Hadn't had a runaway since the revolution.
Nobody knew how to handle it now. The old Proctors suggested the old way of doing things: send out capable Apprentices to kill the defector. The Guardsmen were adamantly against this and thought the runaway should be brought back by a whole search party. They settled somewhere in the middle.
"The forests around the Academy are dangerous, you know." Proctor Amoto warned Dorian as he'd set out, "It's unlikely a runaway would last long on their own."
Sure, yeah. Message received.
Seventeen hours had passed since the Apprentice had been reported missing. Dušan was the kid's name, and he was a few years younger than Dorian. It was rare that Apprentices from the different classes bumped into each other, so he'd never seen the kid but heard plenty about him. Well, just about everyone had heard about the way he tore Proctor Ovis' left arm into ribbons.
"C'mon," Dorian said over his shoulder to the Apprentices accompanying him, "You're slowing me down."
Though mocked as a fainéant and coward for his attitude, Dorian boasted consistently high marks on written exams (Meredith was the only person who regularly edged into first over him), and the boy never failed a mission. Not one.
He'd never had to kill one of his own, though.
Nobody knew how to handle it now. The old Proctors suggested the old way of doing things: send out capable Apprentices to kill the defector. The Guardsmen were adamantly against this and thought the runaway should be brought back by a whole search party. They settled somewhere in the middle.
"The forests around the Academy are dangerous, you know." Proctor Amoto warned Dorian as he'd set out, "It's unlikely a runaway would last long on their own."
Sure, yeah. Message received.
Seventeen hours had passed since the Apprentice had been reported missing. Dušan was the kid's name, and he was a few years younger than Dorian. It was rare that Apprentices from the different classes bumped into each other, so he'd never seen the kid but heard plenty about him. Well, just about everyone had heard about the way he tore Proctor Ovis' left arm into ribbons.
"C'mon," Dorian said over his shoulder to the Apprentices accompanying him, "You're slowing me down."
Though mocked as a fainéant and coward for his attitude, Dorian boasted consistently high marks on written exams (Meredith was the only person who regularly edged into first over him), and the boy never failed a mission. Not one.
He'd never had to kill one of his own, though.
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