“You can’t seriously be thinking of sleeping here?” The daemon within him asked, it’s voice spiky, infectious. The voice that had become a strange comfort – not one that the Werewolf hunter would admit to.
“Where else? Do you see a tavern around here?” Feracil returned, speaking aloud to the silent voice within.
“At least light a fire?” The daemon hissed.
“You’ll keep us alive,” He returned once more, the bitterness in his voice was a difficult habit to break. He wrapped his long coat around him as best as he could and slumped down onto the grass. He knew he’d be paying for the rough night come the morning, but right now he couldn’t be bothered to put up with Argur or what the daemon had to say. He tried to close his eyes and rest. The daemon wouldn’t let him.
“If you’re going to be so reckless with our body, you’ll need to sleep with one eye open.”
A little drabble thing involving Feracil – been a while since I did anything with him.