Prompt #37 - Sound.
I wondered what had awakened me, until I realised I was alone in the bed. My poor John.
I slipped noiselessly out to his study, where he always went when woken by a nightmare. How I wished he would simply awaken me so that I could share his grief!
But I stopped, not entering, for behind the door I perceived a sound I had not heard in many months – the scratch of pen on paper. Not the slow, methodical scrawling of a letter, but the rapid skittering across a page that signified his stories.
Good, he was finally writing again.