[Streets of Zeltiva] The Monster In The Sky (Montaine)

[Erudite]

Zeltiva - City Streets
1st of Spring, 512 AV

Silence reigned the city of Zeltiva, save for the sound of wooden wheels rolling through the cobblestone roads. The early morning arrival gave Erudite the opportunity to view the wonderful metropolis as it slept. The skies were a dim, daunting gray, its color invading the buildings and transforming their usual, expected vibrance into a dull, muted one. If the rain werent so persistent in enveloping the entire area, it might've been a beautiful sight. Even as it drizzled lightly around the Konti, barely even touching her pale cloak, it still destroyed the potentially wonderful atmosphere. A strangely overwhelming, increasingly alarming feeling crept up Erudite as she walked away from the docks and further into the city, as if there was going to be trouble, as if someone was going to harm her. Her head ached for the answers, but it was unable to detect the source of the harm. Instead, her mind reached out for the crying skies.

Absurd. She assumed that she was hallucinating, or worse, sick. She pressed her marked palm onto her temple and sighed, but the pain merely escalated as the rain did. She dropped the leash of her traveler's chest to secure her the rest of her cloak buttons, pulling the ends of her hood to cover more of her. However, her efforts to shield her clothes and her body were competely futile, as the rain began to fall much harder. They no longer fell like soft needles; they fell as large as beads and pebbles, and hurt as much. It was as if actual rocks were being hurled at her body, and then exploding into water. "My goodness," she winced, as she grabbed her traveler's chest and began a brisk walk towards the nearest lit building. She used her free hand to touch the sore points of her body as they began to ache from the rain's impact, but as she eased their pain, more and more simply came. "What is going on?!" she wondered to herself, furrowing her brows as she frantically scanned the structures for signs of life. She'd left the isle without having heard of any news of a storm, but perhaps there was news, and she hadn't gotten around to hear of it. The consequences of being a recluse.

It was too late to find solace or relief in the few lit buildings within walking distance. The sky refused to give the city the comfort of seeing the sun, as it screamed down thunder and lightning along with the raining water bombs. Screams, shouts, and hollers erupted from the buildings that were alive and awake, while the people within the slumbering ones roused from the noise. The wind started up, and even as Erudite broke into a sprint, it pushed her back. Even when she'd turn around to go the other way, it would do the same. Men, women, and children alike began to fill the streets, cover the porches, or flood by the windows as they watched the brewing storm take effect upon their city. Plants, chairs, and any loose items that stood in the way of the destructive gale were all whisked down and across rooms, floors, and pavements. Glasses shattered, the temperatures dropped and rose in multiple places, and the unexplainably impossible simply happened; everywhere. No place seemed to be safe as disaster struck every visible corner; the storm developed into a seemingly sentient monster, and Erudite's migraine immediately dispersed as she realized what was a threat to her.

[Montaine]

It was wrong. Montaine looked to the sky. He knew Zeltiva, knew its rhythms and its beats. This was his city and he knew when it was wrong. There had been little warning, an envoy had arrived from across the sea but there was no time to prepare. The craftsman clutched his coat up over his head as the rain began to pound the stones at his feet. His meagre clothes provided no aid against the incessant, unrelenting downpour. Why was he even out? Gods forefend whatever this storm might do to the pieces resting in the workshop. Would the place even survive the day? He hurried through the streets. He had gone to visit his father, ensure that the man was safe. He’d tried to convince the stubborn old fool to seek shelter in the temple but he refused to leave the place he’d made his home all these years. Montaine had contemplated staying with him, sitting out the tempest together, as they had when he had been a boy. But he had responsibilities now. He looked up again, trying to judge the time by the sun but Syna’s rays were obscured by the clouds. The workshop was still a distance away, his precious glass sitting idle. He sniffed. This petching rain, he couldn’t tolerate it. He’d come down with a fever no doubt about it. Shyke! Just who had angered the gods so that they could warrant such a terrible squall? Monty ducked under an awning, flapping dangerously in the wind. This was no natural storm. Even the Bonesnapper couldn’t hold a candle to this. A raindrop the size of his fist hit the stones just inches from his feet with a terrific splash, drenching his shoes. He wouldn’t make it. He realised he couldn’t make it. The workshop would just have to fare on its own. The city would survive. The city had to survive. Zeltiva had lived through the petching Valterrian! The old girl could outlast a little rainfall. Monty took his bearings. He was too far from the workshop, further from his father’s. The temple was all the way across the city, he’d never make it that far. Then it hit him. Where else could he go? The bar. It wasn’t such a long way from here, three streets, two if he took the alley short cut. He heard a yelp. A lightning strike. A sudden peal of thunder. The noise was unbearable, the roar of the storm drowned out everything else. The water ran down his face, he could barely see, but there, in the street as the wind picked up, threatening to lift the city from its very foundations, was a woman. She had a chest. Another flash of lightning, another peal of thunder almost instantaneous. Monty weighed up his options. He could leave her. He could, she might find her own safety. She had a chest. She was a traveller, just arrived. Maybe she would get lucky? The craftsman shook his head and made an exasperated sound, running out into the full onslaught of the storm. He grabbed her and pulled her towards the side streets. She better be petching grateful.

