Cherion stood in the quiet outer corridor, listening to the muffled rustling of papers coming from behind the walnut door of the High Priest's study. The air carried the faint scent of old stone and burning wax.
After a few minutes of standing perfectly still, his legs started to ache from the built-up tension of the morning. He needed to move, just a little, to shake off the restless energy buzzing under his skin.
He took a slow step away from the door, his boots making almost no sound on the runner rug lining the hall.
The South, Cherion thought, his mind wandering right back to the conversation he'd just had. He made his way down the corridor, passing narrow arched windows that let in slivers of light.
How was he supposed to pull off an entire trip to a place he had never actually seen? He could probably use some excuse, Zarius's "illness", travel exhaustion, or just a sudden bout of amnesia.
