A day had passed.
One whole day.
She had prayed and prayed and prayed. She had given up breakfast and lunch in favor of standing in the cold water of the spring, hands clasped together, eyes shut in concentration.
She had longed to feel something. Anything! But all she felt was the water and the chill in the air.
"Curse you," she had said, slamming her fists into the water.
He had offered her a hand to get her out of the water, and she had accepted it without looking him in the eye. He silently dried her and handed her new clothes.
They now sat mute by the fire he had kindled, watching the flames.
She yawned. He immediately got up, retrieved their bedrolls, and laid them on the ground. She was quick to lay down on hers, eager to get some sleep after her failure. He followed suit on his own bedroll.
Several minutes passed, but sleep evaded the both of them. So much yet so little had happened that day. And the night was uncomfortably cold.
She hesitated for another few minutes before standing once more and approaching where he lay. She laid down next to him.
He instinctively moved to give her room without complaint. Nothing about how improper it was. Nothing about he preferred privacy. She pressed as close to him as possible, her nose practically stuck in his chest. She felt his hand comfortingly move up and down her back.
And they slept.