Vytal stayed by the fire when Able got up to disrobe. There was no effort to follow or mystical intrusion intended. Not that a Nightsister was above such things, but only when stalking one's prey. The most she did was lift her eyes to make sure he left and returned in one piece. After each visual survey of his well being, the Dathomiri woman's eyes fell back to the flames in the company of her own thoughts.
The stick she had used to stir up the fire's fuel was laid across her lap when at last Able returned to the circle. A small smile graced the Nightmother's lips at the amusement the man had found in bathing. Whether it was fun or not, she expected it was at least
pleasant. There was no need to sleep in the filth of the battlefield. No enemies pursuing them or planet-wide disaster making haste. She could do without the odor at least. So it had been well received that he'd accepted the offer, and they had plenty of water around them for it.
Once Able found his place and sought to doze off, Vytal resumed tending the flame. A brief look up at him followed with a glow to her eyes once more before the fire took them again. There was potential there, she thought. Potential for more than hauling blasters around a battlefield and hearing the deafening thunder of grenades and mortar.
A soft shifting of dirt behind Vytal followed the slumber of the male. The Nightmother didn't stir at the sound.
Lylek. One of the three Great Spirits that made up the tenants of the Mandragora religion. She spoke to each, as she did many Great Spirits (those with more 'personality' than the host of lesser spirits -- fragments of what they once had been). Lylek, however, seemed taken in ensuring the Nightmother's well-being. It would be a trying night... whether that was long or short, they were yet to see. Vytal's eyes lifted to Able's form once more.
After the cresting of the dawn, Able would find the camp empty with a smoldering flame that kept a brew warm. It was only a few minutes before the pale woman calmly strode back into camp, however.
"Drink. It is more filling than you think. Then we will douse the flame and depart."
Not far from the encampment, through a small line of trees, sat the SJ-X22 multi-role two-prong vessel with a rounded aft section. It was not a large ship, but it could house six occupants if necessary provided overly luxurious of plush accommodations weren't necessary. Vytal would lead Able to this vessel and invite him aboard.
"I would offer to take you to Geonosis using magick," she commented off-handedly as she strode up the ramp,
"but I feel your mind and body have been taxed enough as it is. Perhaps I will impress you another time." That might be a joke, though all Able would see would be the back of her head.
With a few practiced flips and presses, the Nightmother prepared the vessel to lift off and ascend back to the stars. It had been some time since Vytal had left Dathomir. Each time she piloted one of these ships she remembered the first. It was not natural, flying in such a manner. Levitation, on the other hand, or disappearing and reappearing out of thin air
those were natural.
"Hold on. There will be turbulence." The quake of exiting a planet's atmosphere was a good thing; otherwise they would be falling.