The grubby priest was snoring quietly, propped against a log, and the skinny magician had finally managed to drift off, though he twitched and grumbled in his sleep. The huge warrior was still awake, sitting up and gazing into the campfire. He had his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his fists.

“It seems to me,” he said slowly, “That there are two types of people. Most people, when they get lost in the wilderness, wander around, double back, and try to find the path again. If they get exhausted, they sit and wait for someone to come find them. But others, when they get lost, strike out in a straight line, figuring they have to come across a landmark sometime. If they fall in exhaustion, they gather their strength until they can stand back up and keep going, because nobody is going to come save them.”

He was silent for a few minutes, and I wondered if he had fallen asleep after this bout of nighttime philosophy. Then he said, “Adventurers make up the second group.”