Fort Weyr - Stables
While the stables aren't elaborate or very big, the Fort Weyr runnerbeast stable is well-cared for. With five stalls down each side of the aisle, a small office makes up one end, with a tack room beside it. On the other end is a storage room, a feed room on the other side. The stalls are box variety, with the walls between stalls thick wood built two-thirds up from the ground. Stalls along the near side are a bit wider than on the far side, to accomadate Fort's ride runners, as well as hold guests' runners overnight when needed. Feeders and waterers are set into each stall, with also a hay net set against the far side of each stall, near the mesh framed doors. Lighting is dim, but there is enough light to see by. The air is nearly always the crisp scent of runners, even just outside and nearby the stable.


Hazel stands deep in the stalls, shovel in hand. Despite the heat of the day he is working hard, having been drafted from his regular round of less-than-plesant duties when the assigned person had come down sick for the day. He works in almost absolute silence, only the scrape of the shovel on stone below announcing his quiet presence. He works carefully, not leaving a single spec behind when possible. Outside the stall sits a full bucket and brush for more in depth cleaning to be done once a majority of the muck is cleaned off. At some point the heat had gotten enough for the teen to discard all but a shirt with cut off sleves.

Today was not the best of days for travel, but by the time Rayathess discovers just how hot this particular summer day is going to be, it's already too late. He and the Journeyman he's accompanying are already half way to Fort Weyr when the heat begins to truly be felt and by the time mid afternoon rolls by, both their runners have worked up a lathered sweat and they aren't in much better shape themselves. Only one of them will stop at the stables out here in the forest and after a few murmured words, it's Rayathess who walks into the cooler stone interior of the stables, leading his runner by the reins. "Hello? Anyone else about? I'd like to tend to my runner and see him to a stall. He's a stallion, so he'll need to be well aware from any mares…" he calls out, eyes already scanning the aisles in hopes of spotting a stablehand as he reaches for some cross ties. "You, over there, with the shovel?" He's spotted Hazelon, but the backside of him and no recognition filters. He pegs the young man as a stablehand, not random help. "Mind giving me a hand or fetching a pail of water and a rag?" he asks, turning his head briefly to begin unfastening the girth of his runner's saddle. He's wearing his travelling clothes, all in Harper blue or neutral tones but despite that, Rayathess hasn't changed much. Grown a bit, filled out considerably and has matured in others but he is still the same in other regards. Same hair, same eyes and features. And now he and his runner block the only exit out, with the other end of the stables leading to offices, tack and feed rooms.

Hazelon doesn't realize at first that he is being hailed, and the scrape of the shovel continues with his singleminded determiation to get the job done despite the heat. Only after the voice continues to talk does he finally look up from his work, though over to the empty office first to see if they are talking to someone else. His eyes travel first to the hot runner then fix on the young man calling out. Shock writes itself across his features and he looks around again, perhaps this time for a way to sneak out but… no. No one is there. He ducks his head abruptly. "Water, just outside the stall if you want it."

Rayathess frowns when at first it seems like he's being ignored and then the other young man is finally responding. Good! He'll just turn back briefly to finish unfastening the girth and slipping the saddle off, only to glance sidelong when Hazelon is facing him. That look of shock has Rayathess puzzled all for a heartbeat. Recognition hits swift and fast, causing him to stagger back a half step and then have to hastily rebalance himself or risk dropping his (expensive) saddle to the ground. His features slip into a similar mirrored look of shock and disbelief as he stares at Hazelon. No… it can't be? Grunting, he hastily sets it aside, eyes his runner to be sure the stallion can be left for a moment unattended (where ARE those stablemen?) and his frown grows heavier, closer to a scowl when Hazelon ducks his head like that. What's he hiding… or why is he trying to hide? His answer to his previous questions goes unnoticed and unanswered. "Hazelon?" Rayathess speaks his name slowly and in a lowered tone as he drags it from the recesses of his memory. Darker memories, ones he usually keeps very well locked and buried deep. He continues to peer at the other young man, as if suspicious and wary of his presence here. It certainly looks like the Hazelon he remembers, but with natural changes one undergoes over time as one ages.

