Kaelen tossed the vinegar-soaked blanket aside, swinging his bare legs over the edge of the woven mat.
The sudden movement sent a ripple of murmurs through the crowded galleries. Above the arena floor, three thousand spectators leaned forward, their voices rising into an incredulous buzz as the sleeping figure finally sat upright.
Only a thin finger of red sand remained in the upper globe of the active furnace hourglass.
Fifteen minutes remained on the sixty-eight-hour-and-fifteen-minute refining clock before the final three-hour-and-forty-five-minute cooling and verification window locked the hearths.
Kaelen yawned leisurely, rolling his shoulders until his upper back cracked. He stretched his calves out across the straw mat, pointed his toes, and kicked his heels against the flagstones to get the blood moving in his feet.
Taking his time, he folded his vinegar-scented grey wool blanket into a neat square. He deflated and tucked his goose-down neck-pillow into the willow hamper, then rolled up the straw mat to clear his stone bay.
Before standing up, he popped a dried apricot into his mouth and chewed it unhurriedly while dusting off his palms.
Up in the eastern spectator tier, the fat merchant from the Crimson Vulture guild slapped his thigh in triumph.
