Rulan winced. This "town" was nothing more than red clay boxes. It hadn't occurred to him before now that he would be expected to sleep indoors. With humans around, stinking up the place. He still thought of them as another species.

He stopped, peering at the door to a particularly unsavory looking box, which Cyrus seemed intent on going into. "Why don't you go rest," he said in a low voice. "I'll sleep out here." The road under the stars sounded a thousand times better than a stinking blanket under a closed clay roof that could cave in on him any moment. He sat down in the sand to make his point, the cloak pulled around him.

It also hadn't escaped his thoughts that Cyrus could easily and simply have him killed, given the opportune moment. There was nothing that would prevent the prince from doing so: Rulan's death would simply release Cyrus from the spell. The Casseion had been trying his best to appear useful to Cyrus' cause, that maybe it would be in Cyrus' best interest that Rulan continued to live. That last look, and the tone of Cyrus' voice, had Rulan worried.