Hazelon winces as his name is spoken, and the apprentice pegs him exactly. His next tactic of ducking down low enough for the other man to not recognize is defeated. Hands on his shovel are tightened as he wavers between attempting to convince the apprentice that he is not who he has claimed to be- his own dark memories rising fully to the surface. But no. Honesty compells him to answer, "Setha." It's delivered in Hazelon's quiet voice, the one that just barely reaches outside to where Rayathess stands. He doesn't look up.

Rayathess's eyes narrow as his brows furrow, studying Hazelon carefully. His posture has gone a bit tense and stiff, as if prepared to react in two ways: fight or flight. It's an old instinct and one that he's not always aware is upon him. It is now, in full force, as the young man before him stands almost as a living symbol of a part of his life he wishes he could keep locked away. At the quiet spoken use of his former name, his 'false' name and the other half of him he created to survive, Rayathess flinches as though struck. "Don't use that name!" he growls in a gruff whisper, his tone filled with unspoken warning. "That's not my name. Never was. It's Rayathess." Doesn't seem to matter if Hazelon's voice never reaches past him. Those stablemen are returning now and Rayathess darts a nervous look to them at first and then to Hazelon, only to relax his features and smoothly adopt a calm exterior as he gives polite requests to the stablemen concerning his runner stallion. Once that is settled, Rayathess will round on Hazelon and gesture for him to follow. If that's not enough, he'll attempt to firmly (but gently) clasp his hand to the young man's shoulder if such a movement doesn't spook him (or trigger a fight response). "You and I need to talk. Now. Outside. Follow me." Clipped and blunt instructions and again, the voice that implies that there is no argument here. If Hazelon were to bolt, Rayathess would chase him.

In posture at least the much shorter teen mirrors Rayathess, his shoulders are hunched inwards giving his appearance even less height then he can claim. His own gaze flicks to the stablemen as is perhaps they would save him, but no, they pay little mind to the person cleaning. They ignore the pair completely after Rayathess gives his orders. Hazelon twitches away from Rayathess, one boot stepping into the runner leavings which he had been so carefully scraping aside. Uncertainty flickers deep in brown eyes as he looks up at the apprentice. "I've a job to complete." He'll shake the shovel gently as if to underscore. "I'll be in trouble if I'm leavin' this half done."

It's an awkward moment of posturing then, with Rayathess unintentionally looming over the much shorter Hazelon. When neither the gesturing or the touch to the shoulder prove to work, the Harper Apprentice will scowl and glance down at what the young teen steps in, only to dart another look as the stablemen begin to organize his tack. There's a moment of indecision, torn between demanding that Hazelon follow him, unfinished work or not or simply stand there awkwardly and wait. He has to think fast, as the stablemen are already beginning to look their way with vague curiosity. Rayathess clears his throat and wills himself to relax and calm. "Then finish this task first. And quickly." he mutters low. And THEN they'll talk, but for now he moves off just enough to stand between Hazelon and the stablemen, to whom he makes idle talk with and answers their polite questions concerning the breeding and bloodline of his stallion.

Hazelon is tempted to work very slowly, and proves it at first by the deliberate scrape of his shovel against the stone. Every once in a while a gaze is cast backwards at Rayathess, his dark gaze unreadable. Eventually though, hard work habit takes over and Hazelon's typical efficency displaces the awkward. His gazes backwards become more and more infrequent till they cease altogether. Almost he manges to convince himself that the specter from his past is not there. Too soon though, one of the stable hands breaks away from the conversation to approach Hazelon. "Clean enough boy, too sharding hot to keep working like that." He gestures for the shovel. "Get yourself back up to the weyr then." Hazelon looks upwards, from the stableman to Rayathess back. "I'm not mindin' keepin' goin' sir." He says timidly, but the stablehand is insistant. Hazelon hands over the shovel and rubs his hands on pants that are mucky. "I'll just be gettin' back to the weyr then…" And he'll attempt to walk past Rayathess and out.

