets and dropping down to sit somewhat rigidly on the ground. Elianneth draws his gaze, and whatever it was R'sner was going to say gets sidelined in an earnest, "Is she truly comfortable with…" Them. Him. Everything. "And I do not just mean the physical… aspects." And even as he says it, R'sner is resolutely looking at the little green and /not/ N'sir sprawled alluringly upon the ground.

"And I need you to relax, Res," N'sir replies. It's coupled with a husky laugh, however, and quickly flashing smile. "I know the rules," he assures. "And I will respect them. But I am not going to let you forget that we're picturing you naked the majority of the time." In the wake of the words, and R'sner's question, Elianneth shifts, her head moving to plop down over N'sir's hips. Once she's resettled, another low croon sounds from the green, a hint of her own amusement whispering in the sound. It's in answer to the question that N'sir smooths his hand over her snout, long fingers kneading gently up to her eyeridges. "She is… perfect for me, R'sner," N'sir whispers. "She's everything I am times a thousand. She.. She loves every part of me with every part of herself. And you, Sir, are a part of me." To make the point more clear, Elianneth's tail swooshes over the sand, curling in an artful arc at the small of R'sner's back. "See? And she worships Toith, so, there is that."

A scowl. That is R'sner's response to both the suggestion to relax. "You assume I am tense out of discomfort," which would be correct to an extent. "But it is that very fact," those looks that N'sir is promising to continue with alarming regularity, "that will make /relaxing/ impossible." But it is the subject of Elianneth, and her acceptance, that has his attention. And despite reassuring words, and the swish of that tail, R'sner is unconvinced. "I won't risk you. And I won't risk her." It is not the first time he has said as much, but previously there was not an actual living, breathing dragon attached to N'sir. A purse of his lips, and his gaze goes toward the bowl once again. A grimace and he states, "Regardless, we need to discuss something," and apparently, that was not the thing. "I met with S'las this morning. He asked me to step in as an assistant weyrlingmaster. He is in need of help, and I am here for the foreseeable future… I told him I would consider it."

"We know," N'sir assures in more serious tones. "And respect that," is added more firmly. "But I am not going to let you convince yourself, even for a moment, that I am not utterly and completely in love with you, R'sner." That nearly happened already and he's not about to risk it, again. "As for the tension? Relax into it? I mean, it means you are loved. It means that everything you do makes my heart hammer in my chest and pulse ra-" Pausing, he blinks once at the last and his smile broadens. "Seriously? You /have/ to do it," he urges. In the wake of the urging, he reaches out and takes R'sner's hand. "There is no one I would rather have as a teacher," he assures. "And I will behave. At least when the others are around." Elianneth sounds her opinion with a pointedly pleased bugle. "As for risking my darling? I'm sure Toith can tell you that the princess is more then fine."

It is in the wake of N'sir's firm declaration of his intention and the motivation behind it, to convince R'sner of the unwavering nature of his feelings, that has the greenrider reaching out to ghost his fingers along the length of his arm. Elbow to wrist, with a firmer slide of fingers into the weyrling's hand to capture it in his own. A firm squeeze is the only acknowledgement he can give at the moment. His decision to accept the position offered? "We need to /discuss/ it," he asserts. "It will not be easy. There are times I will have to act as your instructor, and not your lover. When I must be firm, or issue discipline," and /not/ the sort of discipline that might be desired. "Times when Toith might have to chastise Elianneth, or enforce rules and regulations. I love you," he continues, "But I cannot allow that to influence how I train you."

N'sir tilts his head as he listens to R'sner, his lips twitching in a quiet smile. "And?" And, while the response might seem sassy? It is entirely meant. "I know all of that, R'sner. And at the end of the day? There is no one I would rather have assuring my safety and Elianneth's safety then you and Toith." Squeezing the hand holding his own, he adds in far more serious tones. "I mean that." Falling silent a moment, considers it all before giving another firm nod of his head. "I think you should do it. I /want/ you to do it."

"And I don't—" a pause, a brief tightening of his jaw and the whisper of pain across his expression. Rather than finish that initial thought, R'sner continues with an earnest, "If it becomes uncomfortable, if you no longer like the idea of it, tell me so and I will walk away." But while there might be a hint of doubt in that expression of his, it is a slow and resolute dip of his chin that accepts the words that are spoken and the squeeze of his hand. And truly, selfishly, R'sner wants to do it as well. "Alright. I will inform S'las that I accept, and that as of this afternoon I will assume the position. I am going to selfishly take the morning for myself." And now, at least, there's a bit of that sought-after relaxation; a lessening of the stiffness in his posture as shoulders roll and his expression softens, as teasing makes an appearance in the musing, "And I intend to find you a proper bed, before I must insist upon equality among the class."

