Organizing the battle plan
The sun was high in the sky when Alpheo rose from the bed with a low growl, irritated by the constant dull throb in his left hand. The wound, though bandaged and treated, sent sharp twinges of pain up his arm with every movement from his hand . His temper flared briefly as he clenched his fist, the night he would drink to numb the pain only for the next day to have his head ache .
"Damned hand," he muttered, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet. No sooner had he shifted than Ratto appeared in the tent, as if summoned by the sound.
"Were you waiting outside for me?" Alpheo asked, his tone irritated but curious, raising an eyebrow at the speed of his entrance.
Ratto nodded, his posture as stiff and alert as ever. "I was. You mentioned last night that you'd need me when you woke."
Alpheo groaned in frustration. "If the sun is already high in the sky, you can wake me up yourself. Don't stand around waiting like a damned statue."