It's a good thing that the stable hand steps in when Hazelon takes his time at his work. Rayathess' patience is wearing thin, his temper already frayed a bit by the heat and travel here to the Weyr. Seeing his runner settled and never quite letting the young teen out of his sight, he will be instantly alert when the stablehand attempts to dismiss Hazelon, only to be met with resistance at first. Yet when it seems like Hazelon is just about to slink away and make his escape, Rayathess is closing in and sticks to him like a persistent and secondary, likely very much unwanted, shadow. "Not the Weyr," he mutters as he catches up to the young teen. A few brisk, long strides and he'll wait until they pass the threshold of the stable door. Then he'll try to "herd" poor Hazelon towards the trees, off the path and in relative "privacy" for their little chat. Assuming, of course, that the young teen doesn't evade or outwit Rayathess at some point, though the young Harper Apprentice won't give up so easily! Now that he's spotted and recognized Hazelon, he will likely try to hunt him down until he has answers.

Ghost of a teen that Hazelon is, it is not at all hard for him to be utterly intimidated by the taller and older young man herding him off of his track. He retreats away from Rayathess but stops in the shade the forest provides, face overshadowed. "I cannot be stayin', they'll be missin' me in the weyr." His gaze is pointedly settled onto the ground at Rayathess' feet, as he rubs a hand upon one arm in unease. This had been a meeting and recognition he had avoided each time the apprentice had returned to the weyr with excellent results. But his luck has run out, and his mind replays his own years in the camps, unhappy memories which he would rather forget.

Intimidation or simply old habits revisited? From the history they share, they likely come from a life where size, strength and even something as simple as age gave one "power". Survival of the fittest and the strong control the weak. Not that Rayathess ever sought to control and does not seek to do so now. Not intentionally. Seeing Hazelon has jarred him badly and his mind is in dark places. Of course he's aware that most of the holdless from the camps have resettled with some to the Weyr, some to the Holds and some faded back to what they were, unable to adapt. Most he knew or made himself commit their names to memory and where they've gone. How Hazelon escaped him bothers him far more than he's willing to admit. "I'm not keeping you long," Rayathess mutters, "And if it's an issue, then I'll just say I was the one who kept you as I needed assistance." He'll lie, in other words. He smirks, eyeing Hazelon up and down in a few long, awkward moments of silence before he scoffs. "So you've been here… since when? The trials?"

And Hazel remembers it vividly, having been one of the smallest and youngest of those who were forced into adulthood much too soon. "Yes." His answer is just as soft as all of his others, as his gaze continues to be on the ground. "I'm… I'd be the one in trouble would would be lookin' like I was shirkin', if you pardon me," He shifts sideways, perhaps seeking a way to get around Raya?

Rayathess scowls, not so much AT Hazelon but for an inward reflection on himself. How could he have missed the young teen among the group? Yet he was swift to loose track of the little pack Laurali assembled and then was too absorbed in his own problems to notice the signs when word was being whispered about thefts in the stores. "And what… now you're just hiding out here? Doing what?" he asks, keeping his voice hushed and lowered but it doesn't mask the bluntness and edge to it. He's still wary around the teen. Smaller, younger though he may be, he was IN those camps with him. He'd know how to scrap, how to fight if truly cornered or threatened. Their lives demanded they learn such skills, no matter how much they disliked it. "No, you're not pardoned yet. They won't notice you gone for a few scant minutes." There's liable to be a way around Rayathess. Swift and quick enough and what can the Apprentice Harper do but attempt to snag him? Hazelon would only have to get to the entrance square to guarantee his safety. Rayathess will not chase him down and tackle him within the Weyr grounds. Not where eyes can see and witness.

