Lord Fennix does look much improved from the previous night; however, he is still unconscious. Flynn sits and watches Fennix quietly for a while, words playing in his head, trying to put together what it is he wants to say. He leans down and rests his elbows on his knees, hands folded.
"How did you find me, old man?" There is no venom or disrespect in his voice, only tired curiosity. "I've tried to hide for so long, but you knew where I was." He takes his ring back out of the pouch, twirling it slowly between his fingers as he speaks. "Did you know about me, about how I left? Did you care?" He closes his hand around the ring. "You have to know who I am, right? Is that why you picked me? To come and maybe to lead? You had to know I wouldn't want that."
He sighs, then sits in silence for a while longer.
"Your child has some fire in her belly. I wonder how she'll fit into your big picture. Rubs me the wrong way, but your lot always has, just a bit."
He mumbles a quick apology.
"I should go. I've only ever been good at following orders and fighting for my men. I can do that for a while longer, I think."
As he stands, he sets his ring on the nearby nightstand.
"Hold on to that for me. Me or mine will come for it, one day. Maybe then we can have an actual conversation. I might like that."
He leaves the room to rejoin to expedition.
In a dangerous political climate, several expeditions are made to the infamous Wilds in hopes of expanding the country, Urbane, and avoiding an all out civil war. But, when the lord in charge of the excursions is almost assassinated, tensions increase and put new pressures on the brave explorers.