Recriminations of her own making...

Probably due to the previous night’s restless slumber; going to bed, awakening only moments after drifting off; wandering the chilly courtyard, only to spy Kiril, also unable to sleep, performing his ritual.

Lethargic, Spring’s actions are automated, her mind cocooned in a fog. Even after their return, she finds sleep eludes her.

Restless, she heads out for a stroll around the big, crumbling building. The moonlight shining almost

as bright as day. Picking her way around the path she is wearing in the sandy rocky soils, her mind unable to focus, she recalls what she can of the day.

She remembers leaving the monastery, early, (did she eat first?), but the next she can remember is being inside the tumbled down ruins of the church in Kalmarane. No recollection of the march there. “It’s sort of disconcerting,” she mumbles. “I hope it wasn’t obvious to the others that I’m not feeling right.”

“I mean, missing those easy shots at dispatching the lich; the cleric? Gads I didn’t even use my rebuke undead spell!” She hopes her travelling companions will assume a deflection spell or other magic working against hers. “At least I hit that snake, that’s got to count for something, right?” She shivers as the cold desert night air flows passed.

Woozy, and grateful that her spells are a part of her, even if they are a little off target, she concentrates, unsuccessfully, on clearing her mind. “The Jin lock was interesting, as is the new...”

Spring slaps her forehead, “Damn! I was so out of it I barely remembered to speak to the new Cleric! She’s probably not happy there’s a Sorcerer in the mix, I hope I didn’t offend her. Constance, right?” She thinks the last aloud. “I must make a point of being more friendly tomorrow.”

She ends her sojourn around the building tiptoeing to her pallet, slips off her leather garments and pulls on a soft linen shirt four times her size, before snuggling under the warm wool blankets, shivering slightly, as the moonlight, entering through the missing roof, bathes the conservatory in a soft glow. She flips onto her stomach, her feet kicking up at her knees. “I wonder what it will be like to have another female around.” She thinks back and all her life she’s been surrounded by males, “Well, and Haleen. She was female, and kind, but not talkative. Maybe all females are like that?” She frowns.

Spring finds herself punching her pillow and rolling from her left to her right and back again, onto her stomach then flipping to her back isn’t helping much either. She can hear the even, soft snores coming from Constance Hardborne’s area. “Was awfully nice of her to accept the uncivilised accommodations so well,” Spring sighs. She lifts herself up on her elbow. Penladan’s corner is quiet although she sees his arm reach up high and fall back, “Dreaming, lucky sod,” she murmurs. Her eyes move to Kiril’s corner, the moonlight just leaving his corner, the truss above sturdy, stretching toward the centre of the massive room.

She lets her mind rove back to the previous night. Was it really only one night ago? A smile crosses her features and a funny tingle churns her tummy as she thinks about Kiril. She turns to her right-side, she can just make out his bedroll off in the other corner. Strange how they all just agreed to their sleeping arrangements. “It gives everyone privacy and yet we’re only a shout away if there’s trouble.” She pulls her hands up under her chin, her breath making clouds in the frigid desert night.

Coming back to the front of the monastery after her daily, well, second daily, only it was night so, nightly stroll, unable to sleep. The reality of losing one of their party weighed heavily on her conscience, not that there was anything they could have done it still bothered her. When Kiril’s movements catch her attention, again. His form silhouetted against the endless dunes.

Spring stops and watches, once again immersed with his movements. And, once again she is not as silent as she thinks.

Neither she nor Kiril got adequate rest last night.

He patiently taught her several methods of protection, (that could assist her during battles, or if she should get caught in melee), that involved Kiril holding her nimble figure against his.

“His hands were warm, callused; his fingers burnt upon my skin like tattoos, I can still feel them,” she dreamily reflects. Her fingers trace the invisible marks. She blushes in the darkness.

She considers how quickly she was forced to display a thorough knowledge and master of those techniques only a scant half-hour later.

She feels her face burn as she remembers why she ran. Why she had to kill two mugwumpies and risk both her own life, and Kiril’s, as he dispatched the last vicious little beast before ...before, she flipped onto her back remembering his arms and how tightly they held her.

Remembering his lips, how soft and firm they were, pressed against hers. Her hands in his hair, pulling him closer, like it was possible, air couldn’t slide between them. The protected sensation she feels when she is near Kiril, brings an ache to her gut; how can she protect him? A sob escapes her before she can keep it back. “What if something happens to him? I couldn’t bear that.”

Wallowing in the pit unable to single out a coherent, rational thought, she flips to her other side and back again. She shivers. She sits up, “He can only tell me to go away,” she considers, gathering her blankets and creeping over to where Kiril sleeps in the shadow of the moon.

She approaches silently, still she senses his eyes upon her as she pulls the blankets behind her. She sees him lift up onto one elbow, unaware the moonlight behind her makes the nightshirt she wears all but opaque.

Bending her lean legs, kneeling in front of his half-sitting form, “May I sleep with you tonight,” her voice catches as she realises how hard her heart is beating. She hopes he won’t send her packing...

o0o