A winged coyote walks down one of the windowless corridors of the Temple, having returned from a fairly uneventful routine patrol of the woodlands and forest around Rephidim City. After his debriefing (tedious when there's nothing to report), there's not much for Lochinvar to do except head back to his quarters and hit a real bed for a while. On his way, he makes a routine stop via the mail stop kept for the Rangers of the Temple.

The Skreek clerk staffing the mail room sits with his back to the counter, facing rows of mail boxes. His head is propped up on his arms. As Lochinvar approaches, he catches the sound of a snore coming from the rat.

Lochinvar stops at the counter and pauses for a moment, thinking of how to get the attention of the snoozing clerk. He decides to try knocking on the counter.

The clerk's snoring stops, and his ears flick back. "Yes?" he says evenly, lifting a piece of mail from the pile before him and slotting it into one of the boxes.

"Here to check mail," the Hekoye tells the rat. "Lochinvar," he adds to identify himself.

"Lochinvar … Lochinvar … box 308 … " The rat stands and runs his finger along the rows of boxes, then stops as he reaches it. "Ah! Oh, yes. Here," he says, turning and handing a package of several letters to the Hekoye. "Wait here, there's more in back."

Lochinvar picks up the mail from the counter, leafing through it idly. "More?" he asks, arching an eyebrow slightly, a little puzzled as he doesn't normally get much in the way of mail.

"Yep!" the clerk replies from the rear. "Oof." While the rat is gone, Lochinvar notices a pattern amongst the envelopes: they are all addressed to his parents, and all stamped "Return to Sender" and "Unclaimed."

The mail sorter emerges from the back, carrying a couple of large packages, also familiar-looking to the Hekoye. "'course, they all seem to be from, well, you, so I guess it's not too exciting," the Skreek notes, almost apologetically.

The Ranger frowns at the envelopes, some of which he remembers sending as many as ten weeks ago. "Why have these been returned?" he asks the clerk. "There's never been a problem sending to this address before."

The clerk shrugs. "I only know what they've got marked on them, same as you." He points to the "Unclaimed" stamp. "Whomever you're sending them to hasn't been coming to pick them up. I guess the post workers at – " he pauses to glance at the address, " – Triston figured they weren't coming."

Lochinvar glances at the pile of envelopes again. "'Weren't coming'?" he echoes. "No, no… someone from the village always will travel to Triston to pick up the letters. I don't remember any time when someone didn't pick stuff up. It's never happened before." He pauses for a moment. "How long is mail kept there? Have they made any changes in their hold time, do you know? Perhaps that's it."

The clerk scratches his head. "Y'know, I'm not sure. Here, lemme check the book." He ducks underneath counter and oofs as he pulls up a massive tome, stuffed full of bound pages and loose sheets tucked inside. He flips it open and starts paging through it. "Triston … Triston … "

While waiting for the clerk, Lochinvar inspects the envelopes and packages closer. He sighs as he spots the gift he sent for his mother's birthday in amongst the pile. "I hope she's not thought I forgot… ," he muses.

The Skreek pauses at a page. "Hmm. Not here. Maybe with a 'y'… " He turns a few more pages and stops. "Ah, there it is! All right … looks like their policy was to hold mail for three weeks for new customers, and eight weeks for established customers." He pauses, and adds. "But if they were sending back mail on someone who hadn't collected in eight weeks, they'd send everything back, not just the stuff that was oldest. Anyway, this policy was dated … hmm … Unity 12, 6083. I can see if we've gotten an update recently that's not been filed, if you like?" he offers.

"Please," the coyote replies, a nagging feeling starting to pull at him now.

The clerk ducks beneath the counter again and starts rummaging through a loose pile of papers, humming under his breath and shaking his head occasionally. "Tsk, 6102? We really must catch up on this stuff," he murmurs to himself, thumbing through the book to tuck that page in hastily, before returning to the pile. "Triston … Triston… " After several minutes of searching, he shakes his head. "No, 6083 was their last policy update." He sets the sheaf of papers on top of the imposing policy tome.

Lochinvar sighs and nods. "Well, thank you for your help," he says, and picks up all of the returned mail. There's not much more he can ask that the clerk will be able to tell him.

The Ranger struggles with the packages and heads back to his quarters, the nagging feeling growing a little stronger now.

The Hekoye opens the door to his spartan quarters, furnished with a single bed and a small desk with chair, holding the packages and letters braced beneath one arm.

After putting the packages on the desk, Lochinvar sits on the bed and thinks, I really don't remember if they ever missed a mail run. No, no-one there would do that. Not intentionally.

He looks at the pile of packages. So why wouldn't anyone make the journey to Triston in almost 10 weeks? They do the journey on a rotation schedule – so it wouldn't be because someone was sick and couldn't travel.

The candles in wall sconces flicker, providing a dim alternative to the fluorescent lights, concealed behind overhead panels, that have never worked during Lochinvar's time living in this room.

