A figure clad in a plain black robe, simple and smooth, with no emblem, no mark of sect or house. He didn't mingle with the others, either. He stood on a small ridge by the largest building, arms crossed behind his back, as if simply watching the smoke swirl up from the caldera.
Han Yu narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
He watched them for an hour, barely moving a muscle, as the sun began to dip behind the ridges and the sky bled orange and red. Slowly, the disciples began to retreat into the buildings and tents, chatting casually, while a few remained outside—three guards, maybe four, keeping lazy watch around the perimeter.
Han Yu knew what this meant.
Nighttime was his window.
He backed down the hill silently and began working quickly but carefully. He opened his hide pouch, pulled out a few pieces of grilled boar meat, and looked toward the darkened rocks to the east.
"I hope you're hungry."
A low growl echoed from nearby.
Perfect.
