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You jerked yourself upright, breathing heavy. You’d been sure you were falling from the top of some high place, the rush of wet wind in your eyes…but no. No, you were in the same chair at the same table, only now the sky had but a few streaks of light left in it. Your aunt was with you still, her hands moving over a new labor. The cards had gone and been replaced by a piece of paper, lines and letters incised upon it by a gray-feathered quill. An inkpot, cup of steaming liquid, and a candle kept her company. You blinked hard a few times, your vision expanding and collapsing as your eyes found what focus they could. A shuffle of feet on the ground cocked your head to your right.
Frederic shifted his weight between his right and left legs, hands not quite wringing but trying to keep from washing each other, opening and closing. You grunted, neck sore from falling asleep with your head between your shoulders. You did your best to soften your face for his benefit, remembering how easily cowed he’d been just two nights before. Had it really been only two days? You felt like abandoning the world to sleep again out of spite, but instead you took your tongue around your dry mouth and massaged your eyelids with a thumb and finger.
“Find your voice, Fredon. Does it flee from you when it gets dark or just when you have something important to say?” Your aunt’s voice drifted between you and the boy. “You had plenty to tell me about that girl before the <span class="mu-i">Dormidor</span> awoke.”
Even in the dim light you could make out the blush on Frederic’s cheeks. To the boy’s credit he gathered himself and raised his head high, though he looked slightly above you rather than at you, and gave you his message.
“Zina would like you to remind you to look at the bodies brought in from the Ring. They weren’t drained properly and the cold has helped but they…” He trailed off, still keeping his eyes in the air slightly above you.
“D-did you really do what they said? To the potter’s son?”
You don’t answer him, you don’t say anything at all. Your aunt’s voice was gentle, but tempered with finality.
“Goodbye, Fredon.”
He came to himself, making his sign and walking away as fast he could. You caught him looking back only the once. The quill stopped, the pause in the scratching made you aware of two things. First, that the area of the <span class="mu-i">pèstal</span> around you was uncommonly quiet and empty. Second, there was plenty of activity and commotion just beyond in every direction. The various hymns of work went on in shouts and the sounds of things moving. Wood and glass and rope being tied and angry instructions and laughing and the unmistakable giddiness of wine.
“I thought I’d tell the elders to make us ready and I thought I’d do it without waking you.”
