I am a Writer by the Name of Crayg

This is a tale of an Adventeurer,
Cruel and Unusual, some would call her
I'd rather say she's more like the black plague,
I am a writer by the name of Crayg.

I am a bard, of the Lizardfolk breed,
I've seen Petunia through bleed, mead, and through all her bad deeds
And through every encounter, and every feat,
Petunia's come out on top,
of every monster she's beat.

"CRAYG! STOP WRITING IN THAT BLASTED BOOK AND CARRY MY BACKPACK!"
A gruff voice yanked Crayg from his book, and he in turn knocked the ink pot from its place on the makeshift table he'd created from a piece of lumber and two shin-height rocks. He rubbed at the back of his neck with a scaly palm, groaning at the mess he'd made of his paper, and quickly lifted it from the puddle, hoping to salvage the binding from the black death itself. "Yes, Miss Petunia." He hissed softly through his teeth, gingerly folding the book and rising before Petunia had enough time to call for him again. He exited the tent to find Petunia, A young Lizardfolk fighter with broad shoulders and a massive battleaxe mounted between her shoulder blades, holding her backpack out to him already, her free hand on her hip. "What took you so long? we need to take down the tent and get moving, Craygery. Stop fuckin' around and let's go." She didn't give him time to make his response, turning and gesturing to the campfire. "Put that out for me, would you?"

Crayg hissed again, but obeyed, approaching the fire and holding his hands over it ceremoniously; a few sparks lit about his palms and they glittered a bit as he cast his spell, water appearing beneath them and quelling the fire. The steam and smoke that met him choked him, and he stumbled back, coughing and wheezing as he waved his arms to clear the smoke. All that was left behind were damp coals, at least. He brushed his tunic off with a soft sigh, and turned to find Petunia tearing up the stakes that held the tent in place. "Petunia, don't--" But before he could stop her, the last stake was pulled, and the tent collapsed, trapping its contents inside.

"What? It's easy to carry this way!" Petunia protested, placing her hands onto her hips and scowling. "Do you have a problem Crayg?"
Crayg wrinkled his snout. "Yes, actually, I--"
He found her axe pointed his way; he gulped audibly and looked down at his feet, shaking his head.
"Good!" She huffed, collecting the cowhide tent into a bundle and throwing it unceremoniously over her shoulder.
"Let's go, then, hm?"

The pair set off, Petunia leading and Crayg at the back.