[One night of restless sleep is unfortunate; two in a row is a curse. He blames Hector and their traveling arrangement in the hours he's left brooding until dawn, whittling animals and gargoyles and sharpening the end of a walking stick until sunlight breaks through the trees. By then the pond sprawling across them is slightly warmer - at surface-level, at least - and a little more conducive to peeling off his layers and rinsing off before they breakfast and set out. Abel guards his belongings, looking on as he braves the chill the way he knows best - throwing himself in and thrashing to move his sluggish blood around. It's much less pleasant than he was hoping for and exactly what he was expecting, all at once - but the shock brings on an immediate sense of clear-headedness and vigor, at least. He bobs up for air, parting the wet curtain of his hair for a look around. A fish darts past his leg, tail kicking up a swirl of sand.]
The morning sun has vanquished the horrible night