Reymen woke to the patter of rain. His clothing was damp, but he fared better than one of the guards, who was soaked thanks to a steady leak in the partial roof.
Jorick crouched in the corner, waiting. Reymen was surprised to see him without his book, then decided it must be the damp weather that stopped him. Were the pages to get wet, they'd be ruined. Surely Jorick wouldn't stand for such a thing if he could help it.
Jorick nodded a greeting, his face an unreadable mask. "When the others wake, we will depart, feed in the forest, then begin the hunt."
"We're nearly to The Guild's den," Reymen pointed out.
"I don't take your meaning."
Reymen tried to think innocent thoughts. "Would it not be belter to return to Malick, and say that we have failed, than to hunt in this miserable weathe
