When Bellal woke up again, the tent felt darker, with the only source of light being a flickering candle about to go out any moment soon.
The air around him was still and cold, and there was a gentle pattering on the roof of the tent. Rain, he had presumed.
As he shifted around, trying to find a comfortable position which didn't offend his wound, his eyes fell again on Jaber's silhouette. Bellal almost groaned at having the boy around for every waking moment, but he refrained when he realized the kid was actually asleep.
He was leaning against one of the beams, head lolling to one side with a roll of parchment that had tumbled all the way from his hand to his lap and then on the ground. What took Bellal by surprise however was the glimmer under the boy's folded arm, one that could be made only by steel as it caught the light of a flame.