A worrying thought hits the Hekoye. "What if not just one person got sick?" he wonders out loud. He doesn't even finish off that thought. Instead, he moves the packages from the desk and pulls out some paper and pen, and begins writing to his superiors for a leave of absence. He knows his mind won't rest until he knows exactly what the problem is.

The airship is still boarding passengers in fitful spurts. It's about thirty minutes until the scheduled departure, and the steward stands by the boarding plank ticking off the passengers on a chart as they've arrived, and scanning the dock below for signs of new passengers, brushing the tip of his quill against the underside of his chin fretfully.

A Rath'ani woman with somewhat unruly chestnut hair hustles towards the docks, lugging a bulging suitcase along with her with both hands. "Am I too late?!" she mumbles as best she can with a ticket flapping in her teeth. "Star, I hope I didn't mix up the time and day again… "

The steward spies the hustling female figure and calls out, "Headed for Aramole, ma'am?"

Naomi takes the ticket from her teeth, and reads it over, then cries, "Yes, yes I am!"

A winged coyote wearing the uniform of a Temple Ranger and carrying a pack on his shoulder, hurries towards the ship too. "Aramole? This is the right ship for Aramole then?" he asks, almost running into the Rath'ani.

"Splendid, m'lady," the steward replies, motioning for a porter to go down the plank and help the raccoon. "Yes, good sir," he calls to the Hekoye, "This is the Bird of Paradise, leaving for Aramole in twenty-eight minutes."

"Good," the Hekoye says. "I'll need one ticket. How much?"

Naomi looks briefly surprised. "I'm early?" she says, almost disappointed. "If I'd known, I would have packed more along." With a little grunt, she tries to raise her suitcase up for the porter to grab hold of. "Uff, I'll have a dreadful time without my tail slicker brush."

A stolid Rhian porter lumbers down the plank towards the frazzled passenger, reaching her side in long strides and lifting her suitcase easily from her hands. "Dis way, miss." He gestures to the plank.

The steward consults his chart, glances at the winged coyote, then back to his notes. "Normally three hundred and fifty shekels, sir, but Temple personnel get a discount, so, two hundred and fifty," he tells the ranger.

Lochinvar checks his money pouch, and pulls out the fare, and hands it over. "Two hundred and fifty… there."

The steward, an Eeee, checks the coins as they are handed to him. He looks at a complicated-looking machine behind him, mounted onto the decking, with an array of buttons, a pull lever, and a slot in the side. With some apparent trepidation, he picks carefully over the buttons, presses one, and drops the coins into the slot, He looks tremendously relieved when the machine emits a pleasant chime, spits out a paper ticket, and does nothing more. "Very good, sir. Your name?" he asks, gingerly removing the ticket and handing it to the Vartan.

Naomi scurries up the plank, nodding at the porter. "Thank you!" she trills. Instead of immediately heading below decks, however, she strays to a railing to look over the docks from her vantage, looking a little giddy and a worried at the same time.

"Lochinvar Arques," the Ranger replies, taking the ticket.

The equine walks behind Naomi up the plank, then sets her suitcase on the deck beside her while she looks. "Do ya know your berth, ma'am?"

The steward spells out the name with a flourish on his passenger chart, nodding to Lochinvar. "Your berth should be on that ticket, sir … there's a little map of the ship and an "X" for your cabin."

"Not off hand," says Naomi, touching her chin thoughtfully. "Would you be so kind as to direct me to it? I'm simply terrible with maps."

"Thanks," the coyote says, looking down at the ticket. He checks his pack over his shoulder and heads up the plank too, looking for his cabin.

With a nod to the raccoon, the porter holds out his hand for her ticket. He looks at it for a moment, then holds it down to the steward. "She's this 'un," he tells the Eeee, who glances over it and makes another check on his roster. The Rhian lifts the suitcase again and tells Naomi. "Follow me," as he heads below decks.

Naomi falls into step, looking relieved. "Thank you! My goodness, it's been so long I forgot what it was like to fly."

The equine enters a room labeled "6A", a small but pleasant cabin with two narrow bunks, one above the other, built into the wall, a stool bolted to the floor in front of a panel that folds out to serve as a desk, and a narrow closet and chest of drawers built into the opposite wall. "Dis is your room. You may have roommate, don't know." He sets the case on the bed at the same time that Lochinvar, based on the map, the "X" and the room number printed on it, pokes his head into the room, concluding it's his.

"Uh? Excuse me?" asks the Hekoye. "I believe this is my room?" He pauses to check his ticket, then looks at the door. "6A – yes?"

"Very good!" The Rath'ani fumbles through her pockets until she comes up with a clinking pouch, and offers up a handful of shekels to the Rhian. "Here's your tip! I'll just get settled in, and… " She stops upon hearing Lochinvar, turning her head and looking somewhat confused. "What? Is it?" She looks at her ticket, then twitches her whiskers. "Oh, perhaps you're the roommate. This gentleman here said I might have one."

