sand in your eyes

[groundrules]

And onwards, through the cursed desert. The mini-journey Arc covers 6-21 January and doubles as a test drive meme. Participants do not need an invite to apply this round. Have fun!

SAND IN YOUR EYES

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TEST DRIVE TOURISTS | ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER
A HOUSE UNITED WILL SAND | SOILMATES | A PYRAMID SCHEME

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A SANDING OVATION

Sand in your eyes, down your throat, stifling. You wake half-buried in high dunes, crawling towards helping hands. Thirst vanquishes you.

You are quickly offered a translation and communication pendant and introduced to the leader of the caravan that saved you — good Mazyar, who thanks the stars for your most incredible luck to be rescued by his generous and humble self. For he is not a man for idle praise, but he has sold salt to salt makers, he was courted by seven of the five great trade guilds and brought peace to the Stairs of Sighs…

Mazyar reveals you are in Akhuras, where undead lieges seek to weaponise you in their war for dominion. Mazyar’s good but less successful friend, the elusive Merchant ferries otherworlders east, where ancient beacons can transport them home.

Retire for now and regain your strength. Come morning, further otherworlders will arrive from Serthica — and your journey may begin.

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ONE SAND WASHES THE OTHER

The veteran party reunites with newcomers in the desert, and with the merchant Mazyar — who once guided them through the Stairs of Sighs. His caravan is protected by the Scavengers —deathly a tribe of hardened desert raiders. They bring water flasks, supplies, cooling suits and tents to share. Their snail-like carriage mounts can transport the weak.

You are bound for the seized citadel of Alem, swarmed on each side by undead battalions. To access it, you must obtain one of the enormous sand worms that trawl the deserts, which can be deployed to create underground passageways.

The Scavengers will lead the caravan through haunted dunes, the worms’ traditional hunting grounds and temple-fortress Uruksithar.

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A HOUSE UNITED WILL SAND

The group first reaches the Valley of Unchaining, bordered by high cliffs and fang-like stones. Here and there, discover bloodied footprints, half-buried shackles and red chains. You might even stumble upon an eroded tombstone inscribed, H R SL EP THE UNCH IN D. At its feet are dulled dagger blades and rough calcar stone.

COULD DIE FROM LAUGHTER

You fool, never eat alone. Happen by the camp’s outskirts with your dinner, and you might glimpse the silhouettes of starved desert hyenas, their eyes glistening green. They will come close if you bear raw meat or bleeding wounds.

■ Scavengers say, if you see the hyenas, throw them food or a cloth drenched in fresh blood, then run without looking back until you no longer hear their cruel cries.

■ Some hyenas mimic rasped human voices, begging help or calling your name. One feeble hyena wears a chain of red shackles around its neck.

■ If you look back while chased, you find the green stare of the hyenas fixed upon you. You are gradually overcome by starvation, violence and the urge to dismember prey and feast on raw flesh. Player’s choice on whether characters can resist this compulsion, which disappears at dawns, or if they taste blood.

■ Scavengers will deny you entrance into the camp if you appear possessed in this way.

SANDIMENTAL VALUE

You walk the Valley, Scavengers say, and Mother Death walks with you. A once handsome crone might appear beside you, bare-footed and dressed in clean linens. She remains silent unless spoken to and flinches if you move suddenly, as if she fears being struck.

■ Treat the Crone kindly, and she entrusts you with a small pouch holding a fraction of her ashes, which she wants scattered from the hills.

■ Use rope and climbing hooks and take cover behind stone formations. Beware the violent sand whirlwinds that batter the cliffs, threatening to plunge you down or choke you with sand.

■ If you succeed, the Crone appears to watch her scattering ashes and bless you with good luck for the rest of your journey. Your kindness, she says, reminds her of her daughter.

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SOILMATES

The three-day walk to Uruksithar traverses the sand worms’ hunting grounds, where dunes shift periodically in sharp, tectonic waves. Watch your step and don’t be surprised if your tent sinks at night.

■ The Scavengers organise daily reconnaissance parties in the desert hills. Stay with them to unbury dune treasures.

■ The brave & brazen can try to catch sand worms. The massive creatures erupt overground periodically, catching prey in their large mouths, or crushing it beneath their heft as they plunge in the depths — creating large sinkholes in the process.

