[center][h1][color=dimgray]Caractacus[/color][/h1][/center]
Caractacus didn't even mutter his thanks to Elyria for her help before she walked off. He was unsure of what she was doing until she started casting. If he wasn't miserably tired he would have done something, but no harm came of it. He sighed, wrapping tighter in his cloak, and resolved to thank her in the morning. Eventually, Caractacus drifted off to sleep.

Caractacus slept as well as he normally did, restless and fitfully. The night was long, and the woods were filled with the sounds of creatures, moving, running, hunting. Caractacus snapped awake some indeterminate time in the night, staring down the beach. The group was generally gathered around what was left of the smoldering fire, but there was movement nearby. Blinking several times to clear his eyes, he got a look at the figure striding in from the forest. It was the wild man, who Caractacus never truly met. It was hard to tell by the dim moonlight, but he looked to be covered in blood. Caractacus didn't move, but he watched as the man sat down near the others, and started working on his knives, sharpening and moving them about in their sheathes. Caractacus watched as long as he could, but the wild man didn't change the routine. Sleep slowly overtook Caractacus once more, and despite his efforts, he passed out before long.

The morning came, light filtering through the tree line, painting the lake orange and yellow. A patch of light slowly worked its way through a gap in the trees, until almost all the camp was bathed in direct sunlight. Caractacus groaned and tried to shrink deeper into his cloak to avoid the sun. He fell over onto his side, and stretched out, trying to work the kinks and strains out of his back and legs. A sure reminder of his unpleasant night's sleep. Rolling over, Caractacus pushed up off the ground, and stood up. No one cut his throat in the night. A pleasant surprise.