Audrey was sitting next to her bed, sponging the stranger's tired face, when it happened for the first time. The man's eyes fluttered open, gazing at her without focus, and his hand, resting on the blanket, rose a fraction of an inch into the air. She nearly leapt into the air, knocking the contents of her lap onto the floor, but stopped herself, not wishing to break her only basin or to startle the man in her bed. Instead, she carefully placed the basin on the low bedside table, stood, and then sat herself on the bed next to the man. He was blinking around at the room, and Audrey was unsure whether or not he actually saw his surroundings. She took his hand in hers and leaned closer to him.
"Can you hear me?" she asked softly. "Are you awake?"
The man's lips moved, but she could not hear what he was whispering. She leaned down, her ear so close to his mouth that they almost touched, and strained to hear him, but no sound came from his moving lips. She straightened up again, brushing the man's hair from his forehead, and looked into his eyes. They were a beautiful blue, the color of her faded denim jeans, and yet behind all their beauty there seemed to be an overwhelming sadness.
Audrey pursed her lips. She wanted so badly to speak to this man, to hear his tale and to share her own, and to find out what all that sadness was, lurking behind those bombardier's eyes.
She frowned to herself. Bombardier's eyes? Where had that thought come from? She had used the word "bombardier" perhaps three times in her entire life, and yet that word came into her mind at that instant as if it were part of her daily vocabulary. And, somehow, it was the perfect description for his beautiful eyes, which, she saw, had again closed.
She let go of his hand and sighed. She stood, taking up the basin, and left the bedroom.
In the kitchen, Audrey wrung out the rag she used to bathe the stranger and rinsed it and the basin. Sam trailed in a moment later, his tail wagging and his friendly face split into his doggishly handsome grin. She smiled down at him, then looked past him into the small bedroom at the man sleeping in her bed.
Audrey longed for the stranger to recover. She had been sleeping in her rocking chair for close to two weeks now, and she was aching for her comfortable mattress and cushy pillow. More than that, though, she longed for company. Since the snowstorm began, she hadn't been able to venture out very far, just to the barn and back to care for her other animals, and she hadn't spoken to any of the other Calla-folken since the stranger's arrival.
Audrey dried the basin and set it on the small kitchen table, then crossed to the stove where a soup pot full of broth was simmering for supper. She gave it a stir, then sat at the table with her knitting. She was working on a warm woolen sweater for the stranger to wear. The weather outside necessitated warm clothing, and the man had shown up in dirty, torn jeans and a thin cotton shirt that was practically ripped to rags. The jeans, at least, had been salvageable; a few patches and a good thorough washing had been enough to make them fit for wear again.
She knitted contentedly with one eye on the simmering soup, singing the Gaelic lullaby to herself as her needles clicked and flashed, churning out a tight cable knit square that grew larger with each passing minute. Sam, lying quietly beneath the table, gnawed on a ham bone he had been given as a special treat.
Maybe tomorrow, she thought to herself, she would finally get to meet the man who had consumed so much of her time and thoughts these last two weeks.
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