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The tilted crescent of light sank into the western hemisphere graudually, indicating a passage of time. Stars that sparkled as a beacon of hope in the high firmament dimmed into mere wristful glimmer that seemed to lament the grief and sorrow od Men. Dawn would arrive soon, Ferethor surmised.
Ferethor did not allow himself to sleep but stood ever in vigiliance in fear of being assailed by wild beasts and foes. Almost all of his comrades were fast asleep, sprawled here and there in the campsite. Del for instance was sleeping on a pile of dry grass, so peacefully as if nothing worried him. Crystal was curled up in seeming sleep by the edge of the campsite.
His gaze strayed to Atharen, who was propped up by a huge boulder with his sword in easy reach, also fully awake and staring at him with a thoughtful expression. Ferethor sank into a silent reverie of his own.
Crystal had acknowledged reluctantly that maybe she would come to trust him. To be sure. Crystal probably thought of me too much of a fool to be any danger to her person. Ferethor thought in somewhat embittered fashion. What kind of a soldier hands his known enemy a deadly weapon and then turns his back upon the foe? My impulsiveness would be the death of me yet.
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