While they lay, resting beneath the stars, save Telthar’rion and Aveyna, as they shared watch duty for that night, the moon fought her battle with the sun, their struggle like a dance, ending with the same result each time - the sunlight was always stronger. The light of the new day always approached the moon and her army of stars from the rear, always surprising them and always seizing victory. Perhaps then, as the sunrise began to occur on the eastern horizon, she expected defeat. Perhaps she had never wished to rule in the first place, and defeat, her temporary death, was her escape.
So, with the sun having reclaimed his kingdom, the light, although pale, began to peep through the trees and to dance upon the eyelids of the sleeping elves and the slumbering lion. As their gentle feet went through their steps, their eyelids fluttered open, and they awoke, well rested and keen to continue.
Except for Yvellen - he needed a gentle prod.
This was a prod that Aranaytha provided. At first, she gently whispered into his ear,
“Wake up, Yvellen,” Finding that this produced no response, she began to tickle his feet, but that was no good either, as he was one of that annoying breed who are not ticklish in the slightest. A little desperate, she went and placed her head against the ground beside his ear once more, as though she were about to whisper once more, when a much louder exclamation escaped from her throat. “Yvellen, wake up!” This brought Yvellen from his deep slumber with a start and, by all accounts, he yelped a little as he woke, a fact for which Aranaytha teased him for a long time afterwards.
The days after that continued in much the same way, with Aveyna and Telthar’rion adamant that they would continue with the night watch - if Yvellen was put in a similar post, he would never rise in the morning and, to the detriment of their defence, he would probably have spent his allotted watch tirelessly tormenting Aranaytha.
Thankfully, two days passed with their changing encampments beneath the stars remaining undetected and well defended. They walked far during the day and slept well at night, and for the most part remained undisturbed by enemy forces. On the third day, during the last leg of their journey, that they came to an inn, an establishment christened The Flying Fish.
They entered, weariness etched into their faces, their legs tired of walking and their shoulders aching having borne the burden of carrying shields, bows and axes. The landlady, a friendly woman, held out her hands as they dropped numerous coins into the soft bowl they created. She smiled warmly, handed them their keys and pointed them in the direction of the stairs. They smiled weakly, remaining civil in their weariness, before they slowly ascended the stairs and clambered into their respective beds, glad of a mattress and blanket as they rested, aware that they would begin their services to Raiholt the very next day.