[piosenniel]

No sleep came for Pio that night.

She had returned to her room and shrugged off her party finery like so much unnecessary baggage, leaving it an untidy heap on the floor.

Pulling on her light leather leggings and a long sleeved leather shirt, she sat on her bed in a pool of soft lamplight. She seemed to frown, but it was only the concentration mirrored in her face as she carefully inspected each of her weapons.

Two long knives for in-fighting, two well-balanced shorter blades for throwing, and her sword were all pulled from the baldric lying on her bed and checked closely for nicks, dirt, and dull edges. She had done this already on the ship, but a second inspection before an engagement was always her practice.

The blades all shone clean and smooth in the light, and the edges proved razor sharp. Like a bumbling beginner, she had run a finger along the sword edge admiring its sharpness, and now she sat sucking the thin line of blood it had drawn.

Satisfied with her inspection, she replaced the knives in their holders and the sword in its scabbard, first lightly oiling the leather grip. The baldric gleamed from it's earlier cleaning and oiling, and the blades all slipped out easily from it when she put her hand to them.

Her last blades were the knives she kept in her boot tops. They too proved battle ready, though she knew that if it came to them, there was little hope left to her.

As she worked with her blades, she thought about the idea that Mithadan had whispered to her. It was a dangerous one, and she did not relish the idea of an experiment which might prove fatal to a friend. Dawn, was still far away, she thought, and there would still be plenty of time to consider it more fully.

For now, her objective was to contact Angara, to update her as needed, and to check any growing resolve on her part to join the actual fray. Pio was unsure how the sight of her corrupted kin might affect the dragon when she caught sight and sound of them.