■ On its back, each sand worm has a few darker scales that draw the shape of a rune. To tame a sand worm, you must find its rune, then write the symbol on the worm’s back using blood from your hands. Report your catch by 23:59 on 17 January!

■ The sand worm bonds with you for three weeks until the next full moonrise, or until you draw the same rune on your cut hand.

■ Those who secure a sand worm find it grudgingly follows them underground for the rest of the journey. The creature can only be steered or ridden.

■ Some sand worms are vicious, old and sufficiently magical to retaliate by taking the link over and forcing their bonded humans to experience their lives — briefly sensitive to light and strong sounds, or unable to speak. Some might experience mild fevers. All symptoms disappear when the bond breaks.

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A PYRAMID SCHEME

At last, welcome to Uruksithar, former jewel of the desert — now reduced to rusted gates and tattered walls of wind-lashed stone.

The abandoned palace-fortress features a row of minor temples and barren gardens that surround a great, ruinous pit. The state of residential furnishings suggests the grounds were lived mere years prior. Walk north to find a a large pool of thickened black water that exudes a cold, unsettling presence. Veteran party members know what to expect.

Nail scratches on some temple walls read, we, who did not sleep or i ask the wind to grieve our chains. By the pit, a stone plate helpfully says, drop by drop, even base water turns to poison.

The Scavengers disperse to raid the temples, advising you to carry water everywhere. One raider mentions that the local Temple of Ra’esh stores silver waters that can woo sand worms.

OCTOPUS PRIME

Uruksithar’s great gong strikes every two hours, to groans and shudders from the abyssal pit. Scavengers immediately take cover behind walls, bind themselves to columns or rush into crumbling residences.

■ For five minutes, as the gong sounds a pathetic dirge, a bouquet of tentacles erupts from the pit, sweeping nearby streets to capture living things.

■ Throwing water on the tentacles forces them to retreat, while black liquid from the northern pool burns them down. Further tendrils emerge until the gong quiets.

■ Should you fall into the pit, use your climbing hooks to latch onto the walls and don’t look down. A grotesque, sharp-toothed mouth awaits below to devour you, amid the squelching sounds of the tissue and material it has been masticating for decades. It won’t give up its lunch easily.

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TOMB AND GLOOM

Ra’esh the Bright-maker, he who saw but peace beneath the skies. His humble temple is anonymous among numerous worship grounds. Scavengers say, four years ago, a wanderer sculpted an eye with a sun for a pupil on the entrance door. Take a torch and head in.

■ Long-stripped of its glory, the maze-like Temple of Ra’esh is now cold stone, stale window-less corridors and heavy doors that snap down from the ceiling.

■ Distant susurrations of water point you towards your destination.

■ As you walk in, pay attention to the engravings near the entryway of each temple room. Some depict arrows, forecasting spikes will burst up from floors tiles. Sculpted drops hint pouring water in this spot will open a door. Open a door with an engraving of large serpents, and… well. The engravings can help characters navigate the maze and completely avoid its traps. Feel free to make up your own engravings & traps, if you want!

■ The altar room contains a pool with pearlescent waters that surround a woman fully bandaged in gauze, her sight obscured. She is bound to a column with chains and shackles akin to those found in the desert. Rare peeks of her skin show it rotting or sickly pale.

■ She asks either if you are her mother, come for her at last. Do you engage?

■ Take water from the pool, and you can lure a sand worm to you once you have exited Uruksithar. Hazed, but sweet-tempered, it will follow you underground and allow you to ride it for the three weeks until the next full moonrise. These sand worms won’t give you a hard time during the bond period. Report your worm too by 23:59 on 17 January!

NOTES

■ Test driving & in-game characters can top level logs here — test driving characters can also put up network posts in this space c:

■ Feel free to investigate the mystery of the chains and shackles, but no pressure — it’s not critical to Arc V.

■ Hit up NPCs!

■ Navigation top.

QUESTIONS

Comments

Mazyar’s Caravan - Veterans

[allforthecause]

He’s thankful for the food when it’s given to him - not even caring whether the taste is good or bad - he’s had worse. He’s quiet, polite, watchful - trying to take in as much as he can about his surroundings as possible.

The people here seem cut off from the rest of the galaxy, and he suspects there is little luck of finding a ship to take him off planet without help. Whatever the ‘beacons’ are, the technology to travel to other worlds seems limited to them, and seems far more advanced than the other tech they have here.

