[center][h3][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h3][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Road North of Salarn, Camp[/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With:[/color] As few people as possible[/center][/b] 

Night deepened, until eventually people decided that the relative safety of their numbers would assist in keeping the less aggressive predators at bay; those that ran on two legs as well as four. The broad pugilist cracked his knuckles, regarding the remaining wood for their low campfire. More than enough to see them through until morning, provided it remained about that size. There should even be sufficient embers for scratching together a quick breakfast while camp was struck and the Ranger Lady went scouting. 

Already his mind drifted toward oat bannocks, maybe parting with just a bit of his precious fruit preserves from his provisions. Tea, strong and hot, certainly. Maybe shaving a little potato hash. Maybe. Yes, he was looking forward to breakfast, seeing as he had to part with his own supper that evening. Unexpected guests, and all. Not that he was bitter. Well, not [i]very[/i] bitter, anyway. The best meals are the ones you looked forward to. Keystone allowed himself a small smile, and prepared for watch. 

[color=b8860b]"Right, then, Sona. Wake the next'n in two hours. Get me?"[/color]

The uncouth brawler set a quick mat of sticks on the ground near the fire and set his oversized backpack upon it. If the rains came heavy, his pack would be elevated from the wet ground. He sat down carefully on his pack, making sure he wasn't dropping assward upon anything particularly breakable or perishable, and closed his eyes. Most people in his experience didn't quite ready themselves for a night of guard duty like this; Keystone wasn't exactly most people, though. His training left him open to new techniques and learning experiences, some of which weren't rooted purely in the realm of the martial. What he readied was one such technique. 

Keystone held his hands in front of himself, palms facing outward and only the first two fingers of each one outstretched, pointing upward. As if pushing against a great weight, he extended his arms, simultaneously exhaling the whole of the contents of his lungs in a slow, controlled breath. The scarred man opened his eyes, senses focusing on everything and nothing all at once, and he clasped his hands in front of him. 

There he sat, near the fire, unmoving. His eyes seemed distant, and he spoke with a sense of plainness and calm the likes of which none of the present group had experienced from him. [color=b8860b]"Sona, please see to the fire, if you would. Two hours."[/color]