"Pretty bossy for a guy who almost got his head knocked in," Guts mutters to himself. The comment lacks any teeth, he sounds more impressed than anything.

Like some great big boulder being pushed out of place, he slowly leaves his very comfortable position wrapped in his cloak and stands to his feet. There are dried lines of blood down his forelimb, a few small scratches his face, but nothing fatal. Nothing worth worrying about, he thinks.

Looks like a few minutes was all the sleep he was getting for the day. He wanders nearby to gather some dried leaves and twigs, pine needles and other plant debris. Annoyed at his weariness and the brisk morning air.