Disclaimer: I don´t own any of Tamore Pierce´s characters…as usual…

A/N: Quite a short chapter but you asked me to update soon…Thank you very much for your nice reviews!I´m glad you like it!

Chapter 7

Alanna sat in the dark room and stared at the bed. George was laying in it but she felt no

impulse to climb in beside him. She wished none of this had happened. She wanted her old

George back.

Since he had returned, he hadn´t looked at her once. Actually he hadn´t looked at anything or

anyone. It was like he was… she didn´t know how to say it… somehow – empty.

She had tried to talk to him, but he hadn´t answered.

After his returning he went straight up to their room where he sat in an armchair, he didn´t

leave for the following four hours.

She had come with him, asking what happened, but he showed no reaction at all. Then she

noticed that his right sleeve was blood soaked and she went to get something to fix it. She

cleaned the wound as well as the scratches in his face and the abrasions on the insides of his

hands and he hadn´t moved an inch not even as she stiched the clash in his arm.

Then she had thrown her things away and yelled at him in frustration.

Nothing.

So she sat in the other chair and cried.

Later he had gotten up and into bed, without a word and had fallen asleep imediately. What

the hell was going on here? She plagued herself with thousands of questions that needed

answering. What had they done to him? Had they tortuered him? Would he ever be normal

again? Or was he going to stay like this forever? She tried to shove that thought out of her

mind but she wasn´t able to banish it for long.

George dreamed.

It was this terrible vision, repeating itself ever and ever again. He wanted to scream, but not a

tone was able to escape his throat. He wanted to fight, wanted to run, but he couldn´t move.

He couldn´t do anything but seeing this again and again.

They would have to chance the covers. He was still dirty, especially his clothes, full of blood

and dirt. He could have changed.

Alanna bit her fist to keep her from crying out loud. It frustrated her that nothing she did or

not did seemed to interest him. She could have slit her throat sitting on his lap and he

wouldn´t even have blinked. She was so tired of this. On the other hand she was sick with

worry and the pain in her heart when he hadn´t even noticed her almost killed her. She needed

changes otherwise she would get crazy. She didn´t really expect him to move so she had to.

When she got up the new day was already dawning. She streched and went over to the

bathroom. She washed, changed, cursed and wished. Her eyes burned, she had cried nearly all

night and she wasn´t able to produce more tears. She came back and stoped in surprise as she

found him gotten up and returned to the chair where he had spend the last evening.

Over the days he had fallen into a trance. He had managed not to feel, not to think, just to be

empty. That was the only way to keep him from thinking about it. His worst fear.

He knew Alanna was crying, He knew he was hurting her. But all that was better than let it

become reality.