Despite unfond memories and unpleasant dreams, Karrlandren was silent through the night.  Sleeping like the dead he never moved, never so much as twitched, never gave away his position.  Even his mount was silent, other then to occasionally open one eye and lift an ear from time to time.  The packhorse was less disciplined, but placed as it was next to the far larger animal was kept in check.<br/><br/>Morning came early for the world weary knight, who spent some time stretching and effecting less theatric exercises rather then his usual morning weapons drills while waiting for his tea to boil.  The fuel for the tiny fire came from amidst the saddlebags of the pack horse, carefully selected to limit any smoke or scent the fire might cast off, and even the tea, while tasty, was of a very mild scent, easily lost amidst the various natural odors of the forest.<br/><br/>He settled across from Elandris as the man readied his pipe, busying himself with inspecting the straps and harnesses of his chainmail, a few light touches of oil to keep it all in working order.  Karrlandren seemed to never waste time; there was always something that needed doing and seemed to be far too little time to do it.  The mannerisms of an experienced campaigner that had learned many of the harder lessons of war first hand.<br/><br/>"The river.  Either we waste time searching for another point to cross, a shallow ford perhaps.  Or one swims with a rope to the far side.  And of course, whoever crossed first would be on their own should trouble arise."  He had no doubt Elandris could handle himself in a fight, but the man's tactics seemed more towards surprise and guile, not toe to toe.