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Hunger often made for the best seasoning. The monkey meat had been seasoned with nothing more than prayers and smoke, yet Renauld couldn't stop eating his share. Even if it was overcooked to the point of being brown throughout, the mage's day had been too long for him to care. Even if it was gristly, dry, bland, and tough, it was still delicious. His body, however, wasn't quite as well as satiated as his stomach. Despite warming by the fire as often as he did, it did little to help the days worth of sweat that had clung to his body. His wool undergarments were in a constant state of uncomfortably sour. The cold did little to clean his clothes.

When Argen announced that he was going off to the hot spring, Renauld got up and gave him a solemn nod. Tithemal really wasn't a danger to cowards like them. Unless he left and the party got attacked by the local wildlife, they'd be fine.