"Roommate? I wasn't aware that I would be sharing a berth." Lochinvar looks at the Rhian. "Perhaps there's been a mistake?"

The equine, having perked at the sound of coins, droops marginally as the raccoon is distracted from tipping him. "Don't know," he responds, somewhat unhelpfully. "I take your tickets to steward, maybe he know?" he adds after a moment of deep consideration.

Lochinvar hands over his ticket. "If you would," he says.

Accepting the Hekoye's ticket with a glum nod, the equine turns his attention to Naomi, holding out his hand for hers, and looking optimistic again.

Naomi wrinkles her nose. "Oh, there might have been … a young woman like me being forced to share a berth with some big shaggy fellow she doesn't even know? My heavens!" She drops the look, however, and gives her ticket over,pressing the coins with it into the Rhian's palm to free her hands up. "But we'll be on the same ship anyway, so… "

"… pleased to meet you, sir!" The raccoon extends a paw expectantly towards the Hekoye.

The porter beams at the delivery of the coins. "Tank oo, nice lady. Wait here, I be right back." He lumbers for the door, maneuvering his way around the winged coyote with some difficulty in the cramped quarters.

The winged coyote smiles politely and shakes the offered hand. "Hello there," he replies, then fiddles with the pack on his shoulder, eventually putting it down on the ground.

Lochinvar decides to leave his pack be for the moment, and leans against the wall a little. "So, uh, going to Aramole too?"

Naomi, after returning the handshake, nods and sits back the bunk claimed by her suitcase. "Yes indeed. And beyond, would that any airships even went the whole way. As it is, Aramole is a stop-off point, and I guess I'll be figuring out what to do get to Triston, and then I have to go to even farther to a little town beyond that. It's all very trying, really."

The Ranger nods a little. "Sounds like you're almost going the same way I am," he says. After a moment he adds, "Family out there?"

"Oh, no … everyone I know is on Rephidim." replies the girl, shaking her head. A few ringlets of hair dangle over her face. "I'm going there on assignment from Roho's Hospice, where I work. I'm his assistant, Naomi Flangenchette. Tsk, how rude of me not to give you my name right away! Sorry, I'm a little excited about the trip."

"Ah, so you're going out on business then?" the coyote asks then. "Oh, I didn't give you my name either – Lochinvar."

The porter returns. "The steward, he say he sorry. Very busy now, but he be sure, sort all out once we in air." The equine delivers the tickets back to their respective passengers again. "You wait here 'til we fly, then he fix." He flicks his tail from side to side, tall enough that he has to stoop in the small cabin, and waits for any further comment from the guests before departing.

Lochinvar turns to look at the steward, and nods to him with a slight sigh. "Very well."

Naomi nods at the Rhian, then the Hekoye. "Well, it looks like we'll be sharing the room at least for a little while, Mr. Lochinvar. If you're going the same direction as I am, perhaps you can tell me a little about it. I've only been off Rephidim once, and that was for something I don't like to think about much." She shivers, distaste on her face.

The porter bows his head on his long neck in acquiescence to the passengers, and keeps it down as he backs out through the doorway and returns to the main deck.

"Well," starts the coyote, "Aramole is one of the few surviving major cities left in the Himar after the Boomer hit. Of the places on our route to Triston, Aramole is probably the nearest to the Red Cliffs."

Naomi looks down at her ticket thoughtfully. "Out in the Himar? Oh my… I heard it can be savage out there. Where are you going, if I may? Are you out on business too?"

Lochinvar takes a moment before answering. "My parents live in a small village a couple of days hike from Triston. I'm … heading out to visit."

The Rath'ani claps her paws together. "Oh, how nice! They must be very distinctive … I've never seen anyone quite like you before." She gestures. "With the wings, I mean. They're very striking."

The winged coyote gives Naomi a confused yet 'not-again' look. "I like to think of my parents as distinctive, as I would guess you would do of yours. However, there are other Vartans with a little more unique markings than my parents. They don't really stand out like those with black wings do."

Naomi touches a hand to her neck. "Well … just trying to make conversation. My family is distinct to me, but they don't really stand out in society … well, except for Great-Auntie."

Lochinvar nods simply, then eyes the bunks. "Well, since it seems like we'll be sharing – are you taking the top or bottom bed?"

"Well, my suitcase is already down here, so I'll take the bottom if it's all the same to you, Mr. Lochinvar," says Naomi after some consideration. She grins. "This way, if I feel I need to get something snacky in the middle of the night, I won't tumble off."

Naomi stretches her arms, and politely hides a yawn. "I'll probably turn in fairly early. I'll want to be spending a lot of time tomorrow learning more about where I'm going … perhaps arranging for a guide. I don't really know my way around the Himar."

"All right," says the Ranger. "If you have any questions, I could probably answer them for you. For the moment, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll see if I can get on deck for our departure."