Go to Antiva, they said. You'll spend the whole while doing the usual diplomatic clerical duties, they said, you won't be out trudging through a field dotted with assorted livestock excrement because you're one of the only people around who can help close yet another Rift, which is ostensibly one of your duties as a member of Riftwatch, but--

--but he doesn't want to. But Benedict is here anyway, in his fancy traveling cloak and boots, heaving a dread-filled sigh through his nose at the sight of the seam opening right here and now. His sulk is quickly tempered by the sight of people leaving the rift, however, and he picks up his pace while securing his grip on the staff which has until this moment served as a walking stick.
The anchor in his left hand thrums, and he curses it as he approaches.