Drina glanced up and nodded as Azga excused himself, sighing as his robes disappeared into the crowd. From behind the caravan Drina could hear his speech, his bandaged hands rising to form the holy trinity over his body, ending with his two throbbing palms pressed together in prayer. "Let us continue unscathed on this stop as well," Drina whispered to his God, afterwards thinking about the necessary ingredients he would have to pick up. His lashes fluttered at Azga's reappearance, his back immediately straightening in attention.

Azga took a gentle hold of his hands. "Drina," he started, "I need you to stay with the carriages."

At this Drina bristled. "Wh- but I need to shop at the market place," urged the boy, wincing when he accidentally clenched his burned hands into a fist. "I mean, I-" he paused, as though trying to find more reasons to venture the town. Yes, he'd heard Azga clearly when he talked about the clergy, and yes, Azga's word was absolute in times like these, so- "I, alright. Okay. I'll stay."

He might as well keep watch, while he was at it. And he could easily make more soup out of leftovers if food was scarce. And he could always, Drina's hands twitched, he could always easily make water delicious with a bit of magic.