[Himaran]

Abarzadan awoke with a splitting headache. He had gotten them often as a child, when many a night was spent crying himself to sleep with both hands clasped to his forehead in a futile attempt to make them leave. Now, the pain only increased his poor mood. Each morning, he found himself with a group of strangers that he was following for an unknown reason. Pushing the nagging thought to the back of his mind, the man poured some water from his canteen onto an old rag, and pressed it to his forhead. The liquid was far from cold, and did little to numb the pain. Cursing, he tossed the useless scrap aside and stomped outside the tent. Unwelcomed sunlight hit his unajusted eyes, furthering his discomfort.

Glancing around, Abarzadan saw Marsillion dash out of the woods and bend over momentarily, catching his breath. The man motioned to everyone nearby, and called out to those not seen. Once the party had gathered, the self-appointed leader proceeded to relate the short tale of his run-in with the King's men, who obviously knew a lot more bout the group than any of them had anticipated. "A new plan must be constructed," Marsillion boldly stated, and looked around the circle, searching for suggestions. Azarmanô answered his silent call, and talked briefly about hiding out in a series of tombs. Just what I've always wanted to do.

Suddenly, Abarzadan had the feeling that many sets of eyes were boring into him. What, they think I'm a mole? That I tipped the guards off, and all this was due to me? Actually, the idea was not that far fetched. The man realized that he did indeed fulfill most of the requirements necessary for being spy; he was relatively unknown, yet had showed up at the captured man's house and presented himself as an old friend. Furthermore, he had indeed acted rather strangely recently. He decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being. Better not act like I know anything about the guards and their operations. I'll just sit this one out.