It takes Cole a moment to work out exactly how his bald companion freed himself from the vehicle. After not too long a delay, he unfolds himself from the carriage and moves away from it, quiet as a ghost, the door left open behind him. He is well accustomed to camps, at least—and tents, too, although none precisely in this style.

The moment he draws near the site proper, his gentle, earnest voice comes slipping through the silence. "The air bakes, then chills, grit everywhere, something stubborn in my eye. Can't sleep, shouldn't, mustn't, in case the dead come dragging through the dirt. Keep it low, more smoke than flames." Now crouched by the dug-in fire pit, he pushes his finger into the dirty ash left behind, making little prints there just to see them. "Almost out. Too cold, too... empty. I can't do this anymore."

He's becoming accustomed to the average person's need for tl;dr, too, and so adds, "He was here, then he left."

(He has asked that very thing of the sun.)