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Ydalon
While the others searched the lower levels of the tower, Ydalon made his way back to the flight of stairs. He was pleased and excited, and just the smallest part anxious as well. The boy could feel it in his bladder.
After a brief delay half-way up, he felt more at ease facing what lay ahead. It was not that he expected trouble, though there would be a good deal of that if it wasn't there...
Passing an arrow slit at one landing, Ydalon peered out. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of those who waited outside, but it was clear he stood on the wrong end of the tower. He judged he was now between three and four floors up from the ground, for he was near level with the crests of the taller trees. The boy tore his eyes from the sight; he had no time to stand idle.
As he reached the fourth floor, the boy still did not waste a moment looking around. It was not haste, or fear of failure, but rather that there was nothing worth examining. A carved oaken door set in a stone arch would lead to a proper hall, room or corridor within the tower, whilst another flight of stairs led up to the final level. He had warned them not to go there.
There was where he went.
At last, he halted, turned about, and sat down at the top of the stairs. His legs were on fire, his lungs were on fire, and his head was spinning. Whatever he sought here could wait until his body was ready to leave the memory of the taxing ascent behind him.
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