Eamon hugged the thin blanket to his frame, shivering from the bitter cold. A foolish notion that one so skinny could suffice with a small tent and a thin blanket and sleeping bag. He sat there shivering when a thought came to him.

I know, the fair mage maiden has a thick tent and warm sleeping bag. Oh it probably has owl bear feathers in it as-well. I’ll sneak in and be out by dawn. And even if I stayed, I doubt she’d mind such a roguish charmer in the same bed as her. Brilliant

Eamon hopped up and put his worn boots on. He opened up the entry to his too-small tent and headed out to brave the wind and rain. He stumbled around in the cold dark. He found the tent and saw himself in.

So warm, and nice smelling. I truly am the paragon of genius

He padded toward the sleeping bag, blind in the dark space, and slipped inside like a cat doing that thing cats do. He settled in feeling warm and proud of himself for his "brilliant" idea. As he lay there his eyes attuned themselves to the dark, he spied a pair of boots with a sword leaning against them. Odd...why would a mage have a sword in her tent. He looked further to see some heavy looking armour. Shit...wrong tent, he tried not to panic or squirm but he knew he had made a grave error. Sharing a sleeping bag with a man. Oh the humanity