[Erudite]

The city was changing. And it wasn't the way the building's warped under the pressure of the storm, but it was the way the very nature of their existence transformed into drastic, unnatural monstrosities. The roads curved and swerved, as if a pair of giant invisible hands had wrapped themselves upon it and began to continuously flip the pavement like a thick strip of cloth. Glowing veins crawled around crevices and surfaces like the roots of a tree, gripping at the walls and roofs of every structure. The sky seemed to grow a face as it shot even more bolts of lightning at the ground and on every building. The sounds of the storm drove away the silence that had previously ruled the city, with the shouts of its citizens only aiding to the ear-splitting noises. Some people screamed so fervently that it seemed as if they were growing second heads, and considering how the impossible seemed to materialize wherever it may, the idea didn't seem so farfetched.

Erudite's throat was locked with fear, as shock ran down her spine and caused her to freeze in place. She turned her head about frantically, only to find that her eyes simply could not place a safe haven. Wheverer she looked, crowds of people were scrambling to salvage whatever they could, or to meet with their friends, their other loved ones, just so they could all band together in a secure area. A crack of thunder sent shivers rumbling throughout her body as she took a few steps back, only to have her senses invaded by another threat from the sky.

A bolt of lightning, almost as bright as the sun, aimed itself right behind her, sending her jolting forward to evade the strike. It hit the road with an explosive sound, turning the ground into mere dust. The waves of the sea seemed to crash against the waterfront a little harder than usual, causing multiple sections of the dock to explode from the pressure of the currents. Erudite yelped, her saturated boots squeaking as she quickly scrambled to farther away from the threatening waters.

"What is this mess?!" she thought, furrowing her brows up at the sky as its ugly face vomited more rain, thunder, and lightning into the city. Unbeknownst of her, a pair of obelisks had began to rise from the harsh waters, slowly and menacingly.

There was no time to lose, but at the same time, there was no place to stay. Erudite gripped the leash of her traveler's chest and wondered if this was her last day. "I'm not going to die without having done anything," she argued with herself, but it felt hollow and hopeless. Despair grew within her in the form of a churning stomachache, until a hand wound its way around hers and immediately had her running in a direction she wasn't even sure of, wordlessly. Normally, any other person would immediately jerk their hand away and question the motives of whoever just grabbed them, but she knew he didn't mean any ill intent. She would've felt it. After a slight gasp and a twitch, she allowed him to lead her. Whoever he was, he probably knew a place that was safe.

[Montaine]

