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Arton hovered around the lobby of the lodge, shield on his back, as he waited for the conversation upstairs to get heated. His growing attachment to the samurai had blinded him initially to the feelings of Galahad. It was on trip over to the lodge where he grasped his new friend's perspective. If Izayoi had been responsible for Furi's or his parents' deaths, he doubt he would be able to let it go. It was a shadow cast over his heart and soul. Eventually, he figured since neither had come crashing through the roof that they had come to some kind of understanding. Arton retreated into the room he had claimed for himself, stripping off most of his armor.

What a stressful and confusing day it had been. The Skaellan settled down on a rug in front of the bed with his legs spread out in a butterfly position. It had been ages since he taken the time to stop and meditate. His hand slipped into a pouch inside his pack, retrieving a small bar of metal and a mallet. His master, Cyth, would strike the metal bar softly to focus his mind on the quite chime it produced. Arton had copied the habit and as he began to let the mallet bounce gently on the mental bar, he could feel the tension in his muscles gradually relax. 

He had been out of line at the dinner and let his frustration affect others. A factor of himself that he was not yet ready to reveal let alone confront. The rhythmic chime of the metal flowed in an out through his thoughts, keeping himself centered as he processed his emotions. Despite what Cyth said, Arton was not ready to give up on Furi. To return home and assume his mantle of responsibility would be destroy any hope, however slight, of seeing her again. His eyelids slowly began to increase in weight as the chime slowed and slowed. One final strike sounded off in the room as the effort of blinking had stopped being effective in warding off sleep. Arton climbed into bed with a clearer mind and questions still left to answer.

= = = = = = =

Arton had risen a little early that morning and helped Goug prepare their caravan with whatever assistance he needed. The swordsman approached Eliane with a freshly made cup of black coffee as she made her way into the room, holding a cup of his own but with a dash of milk and a pinch of sugar [color=537DAE]"Mornin'. Hope I didn't get it wrong."[/color] He spoke with a faint smile. Arton hoped the small gesture would help ease the distance he had been putting between them since they were assigned to the same team. It would be childish of him to avoid her like the plague the entire journey.