"By that reas'nin', put me down fer night 's well. 'though if it means I have'n try to sleep with the vexin' sun in my face, you're all gonna have'n see how I get like when I'm grumpy."
Sturm holds out his cup, in toast-like fashion.
"And here's hopin' we do run into our bit o' trouble, so'n I'll have some'n to write home abouts that won't fill me da' with shame... Vexin' pick-up job..."
He mutters into himself a little more, then there's a dim spark of recollection in his open eye, and he leans over to Zumar.
" 'at reminds me, ken I pull ye aside when we get in wherever this place is we're goin'? I'll need'n send a letter, and the 'ounds took out me writin' hand."
Sturm holds up his left hand, which bears the fresh scab of a mean dogbite across it.