She's still but for her hands, breath slow and even. The last few rounds of over-under and then she ties the braid off with a little scrap of ribbon, and reaches back to touch his cheek without dislodging him. Not for another moment, at least. Then she slips away, only far enough to lie back against the pillows and draw him down with her. She's already begun the story as they get comfortable, in which she and Flint, already on the road for some time it seems, lose the boat they've stolen and all the supplies they've gathered in a terrible storm and end up on the wrong side of the river where they're forced to pose as a couple of out-of-work circus performers in order to discreetly hitch a ride with a passing caravan.
It's a good story, full of the sort of bad luck that's free to be entertaining because you already know things worked out in the end, and she tells it as near the way he would as she can. But before too long she can't help a yawn and pauses grow longer until finally she asks him again to guess what happens next and is asleep before he answers. For a couple minutes, at least, before she jolts awake. She apologizes with a hand stroked silently down his arm, and then sleeps again quickly enough.
She sleeps close, at first, face against Darras's shoulder, an ankle hooked, an arm draped. The next time she suddenly wakes, tensing with a wary inhale, might not disturb him. But she tosses and turns, too, a rare occurrence, and wakes up at least a half-dozen times during the night. Each time quietly, no cries or flailing limbs, just a sudden shock of consciousness and disorientation and, after the first few times, mounting irritation. Finally, a few hours before dawn (too early even by her standards), she gets up, silently slipping out into the office.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2021-10-13 04:59 am (UTC)It's a good story, full of the sort of bad luck that's free to be entertaining because you already know things worked out in the end, and she tells it as near the way he would as she can. But before too long she can't help a yawn and pauses grow longer until finally she asks him again to guess what happens next and is asleep before he answers. For a couple minutes, at least, before she jolts awake. She apologizes with a hand stroked silently down his arm, and then sleeps again quickly enough.
She sleeps close, at first, face against Darras's shoulder, an ankle hooked, an arm draped. The next time she suddenly wakes, tensing with a wary inhale, might not disturb him. But she tosses and turns, too, a rare occurrence, and wakes up at least a half-dozen times during the night. Each time quietly, no cries or flailing limbs, just a sudden shock of consciousness and disorientation and, after the first few times, mounting irritation. Finally, a few hours before dawn (too early even by her standards), she gets up, silently slipping out into the office.