Nihlus didn’t do mornings. Unless, of course, he hadn’t slept the night before. Which he hadn’t.
The mist was still all around the campsite–it wouldn’t die down until around noon, at the earliest. But that was fine with him. Not being able to see three metres in front of himself also meant that nobody else could, either. He’d even caught breakfast that way. At least, he’d caught two amphibious critters that looked reasonably close to the ones pictured in the decade-old guidebook. A fire was okay, too, since everything was so wet that he couldn’t possibly cause an accident, and the mist would hide the smoke. He loved this dextro planet.
Almost as much as he loved his sleep. But hey, someone had to take watch, and it wasn’t going to be Mr. Can’t-Lift-A-Finger-After-Using-Biotics. Technically they were supposed to switch about halfway through, but Nihlus felt that the man could use some extra winks. So he wouldn’t have to carry him the next day. He sighed. Saren was probably going to reprimand him anyway. How could you take double watch in such an inattentive state? He turned the spit. Damn, one side burnt already?
Better wake him up before they’re left with black crisps. Saren was lying on a patch of moss, with his backpack as a pillow.
Nihlus knelt, tapped his shoulder. “Wake up.”
Saren snarled. His eyes remained shut.
“Good day, sir. At least, I think it’s day.” No response.
“Come on! I’ve got breakfast!” Ditto.
“Morning already!” He tapped a bit harder. Nada.
He leaned over Saren’s face, put his hands over his own ears, and shouted, “I said GOOD DAY, sir!”
A few seconds of rapid movements and sudden realisations later, he was on the ground and clutching his bleeding nose.
“Fug… Fug… What dib you do nat for?”
Saren looked at him, unfazed. “Next time, your face caves. And what’s that smell?”
“‘Danks to you, I’f no clue.”
And then, they both looked to the black crisps that had once been breakfast.