The movement is so fast it pulls an undignified yelp out of Morgan. He’d braced for a little prick on the hand... not a clean slice. But once he realizes he’s still in one piece, he exhales.

"Seems I'm not too bad," he mutters, a bit pale but trying to play it cool.

Jacaranda looks to the horizon. She can see black mountains in the distance, breaking the dark blue sky peppered with millions and millions of tiny stars. Nearby within the scope of her nightvision, she sees nothing that would raise her alarm. 

" Alright.  We need to move on as soon as possible....I don't trust this place at all."

" Grab a few hours sleep if you can. I'll keep watch, be ready to march when I wake you."

She nodded to Kor then went to stand her watch once more.

Kor sets his sword down by the fire then stands. "Well, since you are going to bed down, I think I will be off." He smiles to the group. "Best of luck in Bazzoxan. You will need it friends.

"Too many stuck swords,
an autumn poem rusts red,
old blood clings to steel.

"Maybe there is perfection in imperfection." He nods to Morgan. "This will do, I think." Kor begins to walk away into the night, cursed sword in his grip.

Morgan smiles with genuine appreciation.
"The greatness of imperfection... that's what I'm all about.
May the winter be far, mild… and epic. Good luck, Kor."