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[center] Camp, in the ruined house [/center] 

	Dareen was an expert sleeper. 

	Some people didn't really understand what that meant. But years of pseudo-military service made the mercenary quite skilled at falling asleep quickly, and waking up at the drop of the hat. It was one of the few things she didn't regret. When she was a child she would go to sleep tired and wake up even more so. Now, she was skilled. Great at it, even. A light sleeper, who could immediately return to sleep once the danger had passed. It was far more magical than any Craft, in her experience.

	Dareen blinked her eyes open, watching Fatima literally tip toe out of the house. Some of the others were gone, too. Mikhail was on watch. Bellinar, too? It was somewhat dark. Other than that, nothing but the ambient noise of the old house. Dareen was underneath a blanket, a feather stuffed pillow beneath her head, hood removed, a simple cropped tunic and trousers as her pajamas. Everything else on her had been vanished. What a convenient Craft. Truly a marvel. She didn't know how she'd live life without it.

	Well, Fatima was probably just going to take a piss, or something. If anyone saw anything they could easily make enough noise for Dareen to be up and at it. 

	What a strange dream she was having. Wearing that dress had really messed with her head, apparently, because she had a dream where she was Ranina, and living in a house with Johan. A Johan that didn't look like Jandar, but instead a scruffy looking pot-bellied fellow who ate too much and smiled without it meeting his eyes. So, really, it was more of a nightmare than a dream. 

	Dareen looked down at her blanket and saw a bug on it. She flicked it off and then lay down on her pillow, staring up at the dark ceiling. Her life had certainly taken an unexpected turn. These people were an odd bunch. Or maybe she had just spent too much time around cutthroats and sellswords and didn't know what real people were like. Yet still, the only person who knew her past was Faeril, who hadn't spoken of it since. All she had done, for years, was kill for money. Now she was fighting for...something else. Why? Not even she truly knew. But she wouldn't speak of it. When Fatima had asked, she learned something about the origin of her intricate tattoos but nothing more.

	This was why she was thankful of her sleeping skills. No more of this thinking. There was plenty of boring daytime to do that, nighttime was for sleeping and drinking- and she was all out of ale. It was time to shut off her brain and get some rest. Closing her eyes, Dareen breathed in deep, and in a few moments she was back to sleep.