Shifting Sands
Ozzrick hadn’t been precisely comfortable with allowing Tacrith to remain alone in unfamiliar territory to begin with, but nor had he been adamant enough about his own feelings to push them over Tacrith’s own clear desire. The man was an adult, and if he had wished to venture out entirely on his own now that they had reached shore, it would hardly have been Ozzrick’s place to do or say anything about it. This being even less of a drastic choice, he let it be.
Still, he made a point to head out early, rising when he woke, making quick work of dressing himself, and then heading out into town. There was likely, he told himself as he maneuvered the early morning streets, no need to be concerned. The young doctor had lived alone most of his life from the sound of things and it was almost presumptuous to think he couldn’t do so now.
Except, a persistent portion of Oz’s brain insisted, the circumstances were different here.
Tacrith was not on Yael. Oba, while beautiful in its own harsh ways, was not a kind place, nor was it filled entirely with kind and accepting people. Thus, however reasonable, Ozzrick’s boots kept up a brisk pace as he moved, and his attention was already on alert as he moved for the tavern he had left his islander charge at.
