The team took their place at the very end of the line, and the long wait began.
It was a special kind of slow. Every ten minutes, a single fairy would reach the front, have a brief, whispered conversation, get their form stamped, and glide away. Then, the entire line would take one single, unified step forward.
The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the soft, rhythmic scratching of a thousand distant quills.
Faced with this new, boring reality, the team settled in, each of them coping in their own way. Gilda, having nothing else to do, took out a small whetstone and began unconsciously polishing the head of her axe, the soft, repetitive motion a small anchor of familiarity. Zazu, finding the quiet and lack of stimulation to be perfect for napping, had already dozed off, his head resting peacefully on his own shoulder.
