Not even a night-bird called.

The camp was absolutely still and slumbering.
Ulyth rose and paced about for a while.

It was too cold to sit still long.

She must only use the camp-stool when she needed a rest.
"Sentries ought to be allowed chocolates," she murmured, "or hot peppermints, just to keep up their spirits.

Ugh! How weird and eerie it all is! There isn't a sound anywhere.