The retching sounds of Loka's stomach emptying itself in fear and disgust almost made Gregor turn around and say something derisive, but he kept his focus. She was a stranger to all this, he reminded himself. Of course it was revolting. That was precisely why his work was so important. Gregor felt strangely vindicated. 

Her suggestion of building a fire was a good one. While keeping his eyes on the darkness of the forest, Gregor backed away and crouched. Broken pieces of wood -- of what was presumably once furniture -- lay scattered throughout the cavern. The inquisitor laid the torch on the floor, making sure that its fire was not extinguished by the wet surface, and gathered the wooden splinters into a pile. He had to grope around with his free hand to do this, his eyes darting back and forth between the night and the cave, while he kept his sword at the ready. 

"Help me light it," Gregor hissed and waved the tip of his sword in the direction of the torch. He straightened himself and grabbed the hilt of his longsword with both hands. For a brief moment, Gregor thought he could hear panting.