The moon was partially hidden behind a plume of cloud, which would have been disappointing had it been less beautiful. As it stood, the low illumination gave Owain more space to think.
This new association he found himself in was unsettling in some regards. They were all very clearly capable, of that he was sure, but he was less sure about their intangibles: their motivations, their aspirations, what made them tick, how they worked as a group. He had felt some connection with Mina and Lars, but they had not even returned to Treff together. Of those who had gone to the house, Naheeda seemed like perhaps the most kindred spirit, but Owain did not have her temper, nor her apparent deep-seated distaste for all authority. Maman Bayou, too. Her selflessness was a thing to which Owain could only aspire, but she was so… detached from everything. Then there was Abad. Owain did not trust Abad.
Iolar’s silhouette flashed across the partially obscured moon, some kind of rabbit in her claws, and Owain was glad to see her again.
Most of all, Owain was unsure about their purpose. It was a marvelously varied group, and banding together was a better way to thrive and survive, but what would they do? And why? It did not help that Owain was a loner in many regards: the only follower of the Trinity, the only woodsman, the only one of elven stock, the only one who did anything in the elven way. It seemed that their next task would involve helping some merchants of questionable moral standing. But Owain knew that looks could be deceiving, and would reserve judgment on these merchants for now. And if this task prepared him for a return to the Imperial Marches, all the better. That was how he could live with himself. Always walk humbly with the Trinity and fellow travelers, and always prepare for the Marches.
A breeze brought a burst of fragrance from the Blossom, and Owain breathed deep. This city would do just fine for now.