It was an early start to their morning, a slow one. Without any sunlight rousing them to focus and awareness, and without even Ettamri feeling the need to push any of them to action, the adventurers meandered quietly as the sun began to rose. Renauld found it easy to doze off, the campfire warming his face enough that the mage could forget the rest of his body. Siwon’s rare efforts at actually being useful worked well too, the physical labor pushing the bleariness of lost sleep away while simultaneously warming his body. Soon enough, that yellow bastard was floating around as well, berating him for being a goody two shoes while others sat around, hugged themselves, watched the fire burn, and ate jerky. Why did [i]he[/i] have to work, while others did nothing?

The question of the century, truly. Even industrious, affable Oscar hadn’t gotten a fresh kill in the morning yet. It was questionable whether or not the Fiend Knight would be able to perform his daybreak rituals on this day.

Two fleeting hours later, Argen’s pot of snow long boiled, drank, refilled, boiled, and then drank again, the sun rose properly, breaking out over the mountain ranges with dazzling brilliance. Yesterday, thick clouds had dampened the eternal blessings of Alri-Qua, but now, with a clear, crisp sky overhead, First Light shone like a diamond above the snow-capped peaks. The snow storm’s efforts had been laid bare now, a wonderful winterscape untouched by trespasses sparkling underneath the sunlight. It was breathtaking; it was blinding. After the novelty of the beautiful scenery wore off, it became painful to face the direction of the sun, and turning away from the sun didn’t help with the reflection of the snow either. No matter where one looked, one was forced to squint their eyes, unbearable brilliance becoming more detriment than marvel. But the world was warming up at least, very slightly. The night had passed, and danger with it. There was no more snowfall forecast in the horizon, and with such clear weather, they could assuredly make up for the lost ground.

As others rose to make preparations for travel, Katya kneeled, facing the sun with her eyes closed, her head bowed. Held between her tented hands was the hexagram sun that marked one as a Priest of Alri-Qua, and as she breathed, she prayed. Not all rituals required blood, not all rituals required meat. For the Keeper of the Sun, the one who watched the world from the highest pinnacle, twas simply faith and phrase that ought to be directed towards him. In the consecrated flames of the First Light, all else would simply burn away.

[color=6ecff6]“Brightest Keeper, Creator of Flame, Watcher of Light, our blood runs the red of fire, our bodies burn the warmth of light…”[/color]

The mantra continued. The sun rose further. The day has broken.

Time to work.