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The pattering of sleet on the window woke her from her doze.
She burrowed down into the covers... soft, inviting, warm with her heat. She tried to deny that she was awake, to plunge back into her dream. Five minutes passed, counting by her heartbeat, its thundering loud in the darkness. Loud even to her dull ears.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
No, sleep would not be coming soon. Yet the chill outside of her tiny sanctum of warmth discouraged her from crossing over to the window to peer out, or to the door to wander down. Only the pocket of covers and sheets was hospitable, and her hesitation to slip outside of them was as strong as though she'd been tied with rope. She was a prisoner of her own weakness. A prisoner of the failings of mind and body together.
Alandriel drew the covers to her chest as she sat up. Their fabric was ancient, of the comfortable sort that graced beds that had seen much use. Every thread was worn thin and soft, buffed to that pleasing sleek texture by a hundred hundred other sleepers.
It was another reminder of home. The scent of the blankets was alien, but if she closed her eyes tightly enough, imagined herself small and huddled underneath... this could almost be her room. The building, nearly her home. The paltry show of stone and snow outside could nearly be the plaza in the City of Glass that their house had overlooked.
She felt the tears come before the first drops of moisture rose, squeezed her eye shut against them. For a moment she felt she could not hold them back... another failure of will? ... but then, they subsided. Only the ache remained, and even that was fought back after another moment.
...hands on her shoulder... a caring smile...
Three more heartbeats, and she was able to pretend the lapse had never happened.
"..This snivelling indecision is beneath you..."
"Yes," she whispered to the night. "It is."
Covers thrown aside. Bare feet touched the wood of the floor, and she did not flinch. She rose, and stepped over to the window. Amazing, how easy it was once she'd freed herself from the tiny cocoon of security.
Alandriel Ward, noble's daughter now lost, rested her forehead on the window. Her breath fogged the glass, but her eyes could still see clearly out as the patter of sleet changed to snow. Soft snow, once more to cover the stone in a blanket of white.
And she smiled. Not the polite smile she tossed about like silvers thrown to commoners on feastdays. It felt good to really smile, like that. She needed to do it more often.
Her feet brought her over to the desk. Almost as an afterthought, she scratched a message on the parchment, then turned back to her covers.
Five minutes later saw her fast asleep, breathing relaxed and even, an expression of peace settled onto her features. All was silent. And the light reflected off the snow, pinkish and even, illuminated a single statement written on the parchment with an elegant, practiced hand.
I am not alone.
She burrowed down into the covers... soft, inviting, warm with her heat. She tried to deny that she was awake, to plunge back into her dream. Five minutes passed, counting by her heartbeat, its thundering loud in the darkness. Loud even to her dull ears.
Ten minutes.
Fifteen.
No, sleep would not be coming soon. Yet the chill outside of her tiny sanctum of warmth discouraged her from crossing over to the window to peer out, or to the door to wander down. Only the pocket of covers and sheets was hospitable, and her hesitation to slip outside of them was as strong as though she'd been tied with rope. She was a prisoner of her own weakness. A prisoner of the failings of mind and body together.
Alandriel drew the covers to her chest as she sat up. Their fabric was ancient, of the comfortable sort that graced beds that had seen much use. Every thread was worn thin and soft, buffed to that pleasing sleek texture by a hundred hundred other sleepers.
It was another reminder of home. The scent of the blankets was alien, but if she closed her eyes tightly enough, imagined herself small and huddled underneath... this could almost be her room. The building, nearly her home. The paltry show of stone and snow outside could nearly be the plaza in the City of Glass that their house had overlooked.
She felt the tears come before the first drops of moisture rose, squeezed her eye shut against them. For a moment she felt she could not hold them back... another failure of will? ... but then, they subsided. Only the ache remained, and even that was fought back after another moment.
...hands on her shoulder... a caring smile...
Three more heartbeats, and she was able to pretend the lapse had never happened.
"..This snivelling indecision is beneath you..."
"Yes," she whispered to the night. "It is."
Covers thrown aside. Bare feet touched the wood of the floor, and she did not flinch. She rose, and stepped over to the window. Amazing, how easy it was once she'd freed herself from the tiny cocoon of security.
Alandriel Ward, noble's daughter now lost, rested her forehead on the window. Her breath fogged the glass, but her eyes could still see clearly out as the patter of sleet changed to snow. Soft snow, once more to cover the stone in a blanket of white.
And she smiled. Not the polite smile she tossed about like silvers thrown to commoners on feastdays. It felt good to really smile, like that. She needed to do it more often.
Her feet brought her over to the desk. Almost as an afterthought, she scratched a message on the parchment, then turned back to her covers.
Five minutes later saw her fast asleep, breathing relaxed and even, an expression of peace settled onto her features. All was silent. And the light reflected off the snow, pinkish and even, illuminated a single statement written on the parchment with an elegant, practiced hand.
I am not alone.