Dew glistened in the grass around them, dampness creeping up the edges of their blankets. Birds sang loudly from a branch, joyfully heralding the new day. Briefly, Bakura considered his knife, how much effort it would take to shut the damn creatures up. He concluded it wasn't worth it. Marik breathed softly beside him, his eyes closed. It was comforting to see peaceful sleep, shoulders still from fewer nightmares. He leaned in, lips pressing to the bronze, road-roughed skin. Marik smiled, toes wiggling against Bakura's leg as he pulled closer. The spirit sighed contentedly in reply, returning seconds of sleep.