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[h3]Duchy of Pelgaid, secluded pond[/h3]
By the time the sky above had turned to a much lighter shade of gray than during the night, casting a cold light over their little little enclosed area, Gerald found himself feeling both stiff from lying on the cold ground as he slept, hungry, thirsty, inexplicably slightly nauseous and with a bad headache. He coughed dryly as he awoke, rolling from his side onto his back as he took a moment to brace himself against the soreness that permeated his body and would likely stick with him for most of the day. What a night... and what a day it was going to be. At least his energy – his [I]own[/I] energy, not that which he had taken from Anaxim – felt about as replenished as the Withering would allow it to get. He was at full strength.
Taking a moment to feel the cool air on his face and the pale light on his eyelids before opening them, he just lay there for a while, breathing quietly and marveling at how quiet the morning was there. The most audible thing around was a slow, deep breathing that could logically only belong to Renold, who had presumably returned sometime during the night, which struck him as such a calm and peaceful sound that it seemed perhaps even more serene than silence might have.

Sighing to himself, feeling no desire to hasten his hurtle into danger in pursuit of survival, Gerald nevertheless only had to direct his senses to the truth hidden beneath the illusion wrapped around his arm to feel the void there reminding him that the hour of its victory, when it would swallow him up completely, was coming ever closer.
[I]Julia,[/I] he thought, bringing a hand up to rub his face, [I]I won’t let myself lose. I couldn’t save you, but at least I’ll beat the Withering. I’m so close now... on the brink of defeat and victory both. I [/I]will[I] live. Definitely.[/I]
He opened his eyes, meeting the surprisingly blinding glare of the pale sky before turning his head to escape it... and was met by the sight of what appeared to be most of the carcass of some kind of cattle. Lying on the ground between himself and Renold, about a dozen feet away, lay a cow whose head appeared to have ripped off by someone with immense power and sharp claws or teeth. Its fur was lightly matted with blood even as there was very little on the ground, so he had to presume that Renold had killed the animal elsewhere and then brought it here.

The dragon was still sleeping, rolled up similarly to how a common domestic cat might, but even in his sleep the ancient creature was an awesome sight to behold. Further away, sitting on a rock by some shrubbery by the shore of the pond, Crone appeared to be up already and to be examining and sorting various nondescript items into pouches.
He sat up. The day of reckoning with the Swallower of Worlds had arrived... the day he would prove that not even deities were invincible.