Monty almost lost his coat to the wind. Whoever, whatever, caused this petching storm had a lot to answer for. He ran, he ran as fast as he could, almost tripping over his own feet. He dared not look back, trusting the feeling of the hand grasped in his own to tell him that woman was still there, still with him. If she let go, if she slipped, he wouldn’t go back. He knew it to be ungentlemanly but regardless he was surprised the two of them hadn’t bought it already, if she fell behind he wasn’t risking his own life. The two of them squeezed into the alleyway. The craftsman could still just about hear the rattle of the chest over the pounding rain as it was dragged along behind. There was an almighty crash as a wave of liquid hit the roof to the left and rushed down onto the path behind them, where it sizzled and smoked and eroded the very stones themselves. As it crashed Montaine felt a squeal escape his mouth, forced out by a fear and shock. Not far now, he repeated to himself, not far now. He could see a fire blazing across the city. His heart wrenched in his chest. His city, his beloved city, was burning. He shut his eyes and ran onwards. The bar was just around the corner, so close, so close. No one would be there so early in the morning, certainly not after the warning of the storm. Montaine just prayed that Gadger hadn’t gotten around to fixing the lock on the cellar door. A group of sailors had broken in, a month or two back, and snapped the lock on the outer hatch to the basement. He felt such relief when he saw the doors open that he laughed. Lightning struck, thunder rumbled. He let go of her hand ushered her into the cellar, following swiftly after her chest. He heard a scream from outside, cursed himself and pulled the hatch shut. He grabbed a piece of wood and slid it into the handles as a makeshift lock to keep the wind from blowing it open once more, and letting in the chaotic elements of the storm. It was dark, almost black save for the occasional flashes of light that poured in with the lightning, through the leaking gaps of the old wooden doors. Light, they need light. He needed to check what it actually was he had grabbed in his panic and slid into the door handles. He needed to make sure the place was secure against the storm. He needed to stop, to breathe, to think. A hundred thoughts like these rushed through his head. He felt sick, woozy, not at all good. He collapsed.

[Erudite]

She stared at the man's back as he pulled her through the swarm of Zeltivans. Most of his billowing coat shielded his body from her, his lengthy dark hair clumping together and clinging onto his damp skin. She could barely even make out her surroundings any more, as the sky seemed to darken to the point that it capped off all the light within the city. The frayed threads of lightning illuminated their path for mere seconds, and then they would once again be immersed in dimness. The stranger swerved into an alleyway, his feet pivoting towards the corridor in one swift motion. Erudite stumbled to follow suit, her thin legs seemingly tangling up as they tripped about.

She didn't ask any questions, she couldn't. The rain, the thunder, the screaming, there was no time for wondering. As they ran through the narrow alleyway, another bolt of lightning struck at a nearby roof and sent an surge of water crashing down right behind Erudite, causing an unnaturally large explosion that had the building walls crumbling behind them. The water sloshed harshly onto the Konti's back, giving her a stinging sensation that lingered even as they neared their destination.

"I think that bruised my back," she grimaced, winging as she found herself unable to bring her hands to heal the burning pain. Hues of red, orange, and yellow began to permeate and invade the dark atmosphere, and as the Konti looked up to search for the cause for the change, she found burning buildings crumbling and crashing over the roads and burying some of the city's inhabitants. How could there possibly be any fire in the midst of rain?

She'd briefly forgotten the fact that this was no ordinary storm. The temperatures were rising, and in turn, hers did as well. Sweat began to dominate most of the water that clung to her clothes and body. She was developing a fever. Her stomach lurched at the smell of death and smoke, unintentionally ingulfing large portions of the stench. The stranger made his way towards an open door as Erudite craned her head to watch a mother and her child trip and fall.

"Oh no," her jaw slackened, as a dark feeling crept over her at the thought of their demise. The child was barely even old enough to comprehend what was going on, the poor thing just cried. A large curtain of water seemed to rise from the depths of the sea, slowly...

It crashed onto the ground just as the stranger let go of Erudite's hand, causing her to flinch in surprise as he ushered her into a dank room and shut the door closed. The thick walls muffled the sounds of shouting and screaming, but the thunder rumbled through the small windows and the lightning filled the room with bright light every few moments. But other than that, the room was calmer, safer, and much better than being outside. The man frantically searched the floor and walls for something, as Erudite struggled with her cold, shivering hands. She rested her chest on the side and sighed, subduing her aches and pains, and then covering her face with her hands as she attempted to still herself.

She heard a loud thump.

She turned towards the man, who hadn't uttered a thing since she'd encountered him, but a mere laugh once they'd made it to the room. He lay sprawled onto the floor in exhaustion, and perhaps panic. It wouldn't have been a surprise if it were both. Quickly, Erudite scrambled to kneel in front of the man, her hands inspecting his temperature as she placed one of them on his forehead and neck, with the other reaching for his chest to inspect his heartbeat. It pulsated against her palm slowly, steadily. He was alive, but was he conscious?

