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He was only in his forties, and yet he already felt like an old man sometimes. How did the truly old servants do it, he wondered? Surely, at one point or another, they all must have felt this same pressure that he did.

Well. The ones that hadn't lost their minds, anyway.

Maybe there was a connection there. Maybe he should have a talk with Abbas, the next time they were both free.

Which would probably be never, a stray thought told him.

He stood up. A bed was waiting for him a couple floors down, and sleep was starting to sound pretty damn good. He shuffled over to the sandy hole in the floor and slid down the ladder until he reached the bottom.

It was dark and cramped, but at least the wind's howling was a bit softer in here. The bed was right next to his feet, so he didn't even bother struggling for a light source. He just plopped down and pulled the dusty blanket over him.

From experience, he knew that there was a fair chance that at least one scorpion was sharing this bed with him, right now, but if that was the case, then he wished it a good night's rest, too. He was too tired to give it much more than a passing thought.

His tattoos factored into that lazy sentiment. He didn't actually have to worry about his skin being penetrated by something as weak as a scorpion's stinger. In fact, since he was still wearing the ring that Haqq made for him, such a sting might just reflect back on the creature and kill it, instead.

Perhaps that was the last thing on his mind as he fell asleep, because he dreamt of his mother. Of the months she had spent, working to the point of exhaustion, trying to complete these same tattoos for him.