05-13-2018, 11:48 PM
It was quiet in the room, the light of the Ornish moons low in the sky just barely filtering through the window to betray the late hour of the evening. The low sound of waves lapping against the wooden bow of the massive ship provided a gentle, rhythmic background to a content and welcome rest after the sorrow of the return trip from Emnet.
Mistral herself was still, her body--covered by the large, cotton shirt she had earlier usurped--pressed against the warmth of Signus’s bare chest as he slept next to her. His free arm was draped over her side, having quickly found its place after they had dozed off following the intimacy of the earlier evening.
She was distantly aware of the gentle, slow rise and fall of the man’s chest as she stared into the darkness that had settled into the small room--her pupils dilated to absorb what little light was present.
She wasn’t tired. She was sore, yes. Faintly. The after effects of her consumption were at the tail end of their presence, and her arm--still neatly bandaged with the precise expertise only Elliott possessed--periodically twinged.
Not to mention the other reasons.
But she hadn’t been tired in days.
And it was only now, hours after her conversation with Alstroe, in the comfort of a bed next to her husband, that she fully started to realize that she never had to sleep again if she was so inclined.
The woman started to stir, suddenly overcome with a pit in her stomach and a churning desire to visit Symphora and take the wyvern on a moonlit ride through the starry sky where life seemed to stand still--suspended in an eternal freefall. She shifted her legs so that she could slide out from under Signus’s arm and proceeded to ease toward the side of the narrow bed.
The wyvern rider next to her murmured something almost imperceptible as she moved, and his arm secured itself around her waist, pulling her close again as he nuzzled against her hair and gently kissed the back of her neck before once again settling back into the deeper reaches of sleep.
He hadn’t woken.
Her heart skipped a beat, and Mistral blinked as she fell still again. She moved her hand to nudge Signus’s finger, and almost instinctively he wrapped his hand around her’s and gave it a gentle squeeze as he nuzzled into her back again.
She smiled faintly.
However, the pit remained. It was a degree of apprehension she was not entirely familiar with; apprehension that was the side effect of her wandering thoughts as she fully considered the consequences of what she had done.
She didn’t regret it. Not even for a moment. Ultimately, the information that Nathaniel Cain and Allison Harper had possessed was invaluable--a fact that most would recognize, Signus included.
But things were different, for as much as they were the same.
She settled back against her husband’s chest, moving his hand up to her mouth where she pressed her lips against his knuckles as she pulled her feet back into the bed and accepted she wouldn’t be leaving that night.
Very much for lack of trying. For as confident as she was that she could easily slide out of Signus’s embrace without waking him, the momentary desire to do so had just as quickly faded with the realization that, after the worry he had displayed earlier, she didn’t want him to wake up to her being gone.
“Hmph,” she murmured, a small smirk crossing her lips as she shifted her foot to hook Signus’s leg and pull it so she could sandwich it between her own--effectively securing her place as she allowed her eyes to drift shut again, his hand still clutched near her chest.
Now wasn’t the time to worry. Not about this topic. Not when the decision had been made, and her well-being (for as much as she was able to tell) was secure. Not while there were war preparations to be made.
She had acknowledged he was scared, and put motions into place to alleviate that where she could. That was what mattered.
There was no need to admit that somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, so was she.
Mistral herself was still, her body--covered by the large, cotton shirt she had earlier usurped--pressed against the warmth of Signus’s bare chest as he slept next to her. His free arm was draped over her side, having quickly found its place after they had dozed off following the intimacy of the earlier evening.
She was distantly aware of the gentle, slow rise and fall of the man’s chest as she stared into the darkness that had settled into the small room--her pupils dilated to absorb what little light was present.
She wasn’t tired. She was sore, yes. Faintly. The after effects of her consumption were at the tail end of their presence, and her arm--still neatly bandaged with the precise expertise only Elliott possessed--periodically twinged.
Not to mention the other reasons.
But she hadn’t been tired in days.
And it was only now, hours after her conversation with Alstroe, in the comfort of a bed next to her husband, that she fully started to realize that she never had to sleep again if she was so inclined.
The woman started to stir, suddenly overcome with a pit in her stomach and a churning desire to visit Symphora and take the wyvern on a moonlit ride through the starry sky where life seemed to stand still--suspended in an eternal freefall. She shifted her legs so that she could slide out from under Signus’s arm and proceeded to ease toward the side of the narrow bed.
The wyvern rider next to her murmured something almost imperceptible as she moved, and his arm secured itself around her waist, pulling her close again as he nuzzled against her hair and gently kissed the back of her neck before once again settling back into the deeper reaches of sleep.
He hadn’t woken.
Her heart skipped a beat, and Mistral blinked as she fell still again. She moved her hand to nudge Signus’s finger, and almost instinctively he wrapped his hand around her’s and gave it a gentle squeeze as he nuzzled into her back again.
She smiled faintly.
However, the pit remained. It was a degree of apprehension she was not entirely familiar with; apprehension that was the side effect of her wandering thoughts as she fully considered the consequences of what she had done.
She didn’t regret it. Not even for a moment. Ultimately, the information that Nathaniel Cain and Allison Harper had possessed was invaluable--a fact that most would recognize, Signus included.
But things were different, for as much as they were the same.
She settled back against her husband’s chest, moving his hand up to her mouth where she pressed her lips against his knuckles as she pulled her feet back into the bed and accepted she wouldn’t be leaving that night.
Very much for lack of trying. For as confident as she was that she could easily slide out of Signus’s embrace without waking him, the momentary desire to do so had just as quickly faded with the realization that, after the worry he had displayed earlier, she didn’t want him to wake up to her being gone.
“Hmph,” she murmured, a small smirk crossing her lips as she shifted her foot to hook Signus’s leg and pull it so she could sandwich it between her own--effectively securing her place as she allowed her eyes to drift shut again, his hand still clutched near her chest.
Now wasn’t the time to worry. Not about this topic. Not when the decision had been made, and her well-being (for as much as she was able to tell) was secure. Not while there were war preparations to be made.
She had acknowledged he was scared, and put motions into place to alleviate that where she could. That was what mattered.
There was no need to admit that somewhere, deep in the pit of her stomach, so was she.