Summary: Their first target is down, and with one more to go, the Turks (and their President) are recovering - and preparing.
Location: On the border of the Soil Desert
Date: Backdated to June 15th
He hated being fussed over. Oh, he appreciated it - it meant people cared, after all. But it also meant he'd likely done something stupid. And in this case? Yup. Bum-rushing the cactaur-like creature had not been the wisest move. And he'd paid for it by looking like a red-headed porcupine, staggering and just barely clinging to consciousness. The potion Cissnei had given him had helped, as did the few needles she was able to pull out of his skin before they had a chance to rest. But now?
Porcupine or not, he helped set up the campsite, then collapsed on a rock and began the task of pulling out what needles that remained. One by one, they fell into the dust and dirt, wincing every so often as a particularly deep needle would be yanked. "Serves me right..." he muttered, but flashed a grin to Cissnei and the others. "One down, one to go, right? So. Let's talk supplies. What d'ya think we'll need?" All the while pulling out one of their remaining potions to guzzle down. Yay for healing those tiny little wounds.