He takes one of the cooling suits gratefully - not that he hasn’t had his share of warm climates, but there’s a difference between warmth and the dry heat that’s taking all the moisture from his skin.

He carefully strips out of his clothes, making sure to pull anything necessary out of his outerwear and replace it as close to his skin as he could as he pulled on the suit. Once he figured out the safest way to keep them he would shift tack again, but for now a little discomfort as worth knowing that the few things he still had on him wouldn’t ‘accidentally’ disappear. That said, the suits were still surprisingly tight, and he was forced to sheepishly approach the nearest onlooker.

“A little help?” Gesturing to the near skin-tight closure up his spine that he couldn’t reach to do up. “My flexibility’s not what it used to be.”

[downswing]

Fresh skins like thin gossamer, membranous. Silks strewn to cut the sun's bite would have hardly teased its teeth. Instead, these trinkets of tight-spun cloth, passed from hand to hand and lingered in Lan Wangji's grasp, as if they might bloody his fingertips.

The caravan's light, blinding. A cacophony of dark, scratched sound. The animals of burden, the men weighed down by hardship as if they were born cleaved into the world to no kindness. Sand drifted into ghostly pallor, thickened and matte beneath his step, from the cast of perspiration they leave in their wake.

Another indignity, the cooling suits. He yet carries his own, when the man approaches — a fresh face, kept sane by confusion. Survival is a game of thieves, even in alliances: they steal each other's hope.

At first, he says nothing, words dry and dusted in his mouth. Weighted. Cloying, as everything feels here. Then, carefully, "You think it wise to wear their skins."

With no knowledge of their methods, their madness, their routines. Their weaknesses. Trusting blindly in the arsenal supplied to them. They have walked down this path before.

[allforthecause]

“You think it not?” Cassian replied, an eyebrow arching with the question, though he didn’t pause as he pulled the skin-tight gloves flush with his fingers.

“Have you spent much time in the desert, friend? I know well enough what I was wearing would dry me out - plenty of species wear suits similar to these.”

He did pause, though, leaning back to fully take in the sight of his companion. Many delicate layers, painstakingly white - for all that could be kept so in a desert such as this. Long hair - not a completely uncommon custom but unique enough in Empire to make a statement. And a- huh. A scabbard. Looked like it housed a thin, delicate weapon, but Cassian had not seen anything quite like it.

His eyes refocused on the man’s face and he smile, a little lopsided and unsure.

“Is there something I don’t know? I just got here.”

[downswing]

The... desert. Sand, bone, ruins. The wind lashing his face, carving out fresh crenellation, eroding his edges. He has born this in winter, up mountains, frost of forest underfoot, traversing the steppe. But the desert is a wild and fluid and careless thing, bone wearying.

He likes it not, knows it not. Has spent not much time in it at all and owes it less by preference, then by design. Even his breath here burns hot at its edges, like the belly of a lantern too small for the flame it sustains. The suits, they say, are expected to assist with this.

"You will learn." They were all newly arrived, once.

He wrenches his gaze from the corpse of the costume in his hands, serpent-fast and filthy, like a gutting.

"Turn." But then, how many men would gladly present the soft stretch of their bodies for Lan Wangji, blade born? A paltry concession, "For lacing."

As was asked, he may do. No more than this. No less.

[allforthecause]

You will learn. Ominous, but if Cassian was expecting something akin to 'you will never be able to take it off again', then the warning wasn't as dire as he would expect it, based on the nervousness that came before it. But the silence in answer to his first question is telling - this man is hardly native here himself. Cassian could have guessed that easily enough based on his attire and bearing, but having more proof to confirm was always good.

He'd have to find his bearings soon.

He turned as was bade, apparently unconcerned about the man's weapon - mostly because he was. Everyone he knew was always armed, all the time, and they were surrounded by people. If this man meant to stab him in the back, for some unknown reason, then he would deal with it when it happened. But he was no Imperial, clearly.

"Long way from Coruscant," He murmured, by way of making small talk, and a gentle pry into his companions feelings on the Empire. You could tell a lot about a person by what they said - or didn't say - when the capital planet was mentioned. "But from the sounds of it, many end up lost here."

He just hadn't quite figured out how yet.

[downswing]

For once, Lan Wangji, succumbed to every instinct for silence, finds the shape of sound attractive. There is intimacy in this, the baring of a waiting back, ribs twisting willfully to stretch out ripples of skin in a tender invitation for stabbing yet to come.