Though the scowl may not be for him, Hazelon has little choice but to take it as such. He steps backwards further into the shade, before he forces himself to stop. A hint of begging enters into his voice at Rayathess' insinuation, "Nono! I've been workin', doin' whatever they are askin' of me. Swear on…" but he bites back on saying the words, my parents graves, and drifts off. "Been as usual as I can, avoidin' trouble, I don't want any trouble. Just lookin' to do my bit."

Rayathess will takes a slow step forwards and then another when Hazelon begins to step backwards into that shade. Subtle movements and again, perhaps by instinct and unnoticed. That scowl eases though to a knitted brow and his eyes no longer so hard and dark but now thoughtful and considering… Is this the truth? There's a grimace and a faint wince for the bitten back oath. No need to say it all, Rayathess caught the gist of it. He sighs heavily, "And that's it? You've just been lurking about the Weyr, doing odd jobs for the last few Turns? Wasn't saying you were looking for trouble," But he sure did assume and judge him for it! Now… he's not so certain and it shows. "But you'll know why I am suspicious! So that's why you've been hiding? Trying to sever yourself from the rest? Restart?"

Every step Rayathess approaches corners Hazelon further, bring up much repressed memories from the camp. He has to force himself, reminding firmly that he isn't thirteen any more. That fighting back unprovoked would only get him in trouble… and probably ruin his years of hiding. "Not lurkin'! I swear S…" he stops himself from repeating the only name he's known the young man by. "Rayathess. Workin', earnin' my keep as best with Ma and Pa gone like the rest of them. You… you could be askin' anyone, well, maybe not anyone, I don't be spendin' my leasure with them much, but I just," His attempt to explain causes him to be stumbling over his words till he comes to a stop. Either Rayathess would believe him… or he would have to escape.

Rayathess will likewise force himself to stop encroaching on Hazelon. Something in his head is whispering that to push the young teen any further could be bad or ruin whatever chance he has for answers. Whatever those answers are that he seeks. Why is he so spooked by seeing Hazelon here? He's hardly appearing to be a threat and yet Rayathess is behaving as though he's the most dangerous teen in Fort. There's a sharp look when that name is almost uttered and then his expression relaxes again, back to a cool and reserved mask. His posture relaxes, but not by much. Just enough to take some of the tension out of the situation. "I don't need to ask no one. I'll… take your word on it for now. Figuring if you were up to anything, there'd be talk of it by now and you don't seem the fool to try and pull the wool over the Weyr's eyes." Since that backfired so spectacularly for Laurali (or Turncloak, as she had styled herself) and her little gang. He snorts, "So you work and you keep to yourself. You don't talk?" Of the camps.

"Not ever." Hazelon is more than quick to interject, taking his cue from Rayathess in the slight relaxing, though he makes no move to go forward. "What would I be sain'?" Long hidden bitterness wells up in Hazelon's words. "It's not like you. My parents weren't innocent, they did those things, and paid for them. Why would I be wantin' to have anythin' to do with that. And the weyr's been kind." His lips close around all the words, and he looks away. "Just doin' what I can," he finishes lamely, kicking at the soil under his foot.

Rayathess bristles when the bitterness wells up in Hazelon's words and his eyes harden and flash, though it's hard to say why. Anger at what the young teen implied by 'not like you', or is it fuelled more by guilt and regret? Could be a combination of all and things far more complex than that. "No, you're right. Just cause your folks were guilty, doesn't make you guilty." he mutters, looking away for a moment as his jaw works silently. He can understand how one feels, to be wrongly accused. How long did he walk the Weyr with the title 'traitor' over his head? "Have they? … good." Rayathess finishes just as lamely and there is an unsettling quiet, awkwardness now filling the space between them. So much to discuss and yet the young man hesitates and keeps his jaw firmly shut. Perhaps now is not the time? He is at least aware of Hazelon's existence. "Go on. Said I'd only keep you for a bit and I have." He got his answers. Some of them. Which likely means Rayathess will be paying Hazelon another visit and soon. Unless the teen will evade him!

