Fallon emerges from her tent with usual morning cheeriness, wrapped in a blanket that bares a good half-meter of leg when she walks and drapes from her shoulders like a ballgown.  She's been listening to the chatter around the fire, and stares at the carts with a baleful guilt shadowing her lovely features.  She shakes her head and walks back toward her tent, her bare feet on the frosty morning grass with a slow precision.  When she emerges again, it will be in her full armor.