Arha ate a spice cake, which ostensibly was the protein mash spat out by the ship, and felt better for it. She made little sound as she moved to cover the luminescent moss filled baskets (they were not real either, but it felt familiar and right) to do so. After drawing the door flap down and securing it tightly so the sand wouldn't leak in, she sat cross legged, close enough to be a comforting presence.

She could feel it, still, the lingering sense of energy or power, like a thing half glimpsed out of the corner of the eye. Something silvery, possibly blue. Her palms itched with residual energy, like the calming she'd done wasn't enough. Arha massaged her palm with a thumb and frowned gently. She was the Watcher this night.