"I'm not." Vehemence underlays Hazelon's words, a hardness that belies the meek exterior he marks to everyone else. When Rayathess finally gives the invitation for him to go he hesitates, looking for the trick, the thing that will land him in trouble. But no, he cannot find one. "I… met your brother. Must be nice to have one." It slips out before Hazelon can draw it back in. Biting his tounge Hazelon will dart past Raya, heading towards the weyr unless the young man attempts to stop the teen.

If only Rayathess could see what was occurring before him, to read those signs Hazelon has given him. To see the similarities that the young teen may be struggling with, ones that he himself had to face. All the accusations, the guilt, the tarnished image and name he had to shake off. Did he have it easier? Probably. Having his family name certainly helped with that. Hazelon is SO KIND to remind him of that! Rayathess' eyes widen, first in shock when the teen admits to meeting his brother. Met. His brother. Did Ezra know he was from the camps? No. His hands clench into fists at his side, feeling threatened and protective but confused as to why. The teen holds no threat and yet the idea of him being alone with his brother has his anxieties surging… only to be dashed and guilt shot through him like an ice cold jab to the gut. 'Must be nice to have one'. Those words will haunt and hurt for a bit. Now Hazelon is darting around him and Rayathess swears, caught off guard. "Hazelon, wait! Damn it!" Of course he'll attempt to stop the teen, darting after him and hoping to cut him off before he makes it too far up the path. Hands will reach out, attempting to grasp an arm or the cuff of his shirt or tunic. Anything to gain hold and grip fast. "Wait!" Rayathess barks irritably, which likely does not help matters either. "Please." It's gritted out, but it sounds genuine?

A shot of panic stretches through Hazelon as Rayathess cuts off his escape route. Almost he stumbles right into the young man and is caught fast by his cuff. The fear of being traped and yelled at surges and he attempts to yank backwards violently. "I didn't!" His denial comes swiftly. "Please, I swear!"

Rayathess will brace and adjust if Hazelon bumps or stumbles into him and he will keep his grip firm and tight on the teen's cuff. "Shut up!" he hisses urgently, his eyes nervously darting to the smith crafters and stablehands and other weyrfolk walking back and forth along the path and around the various buildings and structures. Some are looking their way, especially when it seems that there looks to be a disagreement. Rayathess sends them a reassuring smile, though they turn away not entirely convinced. Hauling Hazelon back towards the trees and into the shade, mostly to be out of that blasted hot sun, he will let go of the teen's cuff and then hold his hands up in a calming gesture. "It's alright! Just… calm down, will you?" he mutters through his teeth, clipped and hurried. "Calm down before someone gets curious and starts meddling." He'll be taking his words seriously too and willing himself to calm himself. There's no sign of that anger, at least not visibly now. "When did you meet my brother?" he asks.

Hazelon's expressions are anything but calm, especially as he is hauled backwards and out of sight. It doesn't even occur to him that someone might step him, or break up what is going on. Rather, when Rayathess mentions meddling he freezes, shooting a glance behind. Mentally he weighs the weight of his own nameless hide with that of one of the Stonehaven survivors. He comes up far short of the other young man and thus forces calm over his features. He retreats into his ghost facade, falling quiet and still. The observer. The outsider. He licks his lips gently before answering, calling up moisture against the heat. "A week? Maybe a bit more. Just… in passin'. He didn't know who I was. Didn't tell him." Because how would that go? Hi, my parents probably helped murder yours? Yeah. No.

Rayathess will brace and adjust if Hazelon bumps or stumbles into him and he will keep his grip firm and tight on the teen's cuff. "Shut up!" he hisses urgently, his eyes nervously darting to the smith crafters and stablehands and other weyrfolk walking back and forth along the path and around the various buildings and structures. Some are looking their way, especially when it seems that there looks to be a disagreement. Rayathess sends them a reassuring smile, though they turn away not entirely convinced. Hauling Hazelon back towards the trees and into the shade, mostly to be out of that blasted hot sun, he will let go of the teen's cuff and then hold his hands up in a calming gesture. "It's alright! Just… calm down, will you?" he mutters through his teeth, clipped and hurried. "Calm down before someone gets curious and starts meddling." He'll be taking his words seriously too and willing himself to calm himself. There's no sign of that anger, at least not visibly now. "When did you meet my brother?" he asks.

