Lora awoke early the following morning. She had dreamt... Having spent enough time alone with her sorrows she was dry. Suddenly there were no more tears left in her. She smiled sadly, and rose carefully. She was grateful for what Dack had done. He had followed her, and comforted her. In a way. She realised he was not only a leader. He was also a friend. She felt something odd on her cheeks. When she rose her hand to touch it it was greasy. She watched her fingers in wonder for a moment- they had gone black. Then she realised what it was. It was that sample that man had given her back in the city. What was it called again? Rog, or something. Rogue! That was it. He had said it made her look pretty. Lora was an assassin, and didn't need, nor want, to look pretty. She had done it mostly because it made the man happy. He had been kind to her, and she admitted, she was still young enough to be flattered. The tears had washed away the fine line he had painted, and now it was smeared all over her cheeks. She shrugged. She'd wash it when she got back. For a moment she was filled with cold, a cold that seemed to go through her, and all her instincts went wild. The hair in her neck stood out like a man's limb, and she felt as though someone was watching her. It ended nearly before it had begun, and she shrugged it off like a "particular foul wind". She started to walk. She encountered more sentries than usual, that eyed her suspiciously but let her past. Inside the tent the others were already enjoying a breakfast. They looked a bit grim, but healty. She smiled apologetically, both for her sudden departure and the grease all over her face (or at least so it felt...) She sat wearily down. It had been a rough night.