The party disunity thus mended, they head off, guided by Bill and his arachno-steed. They travel the rest of the day without issue; the sky remains a bright and cloudless blue and not a single thing is seen. No life, no marks, no blood, no clues, just an endless expanse of rolling white. They make camp around nightfall and eat; this time Fleshius feeds Sigh, who crouches close to him like a frightened animal and laps up what he is given as though it might be suddenly yanked away. Marcus, Alanna, Beethro and Fleshius mostly hang around together, eating slowly in the gathering twilight, but Bill sits out away from the group, alone with his summons. He's almost always with them, sitting next to or on top of them, and they tend to all move together. His senses and theres are becoming increasingly mingled, he has grown accustom to feeling and seeing through them as needed and he barely even has to concentrate to do it. It makes him extremely tuned into the world around him, but also quiet and distant.
Night comes and the group heads to bed early; there is little to do at night, aside from talk, and even that loses its novelty after a few hours. Its hard to tell when they are awoken, urgently shaken back to conciousness by Bill. Its very dark, but with the light of the stars and moon they can just barely see. Bill is standing up, his summons next to him. He can feel something. He can't quantify it. Its not a smell or sound, any sort of normal sense. Its the feeling of something being wrong, of something being off or dangerous. The feeling that comes when something is following you, or when the birds fall quiet before an attack. His summons can feel it too, base animal instinct calls out to run or find safety. But they do not know why.