With the orcs now working for the dead until further notice, and the undead themselves only speaking that incomprehensible, unfathomable language after he finished demonstrating what he could do with the vapour, the living was left all by his lonesome within the tent, still bound to the ground in a way that kept him on his knees, he couldn't even lay down or shift position, simply locked in place with his knees against the sand.
Sand which was not what he had come to know all of his life, it was different, coarser, more irritating to the touch, in short, his situation was awful and it was only getting worse.
'Are they actually gone or am I being watched from somewhere?' not knowing anything about the undead, the closest thing he knew to them were the bone-puppets of Sanguine Undeviginti and its followers.
So drowned in total darkness within the tent after the lights were taken away, he assumed that they could not see him, like he could not see them…
