The canvas walls of their tent fluttered gently in the evening breeze.
It was a modest size, just large enough to hold five cots and a small central table, with a brazier in the corner to both heat and provide light for the night.
Outside, the sounds of the camp had begun to quiet. Fires crackled, distant conversations gave way to tired laughter, and the occasional sound of someone doing their last chores of the day.
The sun had already set a few minutes before, and a cool breeze blew over the valley as dusk slowly crept through.
Thorn lay asleep on one of the cots, his chest rising and falling, showing that he was still very much alive. After being moved from the wagon, he'd been wrapped in fresh blankets and laid on a padded cot near the tent's far end.
Over the course of the day they'd been dragging him, his cheeks had regained some color, and the tremble in his limbs had lessened. But it was still obvious that he needed food.
