Swamped

You can't deal with this now. You'll wait for a better time, get some friends together, get them talking about what Eighth means to them. For now, there's nothing more you can do.

And then, just as you start to walk away, it strikes you all at once.

You're a goddamned hypocrite.

Oh, maybe you haven't let go of your other friends like Fifth and Eighth have... but when's the last time you wrote a song? In your own way, you've let yourself get lost in Third's death just like the others.

Maybe it's not quite the same, maybe you haven't let yourself fall as deep. But you're not the Tom you used to be any more. How can you even think to lecture Eighth on what he's done when you've given up such a big part of yourself?

So, you head back to your room, pull your own instrument out of the closet, and start to sing.

About Eighth. About how he's fallen. About what he must be thinking.

When it's over, you let yourself cry.

---

You're now Marshall again. It's been a long night, but dawn finally seems to be breaking.

Crook's given you some news; the strike force has come back, and never got as far as the assault on Bog Hill, but Rider hasn't returned. He doesn't know the details yet.

Mudviper's in a meeting with the command council. She apparently expected it to take several hours.

With Rider missing, and Mudviper occupied, it seems the answers you were hoping for aren't going to be coming for a while. So what are you going to do to pass the time?