Sleepless, Idacrous lies soundlessly upon his makeshift mattress: his cloak. His hands behind his head, the male's gaze beholds the rays of faint moonlight that filter through the thin material of his tent. This night holds a certain silence that unsettles his gut, disallowing him from the slumber he so greatly desires. A turn of his head redirects his gaze to the sheathed sword lying just within arm's reach and, as if following some train of thought in his mind, his right hand moves to slide across the length of the sheath with endearment. This sword, afterall, has been his most faithful friend through the years.
It is as his fingers are at the midpoint that he snaps his gaze towards his tent flaps and bolts to an upright position. With a trained sense of efficiency, the male slides into his leather boots, buckles on his sheathed blades (a sword on his left hip, a knife on his right), and dons the cloak. Then grabbing his satchel, he completely ignores his armour and steps outside. It is with a focussed gaze that his attention immediately locks upon the princess's tent.
With long strides, the worried knight rushes into the princess's tent. It must be bad as Idacrous doesn't even bother with manners as he whispers a quick "Your majesty. We must leave. Now." There is no commotion in the camp thus far, but male's sensitive nose can smell death and it is coming closer. Aria has just moments to respond before she will be led out of the tent and to an escape route via the back of the camp and into a forest.
As they cross into the woods, the camp starts to explode with the sounds of screams, struggle, clanging metal, and finally fire. Despite this, Idacrous urges Aria onwards. "Don't look back Princess."