>>6219363You jolt.
Aware of something warm pressing against your side.
Blinking, your hand reaching out for your sword, the softness of the sheets under your hand.
Where are—
Ah, yes.
The tower in the Thronelands.
Sometimes you feel like you would just wake up inside your sleeping bag, somewhere on the expanse of the Maduan outback, following Master.
Or you will turn to find Willow looking up at the sky.
Memories drip back into your awareness like poison through a wound — all of them bad.
The prayer, the Sanction burning through the last of your energies, Rubida and Soralisa — well, mostly Rubida — carrying you to your room.
But, as your hand settles on your cameo, the curtain of weariness lifts, and you feel more present in your body than you have been in a long, long while.
“Ahh—” you sigh, sitting on the bed, picking up your sword and putting it on your lap. You join your hands, your muscles soft and at the ready. In the dimmest light coming from the dark sky — it must be deep in nighttime — you can barely make out the profile of the walls and your armour sitting forgotten inside the wardrobe, like a common garment.
<span class="mu-i">Who knows what Willow is doing right now.</span>
You hope she’s safe, so when you finally catch her you can give her some nice slap without damaging her too much. Besides, she’s a Strander, she can take it.
It’s too early for morning prayers, and you would rather to share that moment with Rubida and Soralisa, even if Rosandra is going to be present as well.
At any rate, you feel more energised than you have been in a long, long time. Maybe collapsing like that did help your body to absorb the best of sleep or… whatever happens when you do. You never asked Master, and your homeland would just tell you some silly stories about demons sitting on your lap when you have a bad dream.
That’s just ridiculous. You rub your cheek, feeling once more grateful you outgrew such superstitions.
[cont.]
