The guards’ hoofsteps are audible outside the tent. They tell me and the others to wake up and pack again. I do as I’m told. Packing the tent up is far harder than it should be, but it’s just so difficult to focus, to coordinate. The morning brings with it the usual sermon on goodness and righteousness by Zabraxas. Even my anger is muted, the burning hate asphyxiated, the fears smothered. All I truly feel is overwhelming, leaden exhaustion, and the total apathy it brings with it.