That first night was cold and for most, rather sleepless. Jurgen had made a sort of lean-to for Lord Waldo without any help from the Lady Priska, then after some heated whispering from the woman made one for her as well. By then Brandt, Roderick and Maria had returned with water and what semi-dry wood they could find. It took a bit of effort to get it going, but eventually they had a small blaze going in a ring of rocks. It had been too dark to find any sort of food, and so after copious, and not entirely authentic apologies to Lord Waldo and some guilty looks from Jurgen towards Priska, they settled in for the night.

Lord Waldo, though he’d been trained for combat as all Imperial lordlings are, was young and was unable to keep up with the excitement and effort of the day and so fell asleep first. Brandt, despite an obvious effort to stay awake soon followed, his wound and the exhaustion of battle taking him. Roderick, Maria and Jurgen arranged a watch schedule amongst them, while Priska turned over in her small shelter. She made a show of sleeping easily, but her over-tense movements searching for comfort gave it away. Nobody mentioned it.

Jurgen offered to take the middle watch, and they agreed that Maria would take the first and Roderick the last, unless Brandt woke up. Before they settled in, the Greatsword glanced at the smiths bandaged left arm, then at the priest.

“Is that your handiwork, priest?” he asked genuinely.

“It is, sir,” responded Roderick, unsure how to address the soldier but proud of his efforts.

“I’ve seen many firebrands amongst the Warrior Priests of Sigmar,” Jurgen said, making the sign of the hammer across his chest. “Not many healers, though.”

“Father Gerwig, the old priest of Lorch taught me,” explained Roderick as he turned, trying to dry off parts of his robe on the fire. “He said that Sigmar’s faithful trust in the divine to heal their bodies… but that it didn’t hurt to give their healing a bit of earthly help as well.”

The big greatsword smiled broadly at that and gave a nod of approval that touched Roderick more then he thought it would. The warrior then hunkered himself down with a clatter of armour, keeping his massive flamberge across his chest as he closed his eyes. Maria placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave a smile of her own, then moved to sit with her back to the fire, that she might see a bit in the dark of the wood.

That night was filled with unease for all, for even the exhausted and injured Brandt woke with a start on more then one occasion. Once, the quiet sounds of sobbing caused them to glance around, though in the smouldering light of the glowing coals, none could quite tell if it were Lord Waldo or Lady Priska who was the source. Still, there was a sense of dread that only the Drakwald could muster, and a distinct feeling amongst them all that they were being observed clandestinely.

The next morning, however, Brandt had regained some colour and his wound was looking clean, by gentle decree of Roderick. Jurgen destroyed the two makeshift shelters and scattered the remains of the fire so that any casual inspection might not notice their passing, though any skilled tracker would see past the ruse. Lord Waldo was quieter that day, and miserable. Jurgen took point again and they all kept an eye out for anything to eat, with Maria keeping a bolt ready in her crossbow in case of game. They wouldn’t last well if they couldn’t find some form of sustenance. They continued north, and as the sun rose past noon, the sky clouded over and a light drizzle came down upon them. It was going to be another dark night.