The second (two!  the first prime!) real fight of his comparatively young life was over as quickly as it had begun, and Piero had learned something important.  They were faster and more confusing than he had expected.  Also, shockingly, he was better at them than he had expected.  Not<i>great</i>- he wasn't a warrior by any stretch of the imagination - but... competent.  Or, at least, not dead.  And that amounted to the same thing.<br/><br/>"Camp here?" he frowned, visually inspecting his comrades.  There were no<i>visible</i>wounds, no signs if bleeding or injured limbs.  "Is that..."  A chuckle.  "No, that a fool question.  We just saw it isn't<i>safe</i>, didn't we?  But..." he looked around, observing the setting sun and the twisting trail through the marsh, then shrugged.  "It's probabky kess dangerous than trying to ride out in the dark."<br/><br/>Wiping tarry blood from his blade with a broad leaf, he sheathed it.  "Over ther looks promising," he suggested, pointing a quarter-mile down the trail at a low hillock crowned with unusual standing stones.  "It'll be drier, I think."