Rifling through the patched leather-and-cloth bag, you find nothing but wrinkled papers. Closer inspection reveals handwriting; neat and tidy at first, but progressively it devolves into a hasty scribble, then a frantic scrawl. The last few pages are blank. The contents seem to be a mix of every subject, intertwined and interwoven into an incomprehensible mix of essay and multiple choice.
"Miss Katherine, come take a look at this.... It's homework."
"Little busy here, Harold. Come on you...." she grunts under her breath.
Shuffling the homework into a little pile, you get up off the cold floor and walk over to her. You kneel over and attempt to help her start the fire. Except you don't know how to. After a solid fifteen minutes of interfering, Miss Katherine sighs, exasperated.
"Um, Harold, I'll take care of it. I appreciate the help, though." Blushing, you walk away, pretending to bury your face in the pile of homework, but actually trying to hide yourself. It isn't much linger when she finishes, and you resurface your face, trying to look composed.
Ash-caked and sweaty, Miss Katherine suggests that you guys call it a night. She volunteers to keep first watch.
You:
A. Agree. Let her keep watch first.
B. Volunteer to keep watch first instead. She's probably exhausted from exploring the labyrinth and making the fire.
C. Ask if you both should just stay up. It's probably not that late.
D. Volunteer to do your share and explore outside. If it really is late, then logically the bullies out there must be a sleep.