Eusebius rolls out of bed just before sunrise. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stands - swaying a little - and stretches so hard that joints pop. He works the kinks out of his neck and breathes deeply of the pre-dawn air. He then moves a little apart and begins a series of exercises to tone his body. From there he moves into the forms of his art, moving slowly at first, then increasing in speed. Before long, however, he is tripping over his feet, and cursing at the pull on his still lacerated chest and side.
"Well, at least I'm awake. I do feel a little better."
Then, turning to the direction of the rising sun, he stands and waits. As the first rays of the sun's light touch him, he pulls himself upright, raising his arms and opening them wide to the Lord Hyrag's beneficence. He stands there, emptying his mind of all except the experience of the light, praying and waiting on his god's blessing.
After a quarter hour of this, he lowers his arms, turns and stumbles back to his bedding. Slumping onto the ground he says, "I think I'll just rest for a minute."
Soon he rises again and goes about the normal morning's business of the camp.