Ruin’s reminder made Ichabod feel foolish.  Of course the demon couldn’t  see anything -- not even the dubious sex appeal of his reluctant master.  Ichabod wasn’t sure why he kept forgetting that.  Maybe because being blind was such a difficult thing for him to imagine.  Ichabod used all of his senses to devour the world around him, swallowing everything in greedy gulps.  What would it be like if he could no longer hear?  Or taste?  Or smell?<br/><br/>As Ichabod had feared, Ruin misinterpreted his offer to share the bedroll.  “For the last time, I’m not trying to -- oh, never mind.  You don’t believe a damn thing I say anyway.”<br/><br/>Lying down on the bedroll, Ichabod pulled the blanket up over his head.  He still felt chilled to the bone.  But slowly, sandwiched between the heat of the fire and the heat of the demon, Ichabod’s body grew warm enough to relax.  Soon he fell into a restful sleep, the soft rumble of his snoring joining the crackling sound of wood being devoured by flame.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Ichabod dreams.  He’s back on the farm where he grew up, struggling to make something grow in the barren soil.  But instead of yielding fruit or grain, everything that sprouts produces leaves made from playing cards and clusters of dice that hang down like ripe grapes.  Curious, Ichabod moves to pluck the two of hearts from a nearby plant.  However, before he can touch it, all the cards fold themselves in half and flap away like a flock of paper birds.</span><br/><br/>Ichabod usually awoke with the dawn, and that morning was no exception.  Sitting up, he saw that although their fire had gone out during the night, Ruin remained asleep on the nearby ground, continuing to emit the heat which had kept Ichabod warm.  A small smile of gratitude curled Ichabod’s lips.  He even considered giving Ruin’s hair an affection ruffle, before he remembered the demon’s rather dire warning about what would happen if Ichabod touched him again.  So, leaving his companion to continue resting, Ichabod stood up and surveyed their surroundings.<br/><br/>The sun’s rays were dissipating the last wisps of the fog, making visibility much better.  Now Ichabod recognized approximately where they were.  Taking a small tin cooking pot from his travel bag, he set off to the north, soon locating the creek he’d remembered being there.  The water felt icy as it rushed across Ichabod’s fingers, but he still washed his hands and splashed some onto his face.  But a full bath seemed like a bad idea -- at the very least, his discomfort would probably wake Ruin and put the demon in a worse mood than usual.  So Ichabod simply filled his cooking pot and headed back to the camp.<br/><br/>Ruin was awake by the time Ichabod returned.  But, rather predictably, not in a chatty mood.  Leaving the demon to his thoughts, Ichabod rekindled the fire and placed the pot of water onto it.  Then he once again began rummaging around in his travel bag.  They were low on supplies -- their abrupt departure had prevented Ichabod from restocking.  But some dried herbs remained, so Ichabod tossed them into the pot of boiling water.  At the same time, he retrieved two sticks of dried jerky, offering one to Ruin.  “Here.  It’s not much of a breakfast, but we’ll need to ration our food until we reach the next town.”