To every sickness, its recourse. Vulnerability deserves comfort, abatement. Trickled, Lan Wangji's touch teases fragments and latches and hook-rings and belts away like the gutting of a market fish. And then, comes the fettering, done appropriately: each layer in place, learning the way of the weaving. At war, they taught them this — the proper saddling of a horse, to bear you. How the belting and braiding of accoutrements can save a man in travel.

He takes his time.

"You hail from a thriving village?" Coruscant, as formidable of an unknown as every variable newcomers throw with the desperation expectation that somewhere, somehow, their home worlds might be known.

[kahl_175]

Kahl can't wear the suits like the others do. His augments would get caught on the clothes. But once he gets a look inside them, he knows what to do.

here's bits inside the suit that help keep you cool. Like Aridkref armor. So once he's got a shaded place to sit, he pulls the cooling stuff apart, and starts attaching it to the inside of his uniform.

He's taken off his armor for now, and the top half of his uniform. There's a lot of scars and spots on his skin, all over heavy muscle. Grineer are built strong, even though their hands and feet don't work good enough to keep them.

He looks up when a new guy approaches on his blind side. "Kahl got you," he rumbles, standing up to come help. "Have suit trouble too."

[allforthecause]

Cassian doesn't even do a double take at the sight of the Grineer. Though he has never met one, he's well used to alien species in all their forms, and simply assumes that this is one that he hasn't met yet - though 'Kahl' as he named himself still looked incredibly close to human. Maybe he was, and disease or deformation had taken its toll?

Either way, it didn't matter to Cassian, except to note to himself that the man was unlikely to be an Imperial Sympathizer.

Anyone who didn't look like the ideal human certainly didn't receive sympathy in return.

"Thanks, Friend," He replied, ducking down a little to make it easier for Kahl to reach. "You're having trouble, too? Looks like you've got half of it taken apart."

[kahl_175]

"Suit not fit Grineer. Not got hands like New Friend." His hands are covered in strong synth leather polymer, with extra metal plating on the back of the palm and fingers. Soldier's gloves, with Grineer servos working inside to carefully secure the fastenings.

"Kahl take good parts, make own suit better. Easy." He'd just had to figure out how to make the pieces fit, and stay put.

"Where New Friend from? Been to hot places before?"

[allforthecause]

"Morlana One," He answers easily. A lie, but close enough to the truth. "I've been around plenty, though the heat here is worse than I've seen in a while."

He watched Kahl's hands, the clear prosthetics attached to pocked and marked skin. Built for fighting, clearly, but friendly all the same. Was Grineer another of his names, or was it his people? Cassian wasn't sure.

"Your name is Kahl, friend? Ive not seen a suit exactly like yours, but I know my way around tech. If you show me, I'll help you." It would also give him a better idea of the capabilities of Kahl's suit.

[kahl_175]

"Kahl not know Mor-la-na. Beacon get you back though." He cinches up the suit, checking the seals with a careful eye, before giving the man a pat on the shoulder, like he'd just finished checking a brother's armor. "Suit done." It had been a while since he'd done that. It was a nice, normal memory.

"Mmhmm. Kahl One-Seven-Five. Glad for help. This place hot." He'll be glad to get this working. He goes back to where he was sitting, clearing a space nearby for the man. "Here. Uniform have conduits in." Some were for power, others for air and water, others were there to talk to machines and augments. All of them squeezed into little tubes, on one of the inner layers of his uniform. "Kahl use those as anchor. Tie in cooling parts there."

He went back to work, laying down pieces from the suit where he wanted them to be. "New Friend know Earth? Origin System?"

[makemeasong]

Clara's grateful for the suit and secretly, she feels like a character in a book. Everything about navigating this planet has felt, in part, like being in a frenetically paced fiction novel; sometimes it isn't so bad, and there are even good moments. But the heat of the desert after such a nice time enjoying winter isn't inspiring confidence—even if she tries to keep it up.

Her face is still visible, the portion of the suit that goes around her head and protects her face not on yet. As a result, when she looks at the individual requesting help, one dimple is visible when she smiles in understanding.

"If you can bend down a touch, mate?" Her own accent is Blackpool and very improper. "You definitely have some height on me." She's small but ready to help.

