Stop to rest? What a fool.. No doubt the princess would move exclusively by night - a werewolf was hardly unnoticable, even crossing rural lands. It helped that she was doubtlessly unsure of where to go, for even if she knew her kingdom by a map, the real terrain was surely foreign to her. Still, he could track her far more easily than even the most skilled hunter, it was far more an issue of swiftness. Not that he doubted some reward would be given no matter what, if she was returned safe and cured, but the offered reward had a time-limit. 

On the other hand, if he insisted on pushing through the night, it might give away to Devon that he had some means other than ordinary sight by which to follow her trail. Later he might reveal the magic-blindness spell, but not this soon. All he could assure himself was that if she travelled by night and hid by day, they could perhaps cover enough ground to catch up with her. Horses would possibly help, though if she was moving through wilderness and staying away from roads, they would be less useful. Truly, there was a lot to consider, a lot of unknown factors, and he would have to simply change and adapt his plan as often as needed in order to ensure success.

"I concede you may have a point," he said at last, and gave a well-feigned yawn. "It has been a long and difficult day after all.. No doubt the princess will take her rest soon, too. And we will see better by day's dawning than my humble light, to be certain." Looking around them for a moment, he turned back to the archer and gave a tired smile. "I suppose you know a good few places where one might set up a little camp? I find herbalists tend to be some of the most knowledgeable about their surroundings, and as I can't claim nearly such familiarity with these woods, I'd gladly let you take the lead."

It was annoying to have to stand down like this, but better to let the archer trust him falsely than to give him reason right away to question their alliance. Showing some level of complicity would make him far more trustworthy to the stranger, he expected. After all, one who was too headstrong wasn't a good ally, and one who was too overbearing made for a poor travelling companion. Nodding down the rough-hewn path, he brightened the sphere a bit, allowing the light to shine further. "After you, sir Relven."

---

By this time, the road through the woods was almost deserted, those on actual travelling business having already pulled their carts and wagons off to the side in order to make camp. Likewise, those without some ordinary mercantile task had also largely come to a stop for the night. One such individual, a tall, leather armor-clad sellsword, had set up a small fire right at the edge of the road with no consideration for being seen or not. Along with a full sword and a handful of daggers for purposes both lethal and practical, they had only their armor and a roll and pack. Travelling lightly was hardly unknown to sellswords, though, so there was nothing about them exceptionally strange. Like most of their ilk, they advertised their skills and weapons openly - sensible thieves tended to avoid such battle-worn types and those in need of a hired blade tended to recognize the intent behind such brazenness.

For the moment, they were alone with their tepid and low-burning fire, reading a map by it as much as the wan light of the waxing moon. For all appearances they were allowing the implied reputation to guard them, but if one watched closely, at every sudden noise in the undergrowth their eyes would dart to the source, and the free hand that held a half-eaten hardtack biscuit would move for one of the daggers sheathed at their side. Though there was no reason yet for any of the many competitors to turn on each other, it wasn't infeasible that some over-zealous or just vicious types might seek to eliminate some of said competition. 

Silently watching a particular area of the nearby woods, they folded and tucked away the map, and removed the glove from their left hand, and picked up a short length of wood, suitable for a torch. Holding two fingers to the tip of the torch, they snapped once, twice, and finally, on the third time, a small flame sprung up from their fingers and immediately took to the wood. Rising, they moved towards the patch in question, readying a dagger, they addressed the darkness in a harsh, demanding voice. "Show yourself, you coward."