The fire crackles, casting long shadows against the rough stone walls of the cavern. The air smells of smoke, cooked meat, and the faint, coppery tang of monster blood that lingers even after Senshi's meticulous cleaning. Beyond the circle of firelight, the rest of the party has long since retreated into their bedrolls. Marcille’s soft, rhythmic breathing mingles with Chilchuck’s occasional sleepy muttering. Senshi, true to form, sleeps as still as a statue, one hand resting on his axe even in rest. Then there's a rustle of fabric, pained and restless.