While Mort inwardly questioned the wisdom of allotting the group's youngest and most foolhardy member watch duty, it was neither his business to control Ardonne's affairs nor inquire as to what inner turmoil seemed to render her insomniac. Instead he allowed himself to drift off, uncommonly comfortable in and accustomed to the meager accommodations the wilderness provided. It would hardly be the first time he made the earth his bed and the night his sheets, and with any luck, he reflected as he dozed, it would not be his last. A little rest did not render him oblivious to the world, however. After some time passed, Mort stirred from his light sleep. Whether by chance, reaction, or some sort of instinct, he awoke to stare across the darkened landscape and into the pitch black of the Cullis Woods, where not even the faint, dreamy moonlight reached. A feeling in his gut told Mort that something or another was amiss. That sort of impulse didn't always tell him straight, not even most of the time, but long years and a good few scars taught Mort that he shouldn't let the rule mask the rare -and dangerous- exceptions. Besides, if ever there was a time to be cautious, it would be on the brink of the domain of the infamous Beast. Slowly, Mort slid up with his back to a rock, and focused. He narrowed his eyes as he scanned the treeline, trying to make out every little variation in shape or color. He strove to tune out the wind and the rhythmic rustle of leaves in the canopy, listening instead for anything abnormal. A shuffling-aside of the underbrush, the creak of a branch that a weight settled upon, even the classic snap of a twig. Mort even took a few discreet sniffs, trying to parse the air itself for any hint of the extraordinary. A creature monstrous enough to tear apart entire squads of soldiers must surely be large and powerful, but he could not put aside the possibility of a silent killer, terrifying in the subtlety of its slaughter. Mort breathed deep, taking in the night.