N'sir exhales a quiet laugh, dark eyes softening as he raises their joined hands to brush a kiss over R'sner's knuckles. "Good. And thank Faranth," he sighs. "My back aches." On a more serious note, he squeezes R'sner's hand, the expression in his eyes proud. "But, you cannot walk away, even if I do not like it. You are going to do this and I am going to be a man about it and accept that whatever happens, it is for both myself and Elianneth, R'sner. You cannot allow me to influence you, /at all/, even if I have moments of being ill-tempered and petulant. That's important, alright? We, the weyrlings," he adds with a nod toward the barracks. "Need to know that you are not going to tolerate nonsense of any kind. And that you will be there, no matter what happens."

A slight shake of his head, a decisive though subtle motion as R'sner murmurs a low, "That's not what I meant." In the wake of the words he stretches into a half-sprawl beside N'sir, indulging in the opportunity to put himself closer and even to reach out with his free hand to trace the side of his face with the tips of his calloused fingers. "Nassir…" The name is murmured with the full weight of his feelings behind it, entirely purposeful in the use of his pre-impression name. "I would rather walk away from this knot, and any other that might land on my shoulder, than risk you walking away from me. I will not," he assures him, "Tolerate nonsense of any kind. I will be as ruthlessly tough on you, and the rest of this class, as I would any other. But if this position, and what it might require me to say or do in the capacity of your instructor, begins to… to change what you feel, I need to know that you will tell me while I still have time to do something about it."

N'sir blinks once, his head turning to press a kiss to R'sner's palm. As he draws back, his gaze softens, his chin dipping in a nod of understanding. "There is no chance of that," he whispers. "I can barely stand it when you fly off to sleep, R'sner." It's just the simple truth and he's not the least bit embarassed about saying it aloud. But you have my word that should anything truly bother me? I will tell you without hesitation. Of course," he adds as he slinks in to whisper against the shell of R'sner's ear. "Rest assured I relish calling you sir with a heat you'll just have to wait to experience first hand." As he draws back, he adds a slow wink and a pointed twitch of his brows.

His hand has stilled, briefly poised at the side of N'sir's face at the press of lips and the kiss bestowed. It is in the wake of those whispered words that the touch continues, a brush of his fingers along the length of his neck before R'sner is resolutely but regrettably withdrawing his hand before he strays too far. "I hope you enjoy running," is the verbal reply, a wickedness found in the gleam of those blue eyes. "Push those buttons at your own risk," in case the threat was not obvious enough. A moment or two is spent lingering there, humoring thoughts he ought not to think and allowing his expression to turn decidedly less proper before R'sner is rolling himself upright and quickly to his feet. A shake of his shoulders as he moves toward the basket to occupy himself with something safe: rifling for a snack. It is Toith who finds the humor in this, chuffing amusement as she twists around to regard both N'sir and Elianneth.

N'sir blinks once before exhaling a thoroughly wicked laugh. As the sound fades, his teeth find his lower lip, the flair of nostril making it clear he is most assuredly affected by that touch. "I'll enjoy it more if you happen to be chasing. If," he adds as he spills himself back onto his elbows in a languid sprawl. "You think you could catch me." In the wake of the words, he makes the most of watching R'sner walk to the basket, his head tossing back to flash Toith a wink at her amused chuff. Elianneth, now that the decision is made, croons delightedly, whuffling up at Toith with whirling green eyes. "Be careful, princess," Nassir laughs. "Toith won't put up nonsense any more then he will." Course, niether N'sir, nor Eli are worried. The delight in both thier gazes abundantly clear.

"I will," determines R'sner, "most assuredly catch you." So nonchalant, that declaration, that confidence. He does not need to look over his shoulder to feel those eyes on him, and it is why he is resolutely keeping his gaze into the basket. Why he is taking his /time/ about selecting what it is he wishes to eat. While he takes his time, he cannot linger indefinitely at the bench hovering over that basket. In the end, rather than pick one, he simply grabs the entire thing, the basket brought back with him as he turns and walks once more to Toith's side. Back to the ground, though he is sitting rather than sprawling, facing N'sir rather than laid out beside him. A sweetroll is his item of choice, a bite taken as he regards Toith with vague resignation. The green? Thoroughly delighted at the prospect of teaching new impressionable little minds all that she knows. « It'll be great, » she decides, even if she /won't/ put up with any nonsense or shenanigans. At least while R'sner is around.

