Well, okay. Zel did have a point. Rosch did pretty much barge into whatever passed for a "home" out here for this guy, and and that was generally considered pretty rude where we was from.

What Zel didn't know was that maybe Rosch was a moron, but he was a brilliant strategist, so far as military tactics were concerned, and he knew when he had a clear advantage over an opponent.

Rosch pivoted on his heel, and for one tiny, hopeful second, Zel might have thought that he had successfully managed to rid himself of this very big, very loud problem.

But the huge soldier made a beeline for Zel's camp and immediately settled himself on one of the fallen logs that served as impromptu seating for whatever "guests" might happen to find their way out here. The old wood creaked under the strain, but held firm. Rosch folded his arms across his broad chest, and his expression would have looked more at home on a petulant child who was just told they had to go to bed right this instant.

"I told you, I'm not leaving this place until Stocke comes to find me." A knowing grin curled the corner of his mouth. "If you get lost in the woods, the best thing to do is to sit tight and wait for help to arrive. And since Stocke's such a smart guy, he'll eventually show up here sooner or later!"

Zel, you might want to add "stubborn as a mule" next to "moron" on that little flashing neon sign...