[ The stick scritched across the dirt, a quiet sound to distract him in the silence of the camp (if others were sleeping, he was one of the few he hadn't yet dared). His thought not lost in the air as he might have expected. Gaze turning upwards to where the figure speaks — Notes the ears first, but aside from a glance, offered no more surprise for the moment.

Using the butt of the stick to wipe away something he gave a soft chuckle. ] Wrong time for us, definitely. But they knew we were there.

[ How? Why? For what purpose? It's the million gold question that all of them were asking but none of them had an answer for. Speculations and only that, so he tossed the stick back down to the ground for a moment: ]

Y'know. The last time I had a dream it was one where I dreamt that I arrived in a battle in my underwear. [ He glances over at him, humor lacing his tone, but gaze curious: ] What about you? Dream often?