N'sir spills himself onto the ground as R'sner returns, one arm twisting up to pillow his head. "You realize that I'll only be looking forward to that," he notes in warm tones. Letting his head loll to the side, his smile is wide and relaxed, green eyes crinkling at the corners in response to Toith. "It will be great," he agrees. Looking back at R'sner, his face immediately softens, a contented sigh spilling past his lips. "I love you," he whispers. "Sir." is added with a wink.

An especially violent bite is taken of that sweetroll, pastry ripped in twain at the pull of teeth as R'sner fixes N'sir a look that very clearly says /behave/, even if his words do not. There isn't enough weight behind that disapproval however, which is entirely the fault of the preceding whisper. But still, vicious gnashing of teeth as R'sner sort of sighs in resignation of his fate. But it doesn't stop him from reaching out with his free hand to wind his fingers around the nearest angle; a firm and affectionate squeeze delivered. "Tell me," he requests, having swallowed that first bite ,"what it is you are most anticipating, and what you are most concerned about, in regards to training?"

N'sir not so secretly loves it when R'sner is fierce and stern. It shows in his eyes, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. In the wake of the squeeze, his head lolls to the side, his expression considering. "Manned flights," he admits. "I mean, sure, I've flown with you and with T'sul, but.. Well, you know what I mean," he assures in wry tones. "And mating flights," he admits. "I am going to be hard pressed to behave for /that/ lecture." It's the last that has him turning serious, the tip of his tongue brushing over his lips. "Between has me concerned. I.. I don't know what I'd do if I lost…" He can't even say it and presses his lips instead. "I'm concerned about that."

"I do," assures R'sner, briefly nostalgic in a way that has Toith snorting at him in feigned disgust. "It is different when you are flying on your own dragon. You feel it. The wind, the pull of muscles, the freedom." Ah, but that other highly anticipated lecture? A barely contained smirk for that, a light in his eyes as they linger once again on N'sir for a bit longer than they ought too. "/That/ lesson," he drawls, looking especially mischievous, "Also heralds the end of the rules." Those damned rules. "So I would expect a bit of misbehavior on your part." Relishes the thought, to judge by the look in his eye. But alas, the time between then, and now, is long enough that Res is soon enough drawing a long, deep breath and tearing a final bite out of his sweetroll. Sigh. "Mm." And seriousness once more becomes him, the squeeze of fingers to leg reassuring. "I have never lost a weyrling Between," he explains. "And I do not intent to start now. I will make sure you, all of you," the entire weyrling class, "are well prepared, before we even think of going."

N'sir exhales a husky laugh, his brows rising and falling in a suggestive lilt. "If you don't end the lecture by tossing me over your shoulder and walking out, I will be sorely disappointed." Which is teasing, but equally true. "Be gentle with T'ven, though? I don't think it has occured to him that he might find himself with a man. He's… He's kind and I am worried about that." It's the 'Mm' and the sigh that has his expression softening. "Look how fast candidacy flew by? And it still feels like yesterday that Ashwi impressed. We'll be in our own Weyr before you know it." Granted, the words are to comfort himself just as much as R'sner, but there they are. It's the last that has him nodding, his hand smoothing over Elianneth's head. She's snoozing, but still. "I'd die if anything happened to her," he whispers.

"I promise," assures R'sner, the gleam of his eyes fading back into seriousness once again, "that my intention is not to frighten anyone. Mating flights are a part of being a dragonrider. I will be thorough, but I will not be cruel." And whatever his personal feelings toward the tattoo artist might be, R'sner takes his job seriously. That lack of bias goes both ways; he will go no easier on N'sir than he will any other weyrling, but he will also be no rougher on T'ven than he is any other weyrling. A rub of his palm to N'sir's leg in the wake of the passage of time, a silent agreement and acknowledgement of that comfort. But it, and the rest of him, goes entirely still at the last. A tightening of his jaw and a firm grasp now of the hand on his leg. Die. That word alone is enough to make the color drain from his face and his throat tighten. "I won't let anything happen to her. Or to you."

