Azwel scarcely notices where he's being led. But it's a blessing to move into a quiet space, away from people and the howling wind. It may not be any warmer, but the relative quiet was comforting enough.

"Thank you," he murmurs. "You're... very kind." He nearly adds, kinder than I deserve, but he realises that kind of self-flagellation is the exhaustion talking.
The bed is not a luxurious thing, and yet he settles into it with the almost sensual kind of sigh of relief that only the truly exhausted can produce.

He's asleep almost immediately. So deeply asleep that the lines of pain and weariness the last several days had etched into his face ease somewhat. He almost looks... peaceful.

He'll need that sleep. Worse things lie ahead.