They must rest at times. They have a routine by now; their shifts are set, and they do not deviate. The Moor is no place for trial and error.

Their guide takes the first watch. His keen eyes scan the area, never focusing on just one thing. He knows by now not to get distracted by the wispy lights that sometimes rise from the far end of the Moor and dance across the grey-green scrubland. The groans and creaks, the metallic screeching, the distant howls, are all just the sounds of the Moor, the same as how the Caverns rustle with life. That is what he tells himself as he patrols the corners of their camp, keeping his two companions safe.

The smallest one’s ears twitch as he sleeps, his eyes rolling under their lids and his legs occasionally twitching. He has not slept soundly at all during their time here, and it surprises no-one. He manages a few short bouts through the first shift, and then it is his turn to keep watch.

The one with the flaming coat faces sleep with cold rationality. There is nothing that can harm him in his sleep, he tells himself. This is a lie. He knows this now. Sleep, when it comes, saps his strength; he has lost weight, and the hollows above his eyes are as sunken as the gaps beginning to show between his ribs. His body cannot rest here. He wishes the dreams were at violent - then, at least, he would be able to justify his tossing and turning, justify the screams that threaten to tear free of his throat as he succumbs to whatever version of sleep this is called. The face always looms when he closes his eyes. Solstice. In every dream, she is different. A queen. A beggar. A cartographer. A thief. A corpse. He can no longer separate what he knows of her from what she has become a million times over in his nightmares. What became of her?

The guide and the smallest one take longer shifts. This they agreed on the second night, when they heard the one with the flaming coat calling her name over and over - they have taken to covering his head with a cloak so that when his eyes fly open, as they do when he is jerked awake by the horrors of his mind, he is able to try and sleep again. They know that it is torture, but they see the effect the Moor has had on him. If he does not rest, he will not survive here.

Their time in the Moor is nearly done. They all know this, but it cannot come soon enough.