How long is enough?

Just how long is long enough? Here I am, curled beneath layers of blankets and furs, shivering by the dappled blob of light from a lantern, scratching out my story and wondering...is it time? I am hungry and a little thirsty, aching from being so tightly tensed up for so long, and cold. My fingers are like thick stubs that won't work properly and I stopped feeling my toes a while ago, and my stomach is making the most unlady-like noises. I found a small pouch of the spiced tack Yama made, though I only ate two pieces. I may need the rest. Up at the front of the wagon and on the other side are crates and barrels with more food. Good food. Not break your teeth hardtack. But if I move, will I rock this crooked wagon bed and will someone notice?

I've not heard anything except the sigh and whistle of brother Wind playing with the tears in the wagon canvas. Nothing that sounds like Toad or Griff's voice, or their mounts either. Nothing that sounds alive...really.

So, I am going to do it. It's been long enough. I'm going to crawl out of my hiding spot and spy through the openings in the canvas. Going to get some food, and maybe even check outside to see just what I'm up against.

I'm....scared.