[hr][hr][center][h2][b][i][color=b8860b]Keystone[/color][/i][/b][/h2][/center]
[b][center][color=b8860b]Location:[/color] Woods North of Salarn, Orc Encampment, Evening of Day Three [/center][/b][b][center][color=b8860b]Interacting With: [/color] The Group, His Own Thoughts [/center][/b][hr][hr]

	The expectant neutrality remained on the scarred face of the broad pugilist as the younger man accepted his peace offering. A second of two after he and his sock parted ways and Thomas turned to pack it away, Keystone's eyes widened and his face took on the appearance of a man trying hard to keep something trapped deep, deep inside of himself. His trademark stoicism was under assault from within; it held on by a thread - but by the gods, it held. 

	[color=b8860b]"Welcome, quite."[/color] stated Keystone in even tones, demonstrating his underclass accent remarkably in two simple words. 

	Hopefully, that issue could be put to bed. If this was a just and loving world, hopefully the group could be put to bed, too. If not [i]bed[/i], persay, at least a bit of rest. After a large meal, it was probably for he best. The group began discussing taking watch, turns, and so forth. It made the large man realize that he hadn't actually had sleep in three days; not since that night in Salarn when he got turned down for first meeting coitus by the lady that drew his bath and brought up his liquor. Well, before something horrible and life altering was released. He felt tired. Tired, on top of a full stomach.

	One of the few non-martial techniques he picked up in his travels was a Shou method of meditation that was, in many ways, superior to natural sleep. His own mastery of the technique was not absolute, at least not yet, a thing which ordinarily was of little importance. Sometimes though, if enough erratic or conflicting thoughts rattled around in his braincase, it was enough to prevent him from getting into the proper mindset to enter a meditative trance. Today very possibly qualified. 

	The recent (almost) scuffle with the spellcaster, a contest of roaring hamflappery with the Orcs, the recent, possible threat of the Undead, and the [i]massively[/i] unexpected event of making out with Sana, in clear view of everyone, including a warband of Orcs - these were but a few of the criss-crossing thoughts preventing Keystone from fully finding his center. He was always a rather chaotic type, more prone to the physical aspects of combat to the contemplative. But he was getting better. 

	Nonetheless, the occidental monk listened carefully to the rest of the group as they divvied turns at watch. Unsure as to the reliability of his technique at this hour, he volunteered for a shift, and settled back on his pack. He faced out, away from the cave entrance, donning his hood against the lowering temperature of the growing evening. For good measure, he donned his half-mask. Settling in for the night, he began his breathing exercises designed to lower his respiration and heartbeat, focusing on a single point in his mind; the prescribed method for alert, restful meditation. Unfortunately, his single point of thought kept getting intruded upon by Sana. 

	Rather, the recent memory of her, surprising him out of a melee mid swing by locking her lips to his. He returned the gesture with vigor, even dipping her in the process. Then he recalled that twice, she insisted upon sitting next to him. It could have been their previous familiarity. But it also could have been something else. Suffice it to say, his center was most assuredly [i]not[/i] found, and Keystone drifted into a state of light but true sleep; spotted with particularly ...interesting... dreams featuring his adventuring companion.