Twilight gives way to the blackness of light as Nyaruth warms their aged leather man-tortise skin against the fire. They cook up a meal made of bear, crocodile, and fruit jam. A large dragonfly with muscular wings buzz fiercely nearby, combining with he droning hum of glowpads to finalize a symphony with crackling of fire. In the distance, the howling and snarling indicating pack of snapjaw-kin.

After the bedroll is layed, a soft cloth tunic is abstracted into makeshift pillow. Nyaruth readies themselves for sleep. They stash a pair of their finest daggers neath the cloth as done thousands of times before.