The Scout Area Thread

As the sun started to set Ikora started to stir underneath her blankets in her lean-to. Many had tents and other extravagances but for her and other scouts, they had to break camp and move quickly. The life of a scout had come quickly to her but she was still learning. One man had died in a bar fight some months back and so Ikora was wound up replacing the man. The guy that died was popular and well regarded in the camp, and while it may have been difficult for a more sociablly aware person to fit in among the group of scouts, Ikora's independent nature allowed her to learn and do her job without worrying about trying to fill the previous man's boots. When harassed as a means of initiation, she spat and hissed at the men and walked off. The men laughed and left her alone, though they would quip every now and again when she would be nearby.

Ikora found it idiotic to be blathering about so much when it was their job to be unseen and unheard by their enemy. She hoped when push came to shove the men would be equal to the task. She was confident in her own ability despite her lack of proficiency in riding horses or cooking meals at the fire for herself. She did not need much to survive and her possessions were scant. When she wiped the sleepiness from her eyes she rose up and threw a cloak about her. The days were warm but the nights could be cool. It would be best to sit and eat by the fire. Thankfully, no one bothered her this night and she noticed that her supposed leader, a Valyrian with a name she didn't want to remember, was sat by a fire, sharpening his arrows. This seemed to be a habit of his, and she had become accustomed to the man's quiet nature. She knew she wouldn't be disturbed by him. He knew she was Valyrian as well, but she had never been warm in friendship towards him just because they shared a destroyed homeland. In fact, she felt uneasy about. She wished he was dead, but someone worse could be in his place, and her life could be much harder.

She would have to learn to live with such feelings. She sat down and began to eat a small portion of bread while she heated up some stew by the fire.

Ikora moved closer to the fire and squatted so she could push a makeshift spoon around. That and the fire felt good when it warmed up her clothing. She had heard the leader of her group speak before, and his anti-social behaviour was not unknown. She reflected on this and it put her and him with something in common. She felt uneasy as she tasted the stew. She thought up an answer. Perhaps he is trying to be friendly...ha...the fire feels good hm, just getting warm enough almost. I should say something.... Ikora waited for her stew to warm up enough, perhaps 2-3 minutes she squatted there tending to her food, not entirely ignoring Arghurys' comment, she was still thinking about her response, but her hunger was a higher priority. She was sure he would understand and she wasn't there to make him feel better. That was the least of her concerns. She though up an answer, one that she felt could be taken as a joke or as an insult, or a threat.

"Then you better make sure we aren't poisoned." She scooped up some of the food into her mouth. It was a bit too hot, but manageable. She blew on her spoon for the next mouthful and it was easier to eat.

An order to march across the Dothraki Sea would certainly not make him popular, and would certainly see him dead and forgotten in the tall grass of the Seas. She ate her food without complaint. It was typical fair. At first it had taken some getting used to but she had learned to even like it a little bit. Extra hardships helped her remember. Like any of this even mattered. She didn't care if this man died or lived but decided to give him some practical advice about his comment. "If you want a higher life expectancy, I wouldn't advise such a mission. Then again..." she paused for a moment and wondered what she was even trying to say. "You, and me should have died years ago anyway, we live on borrowed time." Ikora ate a piece of bread, probably a lot more satisfying than the stew she was chowing down. The melancholy was real and necessary, why was he so interested in the Dothraki Sea and sending us to die there? It felt hopeless and stupid, better to just jump off a cliff into the sea to join their people in their watery and fiery tombs.