"I didn't ask for a four-star entrée," Albert mumbled into his cup, manners lost in the face of hunger. He was forced to drink slowly because the somewhat-bland broth was still hot, but it still tasted like the best soup he had ever had.

Propping himself up against the headboard, he glanced down at Caesar sitting on the floor. He had not noticed before how tired the younger looked; there were obvious signs of fatigue on his face, and not all of them were from his journeys out of and back into the village. The obvious reason for his weariness was lack of sleep. Finally, he dryly thought, something we have in common.

"You need to sleep," he said steadily before returning his attention back to his meal. He really should not have to point out the obvious.