An hour had bled away into the quiet of the forest, and Ulrich still found himself sitting motionless before the crackling campfire.
For a man who abhorred wasting time on matters he cared little about, he was displaying an uncharacteristic patience. But in truth, he had very few choices.
The old man, Mark, was still locked in a deep, fitful sleep, fighting off the lingering venom in his veins. Ulrich had him drink a healing concoction, a shockingly expensive one, but alchemical remedies still demanded time to knit torn flesh and purge poison. For an aging body like Mark's, the process was slow, demanding far more time than it would for a younger man.
