They'll speak freely of it. That warrants a penetratingly skeptical look, Flint's focus briefly sharpening as if he might drill some hole in Ellis and examine the contents of the Warden's thoughts directly.
I doubt that, he doesn't say. Instead, after a moment's stringent examination—
"I've discussed the dissent within the order with the Scoutmaster and the Provost. But not this."
Ellis' hands turn the map, still rolled. This. The location. How far dissent had actually gone.
"It's by your leave I would be taking the resources."
Not that he has any intention of keeping this knowledge from Tony, and how much can anyone truly keep from Yseult? But it would be work done under Forces' heading. It feels like a necessary courtesy, to speak with the Commander first.
For a beat, Flint says nothing in reply and merely studies him there in the grey daylight as if he means to discern some obvious flaw in the Warden, or the concept. It's an unforgiving look, breaking only when Flint's attention finally skips beyond Ellis and back toward the direction in which he'd first been headed before he'd allowed himself to be drawn up.
By the time he glances back, that dissecting edge has receded.
"I doubt I can spare more than four hands, not counting yourself." And sending out more than three griffons begs trouble to find them. "But get me a list of names and how you mean to go about tracking the deserters, and I'll consider lending them."
It stalls him, Ellis' retreat reversing without question.
The map is sealed within a case. Ellis pops the cap, stows it in one pocket before unfurling the parchment in a smooth, expansive motion.
"I came through the Hunterhorn Mountains, once."
By way of explanation, because surely the question would come: upon what have you based your assessments here?
Flint is obliged to take ownership of one corner, so Ellis might sweep fingertips across two seconds, squaring off potential sections.
"If they were fleeing, they would move inward. I would think the northern sections aren't deserving of our attention, regardless of what options might exist there."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
I doubt that, he doesn't say. Instead, after a moment's stringent examination—
"Who else have you told about this?"
no subject
Ellis' hands turn the map, still rolled. This. The location. How far dissent had actually gone.
"It's by your leave I would be taking the resources."
Not that he has any intention of keeping this knowledge from Tony, and how much can anyone truly keep from Yseult? But it would be work done under Forces' heading. It feels like a necessary courtesy, to speak with the Commander first.
no subject
By the time he glances back, that dissecting edge has receded.
"I doubt I can spare more than four hands, not counting yourself." And sending out more than three griffons begs trouble to find them. "But get me a list of names and how you mean to go about tracking the deserters, and I'll consider lending them."
no subject
"Thank you. I'll have the names to you within the day."
Which is surely his cue to leave, now that they've come to this understanding. And so: a step back, map swinging loosely at his side.
no subject
Like a snap of the fingers or some sabre being rattled in its sheath, it's a brisk check. Flint at last nods to the map in Ellis's possession.
"Show me what you have so far."
no subject
The map is sealed within a case. Ellis pops the cap, stows it in one pocket before unfurling the parchment in a smooth, expansive motion.
"I came through the Hunterhorn Mountains, once."
By way of explanation, because surely the question would come: upon what have you based your assessments here?
Flint is obliged to take ownership of one corner, so Ellis might sweep fingertips across two seconds, squaring off potential sections.
"If they were fleeing, they would move inward. I would think the northern sections aren't deserving of our attention, regardless of what options might exist there."