"The midnight hour, and all is we-ell."
Her visitors didn't ruffle a feather at the watchman's call. Two weeks of sitting in windows and listening to humans come and go had a way of desensitizing even their delicate ears to the strange ways of the Two-Legger world. The barn owl, in from her brief evening's hunt, alighted on the sill next to a pair of grey squirrels-- To anyone not familiar with the ways of this new animalian world in Tortall, that sight would be unnatural.. to say the least, thought the dark-haired man sadly, similar to the creatures in that he, too, had taken up a bedside vigil. 'Unnatural', though, had come to mean many things to him over the past three years.
"She hasn't stirred this evening," he said to no one in particular.
Always willing to voice her opinion, the lithe dragonet chirruped a weary answer. Numair shifted his line of focus to Kit, curled comically in a scale-and-wing ball at the end of the bed. Mountains of quilts upon valleys of blankets served a double purpose, as dragon nest and an extra source of heat for the brown-haired figure buried within them. The mage's own magic kept the room an even temperature despite a number of open windows which allowed Daine's vigilantes from the People to come and go as they pleased. Numair cast his eyes over the cold plates of food that friends had left in hopes that he would be tempted to eat; hunger pangs were quickly dulled by those of worry. Worry that her sleep had lasted too long, worry that things were changing faster than either of them could keep pace with. He thanked Shakith that the treaties were going well enough that his presence wasn't needed. Though there were many who would have gladly taken his place that night and all the other nights, he felt that it was his duty alone. If she were to wake up, it would be his hand that she touched first; his face her eyes would light upon. If she were to wake up. If.
"Magelet." All the Gift in the world couldn't necessarily wake a half-comatose body. The mage didn't know if love could. He shifted in the great old chair, drawing his legs up and draping them over the armrest. For all the world he looked like a little boy, waiting patiently for Midwinter morning to come so he could open his presents. His dark lids lowered for a moment, sleep never really coming, never really staying. The creatures dozed comfortably, though-- the courage Numair lacked was matched by the faith the People felt. It was only a matter of time. What happened when those blue-greys opened again, though, could be anyone's guess.
Thanks, all, for reading. I'm brand-new to FanFiction in general, so please keep that in mind when launching into my faults and failures, hehe. I'd like to thank a certain Miss Grober for her excellent editing work: she is aspiring to a career which I believe suits her very well. I love ya, Steph! Oh, and as for my writing.. there's more to come, obviously. This is the story I have always wanted to write about my favorite characters created by Ms. Pierce (to whom I must give credit for her amazing books). Let me know how you feel about this piece, and once again—thanks for taking a little look-see. -Scout