Truthfully, Solomon had been very close to sleep. He'd spared enough energy to drag up one of the sheets, but apparently someone--he suspected Quiver--had had the forethought to leave the room somewhat heated. Tenebrae might be furious, but that didn't mean he wanted his newest precious tool to succumb to pneumonia on top of his injuries.

The ripple in the lifestream had prevented that sleep, but Solomon hadn't made any indication he knew anyone was there at all. At least now he knew how animals had that sixth sense about being watched; it was a gentle but irritating buffet in the lifestream. Solomon still didn't dare to focus on it too much, but the presence was enough that he didn't need to. It seethed, pulsed, like a flurry of angered ants swelling out of an anthill. Almost amusing, from a perspective of safety.

He just wasn't sure who it was. It wasn't Tenebrae, it wasn't Quiver. It could have been a guard, either taking his duty overly seriously or curious about Solomon's 'fall' from grace. Or it could have been--ah. Yes. Craven. Craven sounding like a petulant child whose anticipated entertainment turned out to be rather less than he'd expected.

Solomon rolled carefully onto a part of his back that didn't hurt quite so much as the others and laughed. "Ah, Craven. Well, if I told you, it wouldn't be my secret, would it?"

He grinned sightlessly in Craven's direction.