[Montaine]

Monty lay in the darkness. The muted sounds of the storm seemed so far off, so distant. He could just lie there, just lie there forever. He’d spent his whole life in fear of his own demise, that his weak, sickly, little body would finally just stop working. He’d lived in fear, not of his own death, but on the effect it would have on his father. Given the storm, the imminent destruction of his beloved city, given the impending doom that was to be brought down on all those citizens east of the Zastoska range, those worries seemed as distant and muted as the relentless pounding of the rainfall, and the screeches of the wind. Everyone was on the edge of death, finally he was equal. Everyone was on the edge of death, just like him. The craftsman felt hands on his chest and face. Ah yes, the woman. She made it then, of course. No chance he could have waited out his last hours in peaceful solitude. At the very least, he supposed, they were holed up in a cellar full of alcohol, and could pass into their next lives in a drunken stupor should they need to. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. It would have been so much easier had his piece of shyke heart just upped and stopped, let him rest now. At least send him into blissful, ignorant unconsciousness. But no, the petching gods weren’t that kind. His eyes flitted open. Still dark. If he remembered correctly, Gadger kept an old hooded lantern hung up by the door, up the stairs in the north west corner of the room. He was always fastidious about only having it lit when he absolutely needed to, for fear that one day he would drop the thing and his vast collection of booze would go up in a vibrant, pyrotechnic display. He tried to sit up, and failed. His heart might not have given out but his limbs seemed to, he felt weak and only managed to lift his arm with a groan. He could just about make out the figure of his acquaintance in the gloom and put a hand to his head, ‘Lantern, by the door upstairs,’ he waved his hand in the direction of the door to the main bar. His strength would return in a little while, his breaths were shallow and he felt a little queasy, all symptoms he had felt and suffered and recovered from before. He just prayed he wouldn’t find himself submitting to the last in front of a total stranger. The darkness hid the paleness of his skin, and the quivering of his hands. ‘ ‘m Monty,’ he mumbled, wheezing, and finally managed to haul himself up into a sitting position, ‘What’s your name, lady?’

[Erudite]

No, he wasn't unconscious. But neither was he able to move without having a surge of discomfort run through his body, it seemed. She felt a little helpless knelt next to the injured man as his eyes fluttered open, only to be greeted by the darkness and a barely visible, feminine face. "I could do something," she thought, her eyes meeting with the faint, silver glow of her upturned palm. The swirling sigils glittered and gleamed, as if telling her to go for it. Before she could attempt any healing, however, the man gestured to something behind her and spoke. "Lantern, by the door upstairs," he managed, his voice coming out strained, as if he'd just been punched hard in the stomach. His free hand made its way towards his forehead as Erudite reluctantly turned towards the door in question.

"I can do this," she thought confidently, but her heart and her body refused to move. "Do it, Erudite," she ordered herself angrily, but her arms refused to move, and her legs refused to stand. She stared at the door dumbly, her limbs were frozen in shock, and the only thing that assured her that she was still alive was her rapidly beating heart. "Move, there's nothing there that'll hurt you," she flinched, as the warmth of doubt overwhelmed her, giving her shivers that ran down her spine and limbs. But it was enough to get her moving. She rose from her seat on the floor and made a quick dash for the door, and without thinking, she immediately twisted the doorknob and pushed at the rough wood. Gingerly, she brought her head out and peered inside.

The bar was in such a horrible state that it looked as if the storm had begun right in its center. Tables were strewn about haphazardly, covered in spilled wine and ale, with many of their legs cracked or torn apart. Some tables were even ripped in half, as if a pair of people had pulled and bent both sides until it gave in. Tankards and flagons littered the floor along with thick layers of dust and shattered class, while the door was left ajar. Curiosity almost got the best of the Konti as she turned to enter into the mess, her hand gently leaving the brass knob as she took step after careful step. Through the open door, she could see but a glimpse of a horrendously horrific scene that could only be assumed to be the end of the world. "But it couldn't be," she reassured herself, though the words left the trembling lips of her tired mind with much uncertainty and fear. So there was wind, and there was water, and there was fire, it didn't make things the end. Whatever was happening out there, it was happening for a reason. And like all happenings, it will eventually end.

She didn't want to waste another second. She couldn't, and she shouldn't. Her eyes quickly turned to scan the area around the door. Panic rose from the pit of her stomach, through her chest, gripping at her lungs and threatening to wrap around her neck and choke her. She couldn't find the lantern. Her eyes scanned the perimeter, "by the door, by the door," she chanted, until her eyes set upon the old, pewter-colored thing. It looked obsolete, but since the man knew it was here, he probably knew that it worked. She grabbed the lantern and immediately ran back downstairs, shutting the door behind her. She made her way towards the man, who had successfully moved into a sitting position, and knelt down beside him once more, her hands immediately moving to get the lantern lit.

