Sometime around midnight, somewhere before or not quite past after, Grace O’Faolain awoke to the sound of footsteps, she was certain that it was either Emmett or Floure, someone had to use the bathroom, that was certain. Or so she thought. Her insomnia kept her awake during the long hours of the night, so her thoughts wandered on about Cillian. Goddess Divine, had she thought of him. It seemed so surreal that she would see him again, especially in a place like Red Rock. She recalled the way her heart dropped into the pit of her stomach when she laid eyes on him, the way he poured her mug full of meade, the way his eyes lingered on her... They recounted their adventures thus far, when she had disappeared, her voyages on the sea, and his travels to Lusk. Though, she could tell that there was something he kept from her. She presumed that it was his true feelings over her leaving, perhaps anger, or even how he suffered from a heart-ache. Whatever it was, the look in his eyes broke her own heart. Yet, while she contained her afflicted emotions within, Grace struggled with the idea still, of loving him. Certainly, her heart beat quickened with every word he uttered, and the way she would catch him staring at her. There was no doubt in that. She acknowledged the feelings she had for him, she was simply afraid to act on them. The pressure of her bladder cleared her thoughts as she re-entered reality, and as she sat blinking, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, she noted the flames of the campfire had dwindled to mere fiery, orange coals that glowed with each breath as the wind curled around it. Already, the lack of the heat from the fire brought a notable chill to the surrounding, raising the hair on her arms. Next to her, as she and Cillian both slept outside on their bedrolls, neither of them had the chance to erect a tent this night, as the group had stopped later in the evening than she had anticipated. She rolled onto her elbows, reaching out with one hand, she shook Cillian, hoping that he would wake.

“[color=82ca9d]Psst. Cillian. Oi, I’m goin’ for a piss, eh? Can ye put more tinder on the fire? I’ll be right back.[/color]” With a grunt, she got to her feet and headed off for the nearest shrub. Whether Cillian heard her or not was another thing, she noticed that since they had left Red Rock, the shanty town on the edge of the Badlands, that Cillian was rather a heavy sleeper.

	With heavy, sleep-laden footsteps, she made her way past the safety of the perimeter of camp, that way, no one would bother her while she was pissing. Slipping her cotton trousers down over her knees, Grace squatted near a desert shrub, and released the liquid from her bladder. She sighed in relief as her bladder emptied, now she could go back to sleep. That was, until she heard voices, albeit, soft, whispering voices, but voice nonetheless. As she slid her trousers over her hips and buttoned them, Grace’s eyes adjusted to the darkness by now, the stars shone brightly against the black velveteen night sky, giving her the impression that the stars themselves were diamonds encrusted in an endless swath of blackness. 

	The soles of her boots were soft against the desert sand, save for the occasional crunch of a dried twig underfoot, as she neared the source of the voices, her hand wandered to the daggers dangling at her hips. Were these some of the Bone-Dry Slavers she had heard rumors of in Red Rock? Fearing that the group was in danger, her pace quickened. That was until she heard a familiar, [i]annoyingly[/i] familiar voice addressing her.

[i]”[color=0072bc]Piss off.[/color]”[/i]

	It was that rude, impolite bastard, Emmett. Ok, well that wasn’t fair. He wasn’t a [i]bastard[/i], but he sure acted like an arse. Her mood soured instantaneously upon hearing his words cut across the cool of the night. The corners of her lips turned down into a scowl, and her eyes narrowed into thin slits as she surveyed the scene, she came to a stop to see Emmett and Floure, with a bag not that far from Emmett, she recognized it as his.

“[color=82ca9d]Oi! What the fook do ye think yer doin’ out here at this hour, eh?[/color]” She began with a shout that echoed across the stillness of the desert, descending upon them in a whirlwind of fury. “[color=82ca9d]Ye both should be asleep in yer tent. And ye,[/color]” She pointed a finger at Emmett, clucking her tongue in disapproval, “[color=82ca9d]don’ tell me what the fook to-do, a’ight?[/color]”

	Before anyone could stop her, Grace moved to Emmett’s bag, and hoisted it off the sandy floor, hooking a loop over her shoulder, as she fostered the idea to make an attempt to lure him back to camp by taking his belongings. Yet, as she moved the bag, a curious object fluttered to the sand. “What the fook?” Grace muttered in surprise, her eyes widening in revelation. She knew it as soon as she saw the orange-red throated petals lying there in the starlight.

“[color=82ca9d]The fook is this?![/color]” She roared at Emmett, anyone could hear her now, as her voice carried across the emptiness. “[color=82ca9d]Ye think this is some kind of joke, eh?! Well do ye?[/color]” She took a menacing step forward, had it not been for Floure in her way, she would have decked Emmett a solid. 

“[color=82ca9d]Of [i]all[/i] the things ye could do to yerself, ye chose this? I can’ believe this! Emmett! Really?! Ye’ve got to know the consequences for doing this out here, yer going to run out, and then what? Eh? Ye gonna off yerself? Yer gonna put this whole damned quest in jeopardy boy! The Goddess Divine only knows what ye’ve gotten yerself into nah![/color]” Instead of punching him square in the jaw like she would have, Grace swooped to the ground, and plucked the flower from the sand, and held it like the poison it was pinched between her forefinger and thumb. This flower might be his last, if it was, she wielded all of the power in her hand, all she had to do was crush it beneath the heel of her boot.