It was almost evening now, the Martian sun beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the Red Crest Clan compound.
The air had cooled slightly, the oppressive heat of midday fading into something more bearable, and the base had taken on that quiet, transitional quality that came with the end of a workday. People were finishing up their tasks, heading to the hall for dinner, or retreating to their quarters to rest before the next day began.
Tatehan, however, was not done yet.
He had spent the afternoon watching the fighters train, visiting the nurse in the medical bay, and generally drifting through the base without any particular goal in mind. But now, as the day wound down and the sky began to shift from pale orange to deep purple, he found himself thinking about something he had been putting off for a while.
He needed to talk to Torvan.
