...no, the Fool fears him. Fitz sighs. When they have privacy, scant though it will most likely be, he'll speak to the Fool more openly. For now, with others around, he will do what he must.

Fitz nods at the familiar words spoken so softly. He wants to touch the Fool, to confirm for himself that the other will not disappear into smoke, but he'll accept it for now.

It is not far till the small camp that he and the others have set up. He directs them to places for washing, and for food. Firstly, he sits down himself on a ricketty camp chair and begins to clean his axe.