Nero let out a yawn as he stirred.
He had fallen asleep on where he was perched.
He glanced around briefly, then he looked down.
The others had pulled back from the ridge edge — some sleeping against the base, some gathered in small clusters with what remained of their supplies while others simply sat around.
It seemed like after some time had passed, many had accepted the momentary safety. Even the creaking forms of the Withered had been swallowed by the fog.
'Out of sight, huh...'
Nero walked along the base of the ridge until he found a narrow recess where the bone curved inward just enough to create a shallow alcove. He sat in it and extended his left hand palm up. Then he just looked at it for a moment.
A moment later, a small tuft of grey flame appeared above his palm, dancing in the wind like the slithering tongue of a mad priest.
The pale luminescence was very odd. It did give off light, but a chilly one. One that did not convey any sense of heat or life.
