You creep up slowly behind the youth. When you've come within a few paces, he turns suddenly and looks at you.

"What are you doing here?" he asks sharply.

"I was about to ask you the same thing," you reply. The youth looks down sheepishly, and you notice for the first time that he's dressed in nothing but a linen cloth. "A bit far from home for sleep-walking, don't you think?" you observe with a chuckle.

The youth wraps his nightshirt tighter to his body, obviously shivering in the cool midnight air, and pleads, "You won't tell the Master that I followed him, will you? And please don't say anything to the others, either. I don't want them to know that I followed them all the way out here." He looks over his shoulder, beyond the rock, and you notice two groups of men in the distance. Closest to the spot where you and the youth are standing, eight men lie propped up against olives trees or sprawled out on the ground. You wonder at first if they are wounded or dead, but then the breeze carries the light sound of snoring to your ears. Beyond this sleeping assembly is a smaller group -- just three men. No, wait... a fourth has just approached them from the distant shadows. He is gently waking the three who had also been sleeping.

The young man looks up at you expectantly.

Ask the youth about "the Master."
Ask the youth about "the others."
Stop talking with the youth.