[allforthecause]

He smiles, a little sideways, more amused than anything, and takes to a knee. Her accent would almost mark her from the Inner Rim, if it wasn't quite so broad - he can't place it immediately.

"Of course," He replies, ducking down onto one knee so he's looking up at her instead. She wears the suit but she doesn't share the same mannerisms as the locals - she doesn't look like she was born wearing it, but rather like she was wearing a costume. He imagines he'll look the same, once he's fully strapped in.

"Better?" He asked, his lopsided smile making his eyes crinkle. He's not exactly happy - one couldn't claim to be so after been stranded who even knew where - but he's not upset, either, and he's long learned how to smile even when his mind is racing behind the scenes.

"Is it just me who's had trouble?" He asks, nodding to her own suit. "You look like you strapped in easy enough." He's made a few assumptions about her already - may as well test to see if they're true.

[makemeasong]

"There we go," she says once he's a little lower and she manages to get him zipped the rest of the way. "We're now two of the most fashionable people in this desert if you ask me."

Stepping back so he can stand, Clara shakes her head at his question. "Had a friend help me, this is pretty unfamiliar. Just the other day it was freezing where we were, there was snow." Looking down at her attire, she has a realization.

"I've never bundled up for heat before. But then, I grew up on the beach. Never had much of either extreme."

She's friendly and enjoys chatting with others, though she's good at reading cues too, and stops there to make sure her lingering company is actually wanted.

[allforthecause]

He stands back up, stretching out his limbs cautiously, testing the way the suit moved against his skin. It was tight, but he was already feeling cooler. Interesting.

He flashed her a charming, rogueish smile before he started bundling up his old clothes.

"I'll admit, it's a first for me, too. Though to go from freezing to this - I'm guessing this planet isn't just one big dirt ball, then?"

He gives no sign of wanting to escape the conversation - couldn't if he tried. He'd always had a weak spot for a pretty face. "You been here long?"

[makemeasong]

"It is not. I'm not sure how far we traveled, but before that, we were underground." His smile—and it is a nice one—is rewarded with a two-dimpled one of hers this time.

"Haven't been here as long as some others, a few weeks, I think? Maybe it edges more on a few months; it's easy to lose track of time."

She smiles again, this time one that's warmer instead of larger. "I'm Clara. I haven't seen you before now, so it feels safe to assume you're new, yeah?" Not that she knows everyone, but they'd been in close quarters in Serthica, and at the Inn they were more spread out, but still all in the same spot. it would've been hard to never catch a glimpse of anyone, ever. Unless he's a recluse, but in her expert opinion, he's too attractive to be a recluse.

[fushichou]

Meanwhile, Kanesada feels miserable. The heat itself is...whatever. He's been to Kyoto in the summer and dealt with those kinds of sweltering temperatures, but that's entirely different from a desert. Not that he has experience with deserts, but he knows some basic things. Like you're supposed to wear clothes to protect yourself from the elements.

Hence why he's gone the more traditional look by wrapping himself in fabrics, at least for the most part. His long, dark hair is unbound at the moment, as if he's not quite sure what to do with all of it. But! Hopefully his friend here - because he has Licyn's face so, naturally, he must be Licyn - can help with that. Scratch your back if you scratch mine, or whatever humans say.

"Yeah, yeah, I got ya." Though, now that he's closer to 'Licyn' Kanesada feels like something is a little bit off, though he can't quite put his finger on it. Is it his friend's appearance? Huh...

Either way, he said he'd help out, so he does just that, nimble fingers closing up what can't be reached. "All right, your turn. You any good with hair? I'm not really sure how to get mine all tucked away so I don't get sand everywhere." And the thought of sitting down somewhere combing out sand from his hair for hours honestly sounds like one of the worst things in the entire world.

[allforthecause]

“Sure, used to help my sister with it.” The Kenari accent is thick - even thicker when he speaks of his sister - and he fights down the twinge of guilt and longing that always arises whenever she comes into his thoughts.

“We can braid it up, then wrap the raid in cloth to keep it around your head?” He offers, gesturing with his hands as if to demonstrate the technique.

This seems like a Perfectly Normal Exchange With A Stranger to him.

[fushichou]

Hmm. That accent is new to his ears. Along with the knowledge of his friend having a sister? Maybe it's not Licyn after all. There are a few in their group that have matching faces, right? Apparently that's not terribly uncommon.

Still kind of weird, though.

