The Dawn's Light

He rolled over on his hard bedroll; softer than the rocky ground, true, but his body did not thank him for it. The dewdrops gleamed in the nearby grass and the amber hues of dawn were lighting the sky. Anya snored lightly, curled into a ball on her own bedroll. She reminded Argen so often of a small child that it was easy to forget how dangerous she truly was. Rosalyn was inches away, a smirk on her face, chest rising and falling lightly. He lay his head back down and closed his eyes. It was not yet time to rise.