Having taken a full day or two in pursuit of making a rough map of the city (which had taken considerably less time than he had assumed that it would; easier to make a map when there was nothing to label), Gerald had turned to the outlaying land.
This had proven harder--feet were inaccurate for measuring long distances. If he'd had a horse he might have been able to make a rough gauge of it, knowing, give-or-take, how long it would take the animal to cover the ground at a gallop. However horses were, up to this point, not to be found. Another reason for going into the less-developed areas. If they were anywhere, it wouldn't be among the streets and houses.
The campfire had been a surprise. Gerald had trailed the smoke almost from the city limits, wondering if there was another newcomer. After his run in with Albel he was longing for the few quiet first days with only the albino, wondering if civility only came with a common tongue. Gerald had Robby make him a second sword but it didn't take the sting out of loosing the first. He'd underestimated Albel and forgotten his situation. He would get his sword back and the Core be damned if the barbarian would ever get anything from Gerald Tarrant again.
He did not poke through the tent, or the site, that he found. Gerald made a rough mental note of the placement of the camp.
Perhaps it was the last few years of constant human companionship that made him settle down near the dying fire and keep the coals banked upon the return of their owner. Perhaps it was lunacy. But he waited.