[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]
“Ungh. I’m hungry.”
At first, he thought he was hearing things. He thought the sound of her voice was a figment of his imagination as he jerked from a sound sleep. His dream-addled brain tried to make sense of what he thought ‘d just heard as Thordin blinked blearily, twisting in the chair he’d slept in. He hadn’t meant to doze off, of course, but it had just happened, an accident born of long nights and a full stomach—and skipping coffee at breakfast.
Sif was awake, staring up at the ceiling but not moving much, complexion pale but eyes very much open.
I’m still asleep. I’m still dreaming.
“What day is it?”
Okay. Maybe I’m not still asleep and maybe I’m not dreaming. Shit. Holy shit. Christus.
“You don’t want to know,” he told her, chair scraping against the floorboards as he stood up. “What can I get you?”
“What do I want, or what can you get me?” One corner of her mouth curved into a faintly teasing smile, one that made his heart give a painful, if hopeful, squeeze. She was just so pale. “Don’t look so stricken, Thordin. I’m not dead.”
His fingers laced through hers and squeezed hard. “You could have been. You nearly were.”
“But I’m not,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. “I’m still here, like I said I would be. It’s all right.”
“Are you?”
“I will be.” Her eyes blinked open again and she smiled faintly at him, reaching up with one hand for his face, fingers shaking slightly. The tremors seemed to surprise her, a faint frown creasing her forehead. “Though it seems that I’ll take some time.”
“You were out for a while,” Thordin said again. Sif sighed.
“Apparently.” She studied him for a few seconds. “Since you asked, breakfast. Something hearty and hot.”
Thordin smiled crookedly. “Breakfast I can do.”
Beautiful way to begin the weekend.
Merry Christmas, Erin.
Merry Christmas!