The wind stirred just a little more strongly as Oliver made that declaration to himself. Oliver nodded in reply, as if in conversation with it, and then finally, did he remove himself, to once more find his long forgotten target, that he had so easily been distracted from.
He found Lasha Blackthorn on the balcony opposite her room. The most obvious place to check, but Oliver found himself checking it last. Lasha, at her best, was a woman of the utmost unpredictability. A thousand different things she wanted to do and say at once, so much so that she often ended up saying nothing at all. When she was sombre, however, the raging torrent of all that she was slowed to a pitiful stream. She was a single drop of water, sliding down a slowly melting icicle, and when one stood next to her, she was as cold as the icicle itself, ready to stand frozen for a thousand years.
