Thirty-seven – 01

[This post is from Marin’s point of view.]

The closer I got to term, the worse the nightmares started to get—except I didn’t realize I was having them at first. Everyone else noticed how much more tired I seemed to be, but we really just chalked it up to my advancing pregnancy.

Thom was the one who realized that it was nightmares.

He’d come in from taking a late watch on the wall and found me twisting and trashing, talking in my sleep. I’d settled as soon as he touched my arm, finding deeper sleep quickly, but when I woke the next morning, I was exhausted—and didn’t remember dreaming at all.

The next night it happened again, but he woke me and I knew that I’d been dreaming and that it hadn’t been good.

Something about all of it scared me half to death, truth be known.

At least it was quiet—for now, anyway. Thom and the others had wasted no time now that the weather had broken in building anything and everything they could. With luck, by the time we faced another winter, our home would be far stronger and more substantial.

We’d come a long way since that awful summer day.

Somehow—visions, instinct, whatever it was—I knew we still had thousands of miles to go.

But at least we had a start.

Despite my exhaustion, despite the nightmares I didn’t remember having, despite my advancing pregnancy, no one could keep me from walking the words, from working on them. No one really said anything but I also knew no one was really comfortable with what I was doing.

I decided I didn’t have a choice.

Thom’s mark on our home was everywhere. Mine was the one you couldn’t see, but you could sure as hell feel.

I’d keep working on those wards until I couldn’t anymore, nightmares, pregnancy, illness notwithstanding—come what may, I’d be working on those wards.

No one was going to stop me.

No one could.

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