Rhocanth stumbled out of his tent, one eye still glued shut. His sleep pattern was all but hopelessly lost now, broken by the cycle of the sun, oddly disruptive in its own way, the stress, the travel, and the simple fact that he could not recall one other time in his entire life in which he had slept on the ground. A crick had made itself known in his back ever since before Redcliffe. Sometimes the way his joints popped made him vaguely sick. He pressed his palm to his lower back now and felt it complain at him.
Nevertheless, he didn't mind sparing the others the trouble of getting out from between their blankets at such a time. The thought of them asleep, the girls with the covers up to their noses, the dogs with their paws churning while they snored, lit up the dark of late night a little. He smiled as he climbed the path, swishing a hand through his hair to straighten it out. It sat sort of haphazardly over his brow, proof that he had tossed and turned a great deal as he slept.
The night was beautiful, and he was honestly at a loss as to which he liked better than the other: night or day? Day had brilliance, clarity of color and texture the likes of which he had never envisioned, but night had this. A sort of ringing silence, a velvet envelope over everything.
At the top of the path sat Imenry, his company for the next several hours while they watched and patrolled. He smiled politely for her, and said, "Good eve', miss. How do you fare?" but didn't expect an elaborate reply while she was busy eating. Come to think of it, he was growing rather hungry as well, having nothing but trail food for so long was starting to wear on him. His stomach rumbled, so he turned away modestly, staring back down at the camp.