Relaxing his body, sitting down, adopting a more comfortable posture, Anbedahl glanced at Pandit.
There is no real difference between this so-called Brahmin and him; he snores when he sleeps, grinds his teeth, farts. Though he is a Brahmin, he is no different from Kshatriya, Vaishya, or Shudra—just born with a luxurious hat.
Seeing Pandit sleeping comfortably while he himself struggled to keep his eyes open, Anbedahl felt absolutely infuriated.
The firelight grew dimmer; summoning his willpower, he added another stick to the campfire, thinking that eventually he would have to survive alone, not caring about Pandit's mood anymore. Anbedahl simply closed his eyes.
He was sure that even if awakened the next morning, Pandit wouldn't be hard on him just for sleeping. After all, both of them shared a common goal; if they fell out mid-way, the chance for supplies to fall into their hands would be lost completely.
