When Torsten woke up again, it was midday...likely. The gloom permeated the forest floor, though by his prone position facing upwards, he could see the barest glimpse of the sun peaking through three small spots among the canopy. The other two lads were asleep, however judging by their light breathing, either would wake up as soon as a twig was broken. Torsten himself felt much better, at least compared to what he expected. He still ached all over and a broken rib or two wouldn't heal overnight. 

Torsten would lay there for a bit before any minute movements of trying to make himself more comfortable would awaken his allies, and then the three would have a hardy breakfast before breaking camp, tossing about the burnt logs and covering much of where they had been with large ferns and various foliage debris. Torsten was a tough one, getting ready and dressed like the other two despite his injuries, and after some deliberation on their path, they would begin to move south as they had been going the other day. 

The Blackwood seemed a world unto its own, misty far away and vaguely clear within thirty meters ahead, large trees framing every facet of every direction; inescapable. 

The cries of something pierced the veil of unease, though it wasn't a warcry as it was yesterday. The three warriors stiffened, able to pinpoint where the approaching man, for it sounded like one, was coming from. They would be able to deduce on if they should hide, run, or spring into action as they saw a fellow, clearly a merchant of some kind, stumbling and falling onto the overgrown underbrush of the forest floor. Behind him was a strange sight. 

A waif chased him in unremarkable trousers and a flowing linen top. Her auburn hair cut short and her eyes fixed on the running man. What either were doing here was unknown, but it was up to the three warriors to see what they would do in such an out of place situation. 
[@Gunther]