"I am bored of the bridge without having even seen it." Val slumps when he sighs, and the weight of it pulls particularly on the link that their arms make. It is not enough to break their stride or the joining of their arms--which is (if he were forced somehow to admit it) by now a nearly familiar thing. One would not say enjoyable. But familiar? Certainly. Then again, wet socks might become familiar, as might the biting of little insects in a foul mattress, or even the stench of an unpreserved carcass one is engaged in dissecting. Familiarity is not necessarily an endorsement.

Beyond the brief drag of Val upon the arm, their way across the range is unimpeded. It is a pleasant enough little spot. The smell of sun-baking grass is tempered nicely by the smell of It, something part way between magic and black powder.

"I understand the importance of this war, of course. And I would be among the first to say that ours is a dreadful enemy, one who should be subdued and put down for good and for all. Yet it is this sort of tedious project that caused me to eschew service to the Orlesian army! And now I have come here, to Riftwatch--to have my expertise consulted and wasted--wasted!--when such interesting projects as the It must be only briefly tested!"