"‘m Monty," he wheezed out almost inaudibly, as he turned to her. She shifted her gaze to meet his with a furrowed brows; for a moment, she thought he'd spoken to her in another language, but he'd in fact told her his name. "What’s your name, lady?" the honorific made her smirk; she'd never been called 'lady' before. "Erudite," she said simply, relieved as the orange glow of the lantern illuminated the room. It was peaceful, and it gave her a better view of her savior. Remarkably feminine features, with lengthy hair that further aided in his potential androgyny, yet he appeared to be, without a doubt, male.

"How are you feeling, are you alright?" she questioned, her marked palm reaching out to hold the man softly by his arm. She figured that she should thank him, first and foremost, but perhaps an expression of concern would be much better.

[Montaine]

The young man snatched his arm away from Erudite’s hand, through instinct more than anything. He took a deep breath, ‘Fine, I’m fine,’ he muttered, ‘ S’normal,’ He placed his hands flat on the floor behind him and tried to push himself to his feet, getting only a few inches from the ground before slumping back down, defeated. At least his vision was clear, the soft glimmering of the lantern allowed him to take in his surroundings. He’d been down here once before, but his memories of that night was clouded at best. He strained to look round at the cellar door they had entered through, the lamplight revealing the old, rotted table leg he had used to seal them in, the sole protection there against the terrifying storm that raged outside. It would break before the day was through. He remembered when that table had broken, a week ago. The lads from the workshop had been celebrating payday with a customary drink or four at the local alcohol proprietor when one of the younger ones had climbed the oldest, creakiest, most unstable table in the place. Due to the brisk sea air and the proximity of the city to the water it was almost a requirement to replace wooden furniture regularly, particularly if you were somewhat cheap and didn’t buy quality furnishings. Alas, the cheaper you were the less likely you were to replace pieces, the longer they had to disintegrate into sawdust. The table had given way and the boy’s dance of glee was interrupted by a gash across his forehead. The remnants of the old table had been taken down to the cellar, awaiting removal. That stuff was flimsy as his lungs. He’d have to find a replacement, though he rather not risk going upstairs. Sure, most of the city would be huddled above ground, he supposed, but they were sat in a cellar, safe as houses. Well, safe as cellars. Wine cellars. Okay, first things first. ‘Get us a couple’a bottles from top shelf, would you?’ Monty indicated the far wall, adorned with a number of rows of potent, if low value, wine. Surely Gadger wouldn’t, couldn’t, begrudge him a little of it? They probably wouldn’t even survive, or Gadger wouldn’t, either way he was going to start drinking. If the most bizarre occurred, and they all came out of this catastrophe unscathed, the barman needn’t know he’d hidden there, no doubt there were going to be looters in the chaos. Although, having seen the state of things outside, even that seemed unlikely. Even the most foolhardy of thieves, the stupidest of thugs, wouldn’t tempt Lhex in this weather. Was it even weather? He didn’t know how to categorise it. The Djed Storm.

[Erudite]

He jerked her hand away just as quickly as she had raised it, earning him a scowl from the offended Konti. "Fine, I'm fine," he replied softly, "S'normal." Erudite's features softened from his response. "I'm sorry," she muttered monotonously. Her gesture might've made him uncomfortable. She turned to take in their surroundings; the lantern provided enough light for their little corner by the door, but everything else simply turned sepia. She could barely make out the numerous shelves and the stacks of opened crates that filled the room, coupled with the occasional large wooden barrel. A wine cellar, no doubt - this was a tavern, after all. She turned back to face Monty as he struggled to rise to his feet, only to fail before even managing to move his legs.

"Get us a couple' a bottles from top shelf, would you?" Monty gestured over to the far wall, where the shelves were. Erudite stared with squinted eyes, as she wondered for a moment if there was something there to quell his pain or discomfort. A salve, perhaps? She wordlessly got up and made her way towards the disorganized rows of multicolored bottles. The storm had hardly subdued since they'd arrived in the cellar, though its four walls seemed to be enough to induce a sense of safety in them. Her eyes scanned the wide selection, expecting to see something to help a headache, a bottle of medicine, something. But it was all spirits. She hummed out loud, glancing over to Monty with pursed lips.

