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Roryn sighed as he poked the fire again, vainly hoping to stir it back into heat. Failing, he doused the ashes and scattered them over the site. Taking new kindling in the place he put a tinderbox to the wood, and it leapt into flames again. Tenderly sloking it, as though it would go out, he glanced over at Ferethor. He, like Roryn, hadn't slept all night, though Roryn guessed for different reasons. Roryn had been pondering what Del had said, and he felt worried, for almost the first time in his life. This was different to war, in war it was always the man behind or in front of you, or to the side, never you. Here it was you if they wanted it to be you...and that disturbed him a little. Getting up he yawned deeply and shuffled over to where Ferethor stood.
"That was a good deed, giving Crystal her knife back...at least now she thinks you have some good in you..." the ex ranger chuckled dryly under his breath, and Ferethor turned he head almost violently, "What do you mean by that?", Roryn smiled. "Let's just say, Ferethor, that you could have made a better impression."
Ferethor muttered something Roryn didn't bother to hear and walked off a few paces. Roryn shrugged and went over to Atharen. "We should leave swiftly, just wokens are an easy target...and the Valar know Atharen we killed enough bandits for them to hate us..."
"Yes...we must move on swiftly...and cover the ashes of the fire..."
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