Lost and Found [C'vir]

C'vir submitted to the inspection, assuming a perfectly placid expression under the Weyrleader's gaze. The lack of immediate recognition was in a part a relief, and in part a disappointment, despite being the result of his own careful efforts. He'd done nothing -- positive or negative -- to court the notice of the leadership, resting in obscurity with all of the other riders that were neither defectors nor syncophants. He had no intention of remaining part of  the invisible masses forever, but preferred to progress according to his own schedule. The possibility of failure would become an ever-present reality the moment he took the first steps to distinguish himself, a strain for which he wanted to be fully prepared.

S'kef's continued composure as he returned to his task forced C'vir to doubt what he'd initially perceived as alarm. It seemed likely that the squawk of the man's skittish firelizard, not guilt, was responsible for his reaction. He assumed the Weyrleader would have the sense to avoid handling sensitive material in a public place, though hiding in plain sight was often an effective means of shirking suspicion. With suspicions in mind, C'vir reflected on his own: he wasn't typically prone to suspect people of illicit intent when he caught them going about normal business, but the unexpected encounter -- and the reaction of the Weyrleader's vigilant flit -- had sent his thoughts down unlikely avenues of analysis.

As S'kef spoke, C'vir watched a packet slip from the stack and flutter to the floor, unnoticed. Rather than leave it where it lie, he crouched to retrieve it, noting from the heading its mundane nature: sweeprider schedules. He wasn't sure what kind of documentation he'd expected S'kef to be shuttling off with, but, judging from the bit the man had dropped, the papers he was bagging were neither sinister nor particularly interesting. C'vir, prepared to return the papers to the Weyrleader and excuse himself to finish his (thus far) futile search for crafters, started to extend the arm in which he held the documents. At the bottom of the page, near his thumb, he caught sight of T'shiro's signature. The bronzerider's execution, along with the protests and questions surrounding it, was still fresh in his mind.

C'vir's eyes returned to the page's heading, this time, noting the date. It was a day with which most Katilans were now familiar: the one on which an attempt was made on D'ren's life. He inhaled. Whatever was in the document was none of his business, and yet, there was little about sweeprider schedules that would require them to be kept private. He scanned the page quickly, then, disbelieving, returned to the top to give it a more thorough perusal.

"S'kef," he started, dispatching with the Weyrleader's title in his bewilderment. "Has anyone seen this? T'shiro couldn't have poisoned D'ren."

What C'vir read suggested that the bronzerider, while still without an alibi for his whereabouts at the hour of D'ren's poisoning, wouldn't have finished with sweeps with enough time to do what he had been convicted of. Had the panel in charge of investigating D'ren's poisoning seen the sweeprider schedule the brown rider held in his hand, they couldn't have comfortably condemned the bronzerider. C'vir stared at the Weyrleader, searching for something that would help him determine if the papers had been accidentally overlooked or purposefully concealed.

Why don't you ask him? Besulth had woken, disturbed by his rider's sudden emotional shift. For once, C'vir didn't hesitate to accept his dragon's advice. He gripped the papers firmly, pulled them into his side, and aimed a question that bordered on accusation at S'kef.

"Did you know about this?"