I drifted hazily in and out of the darkness of sleep. As I awoke, I would hear snippets of conversations, but it didn't take me long to put together what was happening in my head.
"...been out too long..."
"...will she wake up?"
"...fever hasn't dropped..."
From these, and the glimpses I caught through brief periods of opening my eyes, I gathered that I was in a hospital, and that my situation wasn't what it could, or should, be. But still, I was comforted by the Watcher's presence. He (or I thought of it as a "he". It seemed masculine to me, somehow) was still there, although I could sense that he was troubled, more so as the days went on.
Finally, I judged I had been there for about a week when I felt my temperature abruptly begin to rise. I was fully awake for the first time, and it was getting harder to breath. I could feel the Watchers anxiety, for it appeared that there were no doctor or nurses about. I, however, was very calm. It seemed to me that I was dying, and the thought didn't trouble me as much as it probably should have. I was ready for rest.
But rest was not mine to have, for at that moment, I could feel cool hands on my forehead, bringing my fever down drastically, and relieving my sudden headache as well. Something seemed quite intent on taking my life, for even as the cool hands brought me comfort, my chest constricted even more. I sensed that who ever my salvation was knew this, for one hand was brought down from my forehead to place itself just below my collarbone.
Instantly I could breath, and did so in great, gasping breaths. I could still feel the hands, so I looked up to see who my savior was, and, once I got my breath back, to thank him or her.
The room was empty to my sight.
But even as I was about to scream, whimper, do anything to attract a nurse or a doctor, words began to weave themselves through my head.
"Fear not, for I am the one you call Watcher. You do not know me, but in time you may..."
I managed to gasp out in a hoarse whisper, "Who are you?"
A slight chuckle reverbrated through my psyche., and these words floated through my head.
"The hands of the king are the hands of a healer."
And I knew no more.
"...been out too long..."
"...will she wake up?"
"...fever hasn't dropped..."
From these, and the glimpses I caught through brief periods of opening my eyes, I gathered that I was in a hospital, and that my situation wasn't what it could, or should, be. But still, I was comforted by the Watcher's presence. He (or I thought of it as a "he". It seemed masculine to me, somehow) was still there, although I could sense that he was troubled, more so as the days went on.
Finally, I judged I had been there for about a week when I felt my temperature abruptly begin to rise. I was fully awake for the first time, and it was getting harder to breath. I could feel the Watchers anxiety, for it appeared that there were no doctor or nurses about. I, however, was very calm. It seemed to me that I was dying, and the thought didn't trouble me as much as it probably should have. I was ready for rest.
But rest was not mine to have, for at that moment, I could feel cool hands on my forehead, bringing my fever down drastically, and relieving my sudden headache as well. Something seemed quite intent on taking my life, for even as the cool hands brought me comfort, my chest constricted even more. I sensed that who ever my salvation was knew this, for one hand was brought down from my forehead to place itself just below my collarbone.
Instantly I could breath, and did so in great, gasping breaths. I could still feel the hands, so I looked up to see who my savior was, and, once I got my breath back, to thank him or her.
The room was empty to my sight.
But even as I was about to scream, whimper, do anything to attract a nurse or a doctor, words began to weave themselves through my head.
"Fear not, for I am the one you call Watcher. You do not know me, but in time you may..."
I managed to gasp out in a hoarse whisper, "Who are you?"
A slight chuckle reverbrated through my psyche., and these words floated through my head.
"The hands of the king are the hands of a healer."
And I knew no more.
