Jardon cursed quietly, then stood and accepted his beverage. Natural consequence of getting older, he supposed, but he intensely regretted falling asleep so fast. He'd been planning to watch the camp for signs of the traitor, not to mention trying to keep up morale among the troops assigned to watch by sharing their burden. The fact that they'd had to pick their way around his snoring form as they circled the camp would have had precisely the opposite effect.
He sipped his coffee, smiling ruefully. No point in pining over what's gone, and at least he felt rested and refreshed. No Cryxian horror had crept up and slit his throat, so there was something. In addition, no one was on fire, so there was another improvement over the previous night. He thanked Morrow for small mercies.
Mayet spoke, because her piping and squeaky voice was exactly what he needed in the morning. "Rest well, boss?" She accompanied her greeting with a civilian's faux salute. "You were thrashing around something fierce all night." He closed his eyes for a moment. Naturally she'd been able to stay awake all night. His humiliation wouldn't be total without an 80 pound Thamarite ex prisoner excelling him at feats of endurance.
"Bad dreams" he grunted. "Getting too old for this nonsense." He waited a moment, sort of hurt that Sansa didn't contradict him. He looked around for Brucker and Gaxxon, figuring that they'd probably stayed up and planned the next move during the night. Sansa divined his intention, and pointed out beyond the fortifications.
Jardon walked a little toward where she indicated, then cursed again. Solomon knelt outside of the barricade, blade point down into the soil before him. It was a stance associated with a Vigil, a Morrowan tradition where the supplicant sat motionless throughout the night, ceremonially outlasting the darkness, and sought Morrow's blessing along with the rising sun. It was an old ritual, not practiced as much anymore, but no doubt it was good for the warcaster's soul. Jardon, however, wasn't terribly concerned about Solomon's soul, but his body could have used a night of rest. He'd brought forth Morrow's benedication yesterday, and cast his spells in each combat encounter. A long day of marching and fighting, and he'd followed it up with a night of prayer. Typical.
He made his way to the warcaster, unconcerned about disturbing him. The dawn had brought the close of the formal ritual, if Solomon still knelt it was either because he was meditating, or he'd just fallen asleep on his knees. The warcaster's helm rotated as Jardon got closer, and the Ace bounded to his feet with the irritating ease of the supremely fit.
"So, where do we go now?" he asked. Ever since pointing out the monastery there'd been an uneasy partnership between the pair. Solomon steered the party by virtue of power, but was technically ranked by Jardon until reconfirmed by HQ. In truth, they worked together well, and it wasn't really a point of contention between them. Jardon figured Solomon's Vigil had likely been directed towards determining their next move.
He wasn't disappointed. Brucker gave a broad smile and pointed back to the camp. "Actually, we don't need to go anywhere at all. We are right where we need to be."