N'sir winces inwardly, exhaling a shallow breath as dark eyes sweep back to R'sner's face. "I.. I know you won't." In the wake of the words, however, he darts a quick glance toward the barracks before gently moving Elianneth's head and rolling onto his stomach to push up in attempt to brush a kiss over R'sner's lips. "I am not going anywhere," he promises in hushed tones. Hovering there, planked off the ground, he draws in a slow breath before letting himself spill back to the sand.

R'sner's hand is swift in relocating from N'sir's leg to the side of his neck, fingers sliding up into the hair at the back of his head in an attempt to /hold/ him in that kiss. He does not have assistant's knot on his shoulder yet. Elianneth has shown no jealousy toward the action. In this moment, Res is being entirely selfish, and willing to take a moment to reassure himself that N'sir was very much alive. Toeing the line, but not exactly crossing it. But he allows the weyrling to slip out of his grasp, lets long hair slide through his fingers as N'sir settles once more in the sand and Res is left sitting without him. It is a longer recovery, and that pale, stricken look isn't going to leave him anytime soon, but he's at least able to speak with some confidence. "The first task will be completing a set of straps for Elianneth," he offers after a quick clearing of his throat, throwing himself into the task of explaining something rather than lingering on unspoken fears. "There should be scraps of leather to practice on though," he continues, "you are already practiced with leatherworking."

N'sir shifts on the sand, the hand in his hair having been encouragement enough to settle his head on R'sner's knee. To his credit, however, he does not untoward beyond that shift in position. "I am looking forward to that," he admits as he folds his arms atop his stomach and turns his gaze up to R'sner's face. "How flamboyant are we allowed to be?" In the wake of the words, he slants a glance toward his sleeping darling, his lips twitching in a wry smile. "She will refuse to wear just plain leather." She /won't/ do it and N'sir knows that beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"You will need to convince her that it is a necessary evil." The words come with a return of R'sner's hand, a gentle caress along N'sir's head and the drift of fingers through curls once more. His knee as a pillow? This is fine. "You will be making several sets of straps until she's fully grown, and you don't have time to embellish all of them, let alone the resources. Save that for when she is nearing maturity and not apt to out grown them in a sevenday." He's not exaggerating, either. "You saw how rapidly the weyrlings grew at Half Moon…" and the implication is clear. "Would she accept some sort of… removable adornments? Something that could be easily moved from one set to another?" Jewelry for dragonriding straps. Toith snorts at the thought, but her two-cents is kept to herself. Or at least, kept between her and R'sner.

"True," N'sir allows. Glancing toward Elianneth, he exhales a quiet laugh. "That is going to be struggle though. You know she will not leave the barracks if she is not freshly washed and oiled? And," he adds with a laugh. "She has to be spot washed and oiled after meals." Tsking, he gives a mild shake of his head, subtly pressing into the hand in his hair. "Removable adornments would work," he decides. "Jewelry she can can keep and change out according to her whims."

"Mm," but, while there might be more R'sner has to say on the matter besides a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, his lips press and he holds his tongue. For now, at least. While he is pretending not to be a weyrlingmaster. "You mentioned that," he recalls. "And it is not a bad habit to have. Someone," pointed look toward Toith now, "could really learn from the habit." Of course she's going to ignore him, and study the coming and going of other dragonriders in the bowl, or perhaps drift into her own thoughts where baths and pampering are illegal. "A more economical option, as well."

N'sir's gaze trails toward Toith, as well. He doesn't have to hear her to know what she's likely saying. He just smiles, though, a quiet laugh humming in his throat. "We're going to need trunks for Elianneth," he warns. "Cause I am not joking, even a little bit about the jewelry." Pausing a beat, he glances toward the barracks again before murmuring in more quiet tones. "And at the risk of being a tattletale? You'll probably want to know Aria and Zemeth were talking about going back in time to fix something that Aria apparently did." Cause really? That had him more then a little concerned. "I tried to warn her off that, but she…." She just doesn't listen.

"I can handle trunks," decides R'sner, sparing a glance for the slumbering princess that will one day steal Toith's ledge. Not like Toith uses it for anything but hoarding. That caressing hand pauses at the mention of tattling, picking up once again in the wake of confessions though R'sner is anything but pleased now. There might even be some choice words for the Zemeth's little weyrling; words that he firmly presses his lips together to prevent speaking aloud, though he can't help the audible and entirely disgruntled exhale. "/That/ is how you get lost Between. And it doesn't work that way," he's quick to counter, frustration evident in the tone of his voice and the tightness of his expression. "You cannot /fix/ the past. It is what it is." And if anyone, anyone would know about the temptation of going back to fix things, or at least to relive a few of them, it would be R'sner. A hard swallow for that, and a much more resigned repetition of, "It doesn't work like that." A press of his lips, a drift of his hand once more in reassurance across those dark curls and Res declares, "I'll handle it," in that authoritative tone that says he might not be /wearing/ the knot right now, but he's definitely still a weyrlingmaster.

