Studying makes one sleepy, and Ghost fell into a deep slumber without reading more than a few pages of her notes. She might have slept longer had it not been for the mouth-watering aroma of barbecue lingering around the tip of her nose.
Dylan had returned at some unknown hour. He was sitting by the campfire, mechanically turning a roasted chicken on a spit.
A few fruits were laid out near the fire, along with a rare flask of mellow, fragrant fruit wine. The exquisite silver flask and silver cups, however, certainly did not look like things one simply bought at a market.
Chapter 87