The campfire flickered and crackled.
Ruger had never yearned to see that wrinkled old witch so badly. That wrinkled little figure would surely bring him a pleasant surprise. He just wondered whether she would like this little gift—and if she accepted it, whether she would give them more rewards, like those scraps from last time. During breaks from meditation, Ruger had gradually fed them to his wings. Zhizhi had clamored for two bites as well, and now less than half remained.
Making use of the last bit of time, Layden tinkered with his campfire, making it steadier so it could last longer.
He had once said that even if a campfire appeared extinguished in an ordinary person's eyes, it was not necessarily truly out to him. He could still establish a connection with it and cast spells through it, but in that state, only he could leave.
The two men's figures began to blur.
The vastness became cramped, and the blazing firelight vanished from before their eyes.
Ruger abruptly braced himself against a bookshelf and covered his eyes.
His hand came away bloody again.
The discomfort was not as severe as last time.
The moment he recovered somewhat, Ruger first adjusted his angle. After a bout of bending over and twisting his hips, he finally spotted that little pool of water before him with satisfaction. He sensed it carefully; his eyes were already showing signs of starting to tear up.
Ruger turned toward the even more bedraggled Layden. The effects of this fellow's medicine had not worn off yet, and he recovered quickly as well. Layden nodded at him, and the two headed down to the next floor, straight for the old crone's room.
Along the way, Ruger did not forget to take out several tufts of fur to wipe