Dillan poked the fire away with a stick he had found while gathering firewood. The embers were looking a little tired, so he chucked in a few of the drier branches to feed them. Soon the flames crackled merrily again. There was something to be said about sitting by the fire in a camp. It never failed to give him a sense of calm. He always held on to the thought that if he could make it back to camp everything would be alright. That they would regroup. Rest up. Then get right back into the thick of…what had Serena called it? He reached for the memory. Ah, that was right. Minion extermination. He quite liked it.
Unfortunately, his sense of safety at being in camp was marred by the memory of the attack at the Gilt Wood. A flinch struck his shoulders. He still hadn’t gotten over that mistake
