Given the specifics of his work, Ayato has always been something of a late sleeper and an early riser. This has not changed given the camp setting, and he just so happens to have still been awake despite — or perhaps, because of — the sounds of his cabin mates in various states of their own restfulness.

Seated on his knees in the center of the wooden floorboards, he has a sheet draped about his shoulders in some semblance of a draping, robe-like coverage. On his lap sits his personal, intricately designed katana, which he has been idly cleaning and inspecting for a good fifteen minutes or so. Weapon upkeep is an important part of remaining vigilant, after all.

He would be in the process of sharpening it, if he did not want to disturb those of his bunk mates that we’re already in the throes of slumber.

His head lifts as he hears the noises outside in the forest around them. It’s dark in the cabin save for one single lit lantern near the back, and it provides just enough light for him to watch the jiggle of the doorknob.

He stands, sword in hand, and quietly crosses to the threshold so that he can unlatch the door and pull it open after the knock.

“It is rather late for a visit. How might I assist you?”