Inric arrives on the hill above the caravan in the early hours of the morning. The night is quiet, even the sounds of the sea on the shore far below subdued. Copper makes a beeline for a neat wooden wagon with straight sides and suggestive patterns on its planking. Inric gazes at them thoughtfully, but they hold no power. Copper climbs up the nearest wheel and nudges at the wood. Across the site, Jory jolts awake with a gasping shock, his skin prickling and a horrible feeling of unspecified dread washing over him. He leaps from his bed and rushes out of the wagon as though to stay inside would mean death. Kelyn stirs from her bench and looks round sleepily at the open door. "Jory?"