The Incense

The tent was no shelter from the oppressive, humid heat. What it provided in shade was negated by lack of circulation. He rested uncomfortably on his bedroll, in his smallclothes. Shafts of light penetrated oiled canvas, illuminating smoke rising from the herbal incense Rosalyn enjoyed, burning next to her bedroll. She was out, helping the injured. He had avoided any hurt yesterday, aside from the exhaustion of battle. His muscles ached, but he dredged himself from laziness, dressing from a pile of neatly folded clothes. He wanted to see her, to make sure she was not pushing herself too hard.