As he had predicted, Ignis barely slept that night. The majority of the twilight hours were spent in the old chair, watching the ice wall outside the window and catching fleeting glimpses of dark shadows moving beyond the thick wall. Come morning, though, he descended to the floor below, moving through the people huddled in groups on the ground floor. Some slept restlessly, pressed together for warm and comfort both, while other sat, wide eyed and afraid, holding their young close and their lips sealed.
Hearing the footsteps from above, the wanderer turned away from the frozen over window downstairs to meet Iorciar's gaze as she descended, his expression unreadable. "Well rested?" He asked, not that he cared either way, but the silence had been slowly whittling away at his sanity for the last four hours, at least. Any conversation would be better than none.