"I know you will," N'sir assures. "And really? I did tell her that, but she doesn't want to listen to me, at all." Which really? He's fine with that and not about to pretend that he cares. "I just don't want that getting around to any of the other dragons. Fortunately, Elianneth didn't hear what she was going on about and I played it off." In the wake of the words, he glances toward Eli, exhaling a breath that makes it clear just seeing her nearby is a relief.

"Going Between times is incredibly dangerous. It isn't even something we speak about," let alone /teach/and R'sner is more than a little alarmed that a fresh off the sands weyrling is contemplating it at all. Once more, there is a firm, "I'll handle it," because he means to nip that in the bud. And if he has to go all the way up to Neyuni to do it? He will. "Don't speak of it around the other weyrlings, and we will make sure to talk to Aria," before it can get out of hand. "It will be alright," he assures, hand drifting once more in a caress as he glances down at N'sir. "It is not tattling to prevent a disaster."

N'sir nods his head, drawing in a slow breath as he settles comfortably into the hand stroking his hair. "I think we all just need a distraction," he supposes. "Course, I feel like I'm tired all the time." Elia keeps him pretty busy. "I just thank Faranth that you and Toith have been coming, it keeps Elianneth occupied for a bit." And finally tires her out enough that she snoozes. "Oh! I meant to ask if you liked my candidate robe? And ah.. I owe you a shirt," he adds with a wry smile. "Sorry about that, Taia's tree ate my original one."

A ghost of a laugh, more breath than sound. "It will be like that for a while. Exhausted, and hungry," observes R'sner. "Until she has grown a bit bigger." Content, and edging toward that elusive relaxation, there's a less amused sound for the mention of N'sir's robe. "What I thought about it," he decides after a lengthy pause and a deeper breath or two, "is not safe to discuss in this particular moment," he decides, the glance for N'sir entirely inappropriate given that there is a baby dragon sleeping right there. "There is time enough to repay me for the loss." And it needn't be with needle and thread. "Don't apologize. You look good in my shirts," he declares without regret.

N'sir exhales a husky laugh, one hand reaching out to pull another of the small eggey pies from the basket. "I'm glad I kept it, then," he admits before taking a bite. "I'll have to make a point to model it for you, once the rules allow, and see what I impress." In the wake of the words, his brows engage in another suggestively lilting dance, R'sner's entirely inappropriate looking inspiring a twinkle in dark eyes. "I do look good in your shirts," he admits. "Better with nothing on under them, though."

"Mm," which is definitely an agreement for that assessment. The twitch of his mouth and the gleam in his eye? Yeah. R'sner's thoughts are definitely straying into dangerous territory. A deeper inhale, held and then exhaled in a long, slow sigh as his hand makes a final pass through N'sir's hair. "Dangerous," he teases, more playful than chastisement. A gentle tug of one curl before he's murmuring a quiet, "Sit up," and an apologetic, "I have to go. If you want your bed before I assume my role, I need to work on it now. Toith will stay," he assures, glancing toward the sprawling green for confirmation. It comes in a huff. As if Toith would move a muscle with Eli curled up by her? Yeah, no. She's gotta do that whole bodyguard thing.

N'sir groans as he pushes up to sitting, one hand raising to brush his curls off his face. "I am so looking forward to a decent night's sleep," he admits. Finishing off the pie, he twists around onto one knee, leaning in to press a not entirely chaste kiss to R'sner's lips. "Because from here on out," he whispers. "I'll have to settle for fantasizing about kissing our Weyrlingmaster." In the wake of the words, his tongue flicks out, tracing over the lower lip. As for Elianneth? She's very contently dozing under the shelter of Toith's wing and showing no signs of intending to move any time soon.

"I am not always on duty," notes R'sner, going for teasing and failing abominably given the hoarsness of his voice. A rueful look, and he pushes slowly to his feet. "I will be back soon," he promises. "Eat more food," he orders before heading resolutely toward the lower caverns.

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