But this guy seems nice enough, and knowledgeable, so that puts Kanesada in a good enough mood. "Oh, yeah? Perfect. There's a guy who helps me back home, but...y'know. He's not here, so." Kanesada shrugs, but then starts to collect all his hair behind his back. Sorry, (new?) friend, this could take a while. "Sounds like it could be pretty, too, in different circumstances. Maybe I'll keep you around." He smirks, clearly joking. Unless...

[allforthecause]

“Ah, I’ve finally found my purpose in life,” Cassian replies with a smirk, hitting back the banter with grace and ease. He’s already glancing around for something he can use to the purpose, and spots the edge of a tend fraying and flapping in the wind. A nice deep red, and it’s clean enough - the dust in the wind clearly scraping it clean regularly.

With a quick glance around to make sure no one is watching, he grabs the loose end and tears it from the tent. It’s a deep red - as are many of the tents and fabrics here - and he quickly inspects his stolen prize for flaws. Other than the tear - which looked like a misplaced sharp object rather than wear - it was in perfect condition. Good. No one would notice it was missing.

He flapped it out, then wrapped it around his arm for safe keeping.

“I’d imagine you’d need someone, with that much hair. Is it a tradition where you’re from to keep it that long? Or do you just like the idea of keeping someone to do it for you.”

[fushichou]

While the other man partakes in petty tent-damaging, Kanesada finds somewhere to sit. He won't subject someone to standing for however long this is going take, not upon first meeting. He's honestly just thrilled that someone is willing to help him out with something this frivolous.

The first question gives him pause, though. Why does he have long hair? The honest answer is easy; he was manifested this way, encapsulating the spirit of his former master and other details that rest on the very sword he always keep close. But he has never been in the habit of telling people he's a literal sword spirit - apart from Xie Lian who practically sniffed him out - so he won't start now. It takes him a few moments to respond, but the answers he finds are also rooted in truth and, thus, easy to pull out of thin air. "It's, like, half tradition, half personal preference. Where I come from the warrior class was mandated to keep their hair long and in a certain style. Not this long or this style, but... And I just like it. It looks good on me." He can't imagine himself with short hair. He'd probably still look good, but that's not what he wants.

As for the rest... "The guy who takes care of my hair is my partner, so I keep him around no matter what."

[scrapgege]

"Oh! Sure!"

Xie Lian sets aside his own food, something indescribable that anyone with a bit of observation skills may have noticed everyone else in the caravan is staying well clear off. Even earlier, when he was cooking, he did it well away from anyone else and clearly making only one portion. And when he puts it down, he sorts of covers it so that no one will try to eat it before he approaches.

He's not wearing any of the newish suits people have brought, just his usual tattered white robes, but his bamboo hat is fixed firmly on his head, the veil affixed to its edge helping to dispel the worst of the sand.

And even though the face is familiar, the qi is different, plus it's at least the third time this happens in their little group, people with the same face showing up, so he feels confident in saying : ]

You're one of the new people. I'd say you've caught us at a bad time, but honestly there hasn't really been a good time since we got here.

[allforthecause]

“Seems like an okay time to me,” he offers helpfully, turning his back to his new companion to give him access to the endless buckles and straps and laces.

“People willing to pluck you out of the sand, offer you food and water and the clothes of their backs - that seems more decent than most, no?”

[scrapgege]

"Well, it's a quieter time, I guess. We've had a few of those. They don't usually last. The last time we had a quieter time, it happened in a place where the air was toxic and it ended with us on ships getting attacked by a giant squid. "

But fine, let him lace you up. He can at least do that relatively quickly.

"You don't sound too put out to have been plucked from wherever you were and dumped here."

Then again, to be honest, neither does Xie Lian, and yes, he has been here a while, but he was never really too bothered. He's less used to seeing this attitude in others, especially in mortal humans.

[allforthecause]

“I’ve been plucked up and put through worse.” A truth, if a vague one. He had sworn to pass on word of Narkina 5 - to tell others what was happening there - but he still had to be careful. Telling that to the wrong person could get him killed. It could wait.

“If I was bothered, what would it matter?” He’d long learned how to keep his hatred and desire for revenge to himself. But he didn’t even know who was responsible for bringing him here, yet. And in the meantime:

“I’m alive, I’m not caged, and there may be a way out. I’ll worry about where I am when there’s something I can do about it.”