"Remant?" asked Ashela. She'd come up with a dagger when he'd touched her shoulder, but he was holding a glowstone in his hand, palm-up so that she could see his face. "What are you doing in my tent?"
"Someone put a sleep-spell on the camp," he said. "How do you feel?"
"Shit." She put the dagger away and shrugged out of her blankets. "Is everybody--?"
"I'm not sure," Remant told her. "You're the first I woke. But I don't think they came for murder. They were looking for something. Maybe for me."
"For you? Because--" Her eyes flickered to his left hand, and he knew that she knew. He'd thought that she at least suspected, and now he knew he'd been right.
"Yes. And more will be coming. So I need you to check on everyone here, and make certain the caravan's defended."
"You're going out to meet them?" Ashela didn't sound surprised. She ran a hand through her dark hair, then clipped it back.
He nodded. "Better than waiting for them to arrive here."
"All right." She reached for her left boot and drew it on. "Be careful. Don't die."
Remant nodded and slipped back out of the tent. Ashela was a skilled warrior and knew something of sorcery as well; he could count on her to keep the others safe.