Hazelon's expressions are anything but calm, especially as he is hauled backwards and out of sight. It doesn't even occur to him that someone might step him, or break up what is going on. Rather, when Rayathess mentions meddling he freezes, shooting a glance behind. Mentally he weighs the weight of his own nameless hide with that of one of the Stonehaven survivors. He comes up far short of the other young man and thus forces calm over his features. He retreats into his ghost facade, falling quiet and still. The observer. The outsider. He licks his lips gently before answering, calling up moisture against the heat. "A week? Maybe a bit more. Just… in passin'. He didn't know who I was. Didn't tell him." Because how would that go? Hi, my parents probably helped murder yours? Yeah. No.

Rayathess relaxes a little further but not by much. He's still staring at Hazelon, still locked in a moment of disbelief and conflicting thoughts and emotions at what the young teen's presence means. Part of his mind whispers 'why care?'. He has no answer for that, not yet and he promptly pushes it aside. Could be he is upset or it has upset him that Hazelon was able to slip by for so long, unnoticed, among the Weyr populace. How could he have never seen the teen about before? It bothers him, making him fidget and nervous and yet frustrated when he cannot pinpoint why. "So… by chance you're saying? And good. Don't." It sounds like a warning, more then a suggestion. Best that Hazelon not bring up his parents to either of the Stonehaven brothers and if he does… not to expect the best response. Rayathess remains tense and silent by Hazelon for a few more slow, awkward seconds and then with a heavy exile, his shoulders drop and he seems… controlled. "Listen. I don't care what you do here in the Weyr, so long as you're doing what you said — working and staying out of trouble. It just…" He pauses for a moment, frowning as he considers his next words. "… shocked me to see you. Figured most of the holdless youths have moved on and out." Got on with their lives, is what he's hinting at.

"What would I tell him?" The bitterness has worked its way back into his voice, eyes darkening with the memories that this simple conversation has brought roaring back from where Hazelon has attempted to shove them. "Would you tell him anything?" It doesn't really seem like a question the teen actually wants Rayathess to answer, as he blows on. "The weyr gave me a place to be after…" but he doesn't say what, and bites his tongue. "You do not need to ever see me again," there's a hint in his voice that Hazelon would be more than happy to never see the apprentice again. His stomach clenches as his words seem to reflect what Hazelon's mind has been telling him for turns, and he draws himself defensively inwards. "Where else would I go?"

Rayathess scowls at that bitterness, bristling again but also sympathetic and guilty too to hear it. How he can understand that bitterness! And yet he feels powerless to help Hazelon. Powerless… or figuring such a gesture would be met with resistance and refusal. "That you're from his camps?" he mutters in a low, hissed tone. 'His' being cryptic for 'Laris', of course. It answers both of the teen's questions neatly and from the way Rayathess draws back a bit, it's obvious it's crossed his mind to go to Ezra and tell. It seemed like a wise decision and now… now it makes him nervous. Should he say anything? He doesn't trust Hazelon (and doesn't expect trust in return). He snorts, "The Weyr gave most of us a home." After. No need for elaboration. "And what if I DO want to speak with you again?" he snaps back, only to grimace when the teen seems to withdraw. "Many went to the Holds. Some to the Halls. A small group were Searched and Impressed, last I heard. Yet here you are… just working with what they give you?" He seems suspicious. Why would a youth of his age not chose something more, now that he has the chance?

Hazelon knows he owes the other team some kind of explanation, but there is none he can offer. How does one even begin to explain the shame of being a part of something so horrifying? How to put into words the trauma that even now haunts him. His arms wrap around himself, and he hunches his shoulders even more as the shame washes over him. "I've no talent for the craft, have not been asked to stand," well, being a little silent ghost doesn't help, "nor have any connections which might find me a place in a Hold. Not without explaining." Which Hazelon would rather not do. By now he has been there long enough that few ask about his history, so long as he works.

