"You should still rest," the pathfinder criticized me the second I stood up from my earlier spot.
"The smell is too good," I countered, sitting down by the fireplace on which a huge chunk of the monster from before was grilling. I still had my hands wrapped against the middle of my torso, trying to somehow squeeze the pain out of my ribs.
"That's good to know," the man turned his attention back to rolling the handle of his makeshift grill-stand.
The day was already well into the middle of its usual course. The fight with the best happened very early into the morning. As such, it took me nearly half the day before I could actually stand up and move around a little.
"How are you feeling?" the pathfinder asked without taking his eyes off the meat. His voice was blank, devoid of any emotions. Yet, I could somehow tell that he was concerned about me.
Was it some early form of friendship? Or was it a simple courtesy without any deeper meaning?