The rough path meandered west through the woods, marked only by the recent passage of the traders east. It curved and sometimes deviated for long stretches to avoid brambles, difficult hills, and dried-up creek beds, but always ended up taking them along the path of the sun after it passed its zenith.

Afternoon passed into evening without incident. They only stopped once, in a grassy glade, to allow the horses to rest and eat, and took their own lunch at the same time. Metcenzerin found Eany a delightful traveling companion once he got her chatting; they were able to pass the afternoon fairly quickly just by sharing stories of some of the somewhat more lighthearted misadventures they'd each gotten up to in the past and laughing at themselves. The wagon behind them remained conspicuously silent. Metcenzerin figured that Daerth and the other two were probably just sitting looking vaguely annoyed at each other.

In truth, Daerth had pulled his dark cloak close and lowered his hood over his eyes very early in the journey, and had been dozing on and off ever since.

The sun was just beginning to turn the clouds pink when Eany pointed at a gleam of water up ahead and urged Metcenzerin to stop. The path was interrupted up ahead by a wide stream, and though the rough wagon tracks of the traders reappeared on the other side (confirming the presence of a ford suitable for wagons), Eany insisted they weren't heading that way.

“This must be the forded-stream I saw on the map,” she explained. “The dungeon mark was on this side of the stream – a bit further east actually – but we have to follow the stream south for a fair distance first. I don't think the wagon can make it along that bank, though...”

Metcenzerin nodded and laid the reins down. “Alright, time for a planning meeting. If any of you back there care to make yourselves heard, do so freely!”

The question was simple: should they leave the wagon and horses behind and continue searching for the dungeon on foot while the light lasted, or should they make camp early and start again in the morning? Kwanai and the Stitchdoctor had no opinion that they chose to share, and the others agreed that an early night would be welcome.

With the fresh supplies from the manor, Eany and Daerth joined forces to make a dinner far surpassing wild-herb stew or scrawny rabbit. Eany's pan biscuits earned praise even from Kwanai, who nodded once and said “Acceptable” while refusing to meet her gaze. The Silver Paladin also produced a bag of rare and highly sought-after coffee beans, and after dinner the four of them shared a kettle (she had been very through in her looting) of the dark brew.

The Stitchdoctor, like usual, did not eat with them. He took a plate and wandered off, and only returned once the plate was empty. He did not accept any coffee.

“You've been around him more then I,” Eany muttered to Daerth at one point, eyeing the cityman as he paced at the edge of their firelight. “Am I wrong in thinking he is still acting... odd?”

“He is always odd,” Daerth replied, but the question stuck with him and he kept one eye on the Stitchdoctor as the evening went on. She was right, in a way. Every now and then, the Stitchdoctor would starting wringing his hands, or his pacing would abruptly quicken or stop, and Daerth was sure he was muttering to himself in frequent but quiet bursts. Finally, as their musician began strumming his lute in preparation for a “performance to cheer and encourage”, Daerth slipped away from the fire to pull the Stitchdoctor aside.

The cityman felt tense, the muscles in his arm noticeably twitching beneath Daerth's hand as he drew the doctor aside, but he didn't try to get away or resist at all. Daerth looked into the black circles where the doctor's eyes should be and pretended he could see someone behind them.

“I never properly thanked you.” He felt strange saying it, a little guilty even, but he forged ahead anyway. “Whatever else happened today doesn't give me an excuse to ignore the fact that you, in your own way, did your best to help me last night. I... didn't expect it, and you actually gave me quite a scare, but now that it's all over... thank you.”

The Stitchdoctor's blank face didn't tell Daerth anything, but he did tilt his head to one side as he considered. After a long, uncomfortable moment, the cloth mask deformed slightly, pushed up towards the dark eye holes.

The Stitchdoctor didn't stop smiling for the rest of the evening. He even clapped after each of Metcenzerin's songs, and in some twisted way, Daerth enjoyed the look of disconcertion on the musician's face each time it happened.

Daerth still volunteered to take the first night watch, though. The way the Stitchdoctor had looked in that first moment stuck in his mind, and sleep was not going to come easily.