Perhaps some day, Hazelon will have those answers or together with Rayathess and others they will sort it out. For now though, he'd be unable to offer the young teen any advice. The Harper Apprentice doesn't even speak of his time in those camps and certainly not to random strangers! Not even his own brother knows all of the tales and horrors and it took forever and a day to get him to say what little he has. If Rayathess had any sense in that thick head of his, he'd see that this IS his chance to talk to someone who does understand, who seems so much like himself (and in ways, his brother). Scared, unsure and dealing with traumas from the past… They share a common ground in experience and yet here Rayathess stands, staring at him as though he is a threat and bringing nothing but feelings of shame and unworthiness to the teen. "You didn't need connections to get to the Hold after… back then." Is it too late now? Probably. Far, far too late. He sighs, "Doesn't matter, anyways. You're here and you've seem to make yourself a comfortable life. And you… are looking to stay?" Long term. It's a loaded question, with Rayathess likely trying to sense or probe to see if Hazelon is dissatisfied with his life in the Weyr. Dissatisfied enough that he could, perhaps, revert back to his previous life.

"It's… a life." Comfortable? Hazelon doesn't comment. It was better than life in the camps anyway. What did it matter that this lack of skills religated him to a jack-of-all trades doing whatever needed to be done, from cleaning the dirtiest parts to mucking out stalls? At least he had enough food, and no one bothered him or asked too many questions that he couldn't dodge. At least here, in the bustle of the weyr he could… fade. And forget. Rayathess's simple question sends a shiver of ice down his back, as fear clouds. "I… do I have to leave?" Something about the way he parses his question makes him wonder if he'll be forced out.

Rayathess snorts but can find no way of faulting Hazelon for that answer and then finds himself wondering why he cares. Why DOES he care what this former holdless teen does with his life? He shakes his head, his grimace not fading now. He can feel a headache coming on and his thoughts are racing and conflicting. All signs of symptoms he's not dared speak to anyone, least of all the Healers. Not a physical ailment but rather strictly mental. Even after all these Turns, he struggles with the damage those camps wrought on him and he wonders if he'll ever escape. "What…?" Rayathess is thrown for another loop when Hazelon asks him that and it takes him a moment to recover, giving him a perplexed look. "No? Why would you have to? You said yourself you aren't getting into trouble and you work." Right? "And it's not like I'm going to demand you're removed. That'd be…" Cruel. "… wrong of me. If your life and home is here then so be it." But he's aware of Hazelon now and he'll want to TALK. Soon. When he has had time to think. He takes a small step back. "You should get back now. I've got to return to my duties too." he mutters.

"I," but no. Hazelon snaps off the statement, the explination he had been about to deliver. Hiding, ducking and covering, it was too much a part of who he is. For just a moment Rayathess had been able to bring out the lively child that Hazelon had been before the camps, but only for a second before that flame had curled up into ash. The small step back gives him the space he needs, and without responding Hazelon is darting out the forest and up the bright path, heedless of the sun and heat that will make him regret his fast pace. He glances backwards just once as he runs, hoping against hope that Rayathess would avoid him, would stay away again. Maybe he just needed to work harder on being invisible…
Rayathess will not give chase this time and leave Hazelon to escape, though for a moment it does look as though he considers it. His weight shifts, his mouth opening to speak and a hand twitching to lift… only to fall back to his side. No, he'll let the young teen go and quietly swear under his breath several oaths best not spoken too loudly. Hazelon can resume his ghostly existence in peace for now. Rayathess will not follow him, even giving the teen several minutes to disappear before wandering up those pathways himself. There is much to be done and… he has much to think and mull over and he silently thanks good fortune that his work leaves him in the quiet solitude of the archives today. He too needs to slip "invisible" for a little while and brood.