Epsilon dismounted from his horse, its tail still smoking, strained and tire. His entire lower body was sore, and he eased himself down, resting against the side of a large tree. He simply laughed from his ground seat at Salazenathor's request for him to gather firewood. "I've been chased by enraged knights, nearly drug by my own mount, and accosted by a naked man, and you think I can be assed to gather firewood?" Epsilon said in a mocking tone. "I'd rather lay here in the cold then to suffer my legs to carry me in any direction." He slumped down even further against the tree, snuggling up against it as if it would him warmth.
He lay there a moment longer, listening to Aubrey protest against getting food. She was a fiery and hot tempered girl, in his eyes, and perhaps rather eccentric. Perish on the other hand had a much cooler demeanor, though she was more than a bit odd. He watched her as she used her magic. The other three seemed to use their magic in any situation they could, like it was truly apart of their being, despite whatever proficiency they seemed to lack in it. This was a trait not shared by him, he did not always see or feel the inclination to cast a spell, despite being in a situation which would have benefited from its use. His mind wandered back to their pursuers, the Purple Dragons or what have you. Such a station was perhaps vastly more appealing to him than being a mage, as he was a man who felt most comfortable in the pure physicality of things. Remembering spells, and all their components, studying books, he would rather be training his arm to swing a might mace, or a deft blade, or throwing a simple punch.
He stood to his feet, recanting no his earlier statement of finding the cold a lesser evil than walking about on his sore legs. With just a mere grumble to mark his departure, he pulled his green robes tight and stumbled off into the woods in search of kindling and firewood.