Stephan woke later than usual, the light slanting in through the cracks of the hut's ceiling and stabbing at his eyes. Grief and Yennefer were already awake, seated cross-legged, sipping from clay cups. The steam rising from the brew carried a sour, earthy stench.
Stephan wrinkled his nose. "What time is it?"
"They don't have clocks here," Yennefer said, her voice dripping with amusement.
"Of course they don't," Stephan muttered, dragging himself upright. He picked up his black shirt, sniffed, and grimaced. The fabric reeked of sweat and dried blood. With a look of disgust, he tossed it aside and shrugged into his coat instead.
"Do they even have water here?" he asked.
"They do," Yennefer replied, lifting her cup. "But it's rationed. Remember what Fizzwigg said about this place? Sometimes it rains blood, so they store water for weeks. Well, turns out he didn't lie."