"Are you sure you should be drinking, in that state?" she seemed to be referring to his inability to stand, let alone to sit up with ease. Nonetheless, despite being one to question, she was not in the mood to quarrel or start a fuss over his decision. Without waiting for an answer, Erudite turned back to the large selection and plucked out a stout crimson bottle, its label faded and scratched.

Wine tends to bring out the recklessness when consumed in great amounts, but a bottle wouldn't hurt, especially if they shared it. For a moment, she paused and feigned doubt over her choice of spirit, when truly, her mind wandered over to the ruckus outside. The peculiar pair of obelisks that rose from a distance, the unnatural veins of light, the winds that seemed to form hands as they crushed, tumbled, and ripped everything apart, and monstrous tidal wave that may or may not have killed off the woman and child that she'd set her eyes upon. Her stomach lurched at the last idea; it was simply too painful to imagine.

"That child could've been somebody," she thought. If the youngling would've survived, he could've become something great in the future. Hopefully he did, along with his mother. The hope of surviving herself came up, and she briefly wondered what would become of her hopes, her dreams, and her goals if she didn't make it after today. Hopefully she wouldn't have to find out whilst peering down from the skies.

She made her way back to the man, her hands shaking to pry open its cork, only to fail miserably. Sitting back down, she casually handed the bottle to Monty and sighed. Lightning and thunder erupted from the skies and had the Konti flinching at the sight and sound. She was afraid, of course, who wouldn't? Who wasn't? She felt compelled to reach behind her back and take out her journal and maybe write in it. If she was going to perish in the winds of this storm, the least she could do was write about it. But she resisted, and instead turned to the man next to her and managed a strained smile. Words would not come for a moment, as she eyed the red bottle that she'd given him, and wondered for a moment if it tasted any good. She'd never had alcohol before, and now seemed like a good time to start, or end.

"Will there be a tomorrow, for us, for everyone?" she pondered, before voicing her thoughts out loud to her companion. It might've sounded rather silly, but no other subject would come to mind.

[Montaine]

Montaine peered at the label on the bottle, trying to make out words. It wouldn’t have helped even had the light been sufficient and his head in the peak of physical condition. His father had taught him some words when he could, when he had the time, but he’d grown up poor, too poor for books anyhow. He lamented it, occasionally. He was a Zeltivan man whose reading skills left an awful lot to be desired. His home might well have housed some of the greatest minds, and the most complete source of written knowledge but to him it was worthless. Sometimes, just sometimes, this made him look back on his childhood with a pang of regret. But how often did a simple craftsman need words anyway? The wine was probably good. It was top shelf, that had to be good, right? He clamped his teeth over the cork and yanked it. It held on fast but eventually gave out. Monty panted, even that took energy. But at least it was done. Wine was available and all was excellent. He took a deep swig and coughed. ‘Augh…’ he muttered, ‘Vile,’ He shook his head and took another drink, before wiping the top with his sleeve and offering it to his guest. He noted the scales that graced her skin and the light gills. Konti. He had heard about the white isle women in passing but never encountered one himself. Mory said he slept with one once, but the apprentices had all agreed that he was talking nothing but shyke. Not least because rumour had it Mory once took a knife to the nethers and couldn’t sleep with anyone. Nevertheless the old man insisted she said he was the greatest lover in all of Mizahar. Banden was adamant they were all sly, and wouldn’t have slept with him because he was a man. Monty thought it best to keep this to himself. His head was clearing, or becoming foggier, he wasn’t quite sure. The discomfort caused by his frail body was merging with the warmth of that first few swigs of alcohol, giving him the feeling of recovery. The Konti woman, Erudite, had said something. Will there be a tomorrow, for us, for everyone? The craftsman raised an eyebrow, ‘Does it matter? Nothin’ we can do about it now, by any account,’ He didn’t know if he believed his own words. Of course he could do nothing to stop the storm but…he still worried. There was nothing he could do, nothing that could help, nothing but keep himself alive. To worry himself into an early grave, earlier grave, about something over which he had no influence whatsoever, seemed senseless. Yet he still felt the pang in his stomach, the dreaded anxiety for his friends, his co-workers, his city. His father. ‘Way I see it, just got to sit tight and make the most of it,’ he looked curiously at her travel chest, ‘You picked a bad time to be visitin’ Zeltiva, lady,’