A branch snapped when she moved and the bear's head swung toward them. It snarled and lunged forward, and he shouted her name and tried to pull her back, out of the way of the slashing claws. She fired arrow after arrow into the bear but it didn't stop, only roared and swiped. She staggered backward and he caught her as she fell, hands over the bleeding wounds on her stomach. Her eyes were full of tears, staring past him into the sky beyond, and he held her close, arms around her shoulders. He became aware of a sound and eventually realized that it was his own voice chanting nonononononono. She tried to smile up at him, though it was more of a grimace, and reached up for his cheek with one bloody hand.
It was only a dream, he knew deep in his brain, though the terror felt real. He reached out blindly for her, her shoulder under its rough cloak or the mass of her hair, just to assure himself that she was there and safe. But she wasn't there, and he sat up, heart pounding, to remember that he was at home and she was at home and that there were hundreds of miles between them. He had no way of knowing if she was safe or not, if she was sick or hurt or lonely. All he had was the hope that she was fine and that he'd see her in a few more months.
There was no way he was going to fall back asleep now. He shuffled from his bed and down the stairs. It was just a dream. She's fine. She's asleep in bed because it's the middle of the night and that's what normal people do. He pictured her room in the castle and imagined her asleep on the bed, her hair spread over the pillow. He'd seen her asleep enough to know what she looked like: curled on one side, hands tucked under her head, lips slightly parted. He felt calmer picturing her like that, peaceful in slumber.
He dropped onto the couch and stared into the embers of the fire until they became her dancing, laughing, alive. Only then did he close his eyes.
