Daine stared up at the ceiling, watching the birds roost in the rafters, and counting each feather that fluttered down to the floor. It was her first time back in her bed in the rider's barracks in a month, and she wasn't going to be able to enjoy it. She had had difficulty sleeping for a while now, since Carthak if she was honest. It wasn't that she couldn't fall asleep, but she dreaded the dreams that took hold when she did. It was always worse after a day like today...

She flipped onto her side, staring at the wall, and counting each crack in the chinking. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but she fought the urge to shut them. If she closed her eyes she knew what she would see...

His lanky form stepping into her line of site, forcing her to drop her arrow down, and then the cloud of thick yellow fog enveloping him, causing him to disappear...

She felt the tightening in her throat, as she remembered the feeling of panic that had consumed her when she lost sight of him. She could hear her own scream, his name echoing off of the walls of the keep, as she had shifted into the first bird of prey she could think of, a peregrine, and tumbled off the battlements. She had barely caught the wind with her wings, when the yellow fog dissipated, and she could visualize his form kneeling next to the fallen wyvern, his body racking with coughs.

She had flown to him then, the idiot, and landed on his shaking shoulders. She had screeched her dismay, fully intending to reprimand the mage for taking such an unnecessary risk.

The immortal had been in her bow site. She could have easily disposed of the creature before it reached the battlement!

Instead, before she could form another screech, Numair had reached his trembling hand up to stroke her ruffled feathers. "I'm alright magelet," he whispered. Daine had heard in his voice just how drained he was. They hadn't even been a day out from a week's long battle with spidrens when they had received the call home to Corus to deal with these winged legless monsters.

He was as exhausted as her. Yet, he had drained himself further. She fought her growing panic, and gave into her instinctual urge to preen the man, running her beak through his dark locks, and feeling him arch into her touch.

"It's okay sweet" he murmured, closing his eyes, and leaning back on his heels. She had chattered nervously, running her beak repeatedly through his hair, as much to keep him awake as to reassure herself that he was still warm and breathing.

It had taken what felt like ages, but help had finally arrived in the form of two pages. They had loaded the mage onto a prancing gelding, and led him up towards the castle. His body had still convulsed with cough, and Daine had hovered worriedly at his side, preening him. She had ignored his mumbled assurances that he would be fine.

Duke Baird had only just laid Numair onto a too short cot in the healer's wing when the king had burst through the door. Daine, who had just regained her human form and stood in a plain muslin gown usually afforded only to patients, suddenly realized that her king possessed far more resolve than she.

"What were you thinking!" Jon's voice had reached an octave that the girl had never heard before. "Could you not just let it be? Did you have to try to kill yourself to be the hero!" Numair had merely stared at his king, offering nothing but a small infuriating smile. This seemed to set the king off further. His sapphire blue eyes flashed. "archers can do for wyverns as well as you!" He shouted, turning toward the door. "There may well come something that archers can't fight...then I will need you. Don't go bloody get yourself killed!" a bang echoed through the corridor, as the king slammed the door behind him.

Daine had stayed in the healer's wing with Numair until he had drifted off to sleep. Even then she had sat at his side, running her fingers through his hair. She would have stayed there, preening him in her human form, but Duke Baird had insisted she leave to eat and sleep.

So here she lay, counting cracks in the chinking, and fearing sleep. She knew she would dream about losing him. It had been that way since Carthak. Her dreams were usually formless, only consisting of that empty hollow feeling she had felt when Kaddar had told her of his execution.

She couldn't face it.

She thought about going back up to the healer's wing, insisting she be let in, and staking herself at his bedside. But it wasn't appropriate. She knew to do so would only fuel the gossip that already surrounded her in the court.

She found herself longing to be back on the road. On assignment she could sleep across the campfire from Numair, close enough to hear his breathing, and feel the warmth radiating off his form. On the road it was just her and him...and nothing else mattered.

She flipped to her other side, her gaze landing on the door to her tiny storage closet of a room. She sat up, realizing the light leaching through the crack at the bottom of the door was broken up in the middle. She stood, slowly crossing the floor boards, and avoiding the spot that creaked when you stepped on it.

She opened the door; her eyes traveling down to rest on the man sitting with his back against the doorjamb.

"Numair?" she knelt, gently shaking the sleeping mage. "What are you doing here? You should be in the healer's wing." She tried, and failed, to make her voice sound as stern as the king's.

His eyes flickered open, and the ghost of a smile played across his still too pale face. "I am sorry for scaring you magelet." His hand reached up, and his fingers raked through her curls. Daine couldn't help but wonder if he realized they were starting to preen one another in times of stress, just like her bird friends.

"You shouldn't be here," she whispered. "You ought to be in bed...you're in fair enough trouble with the king as it is."

He smiled. "Jon doesn't scare me sweet...but I couldn't rest knowing you were angry with me." His tone was playful, but she could see in his eyes that he was worried. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, and Daine turned her face into his palm.

"I just...just...don't leave me Numair," her voice cracked. She dropped her gaze, ashamed to hear the fear in her voice. Her Gallan accent was heavy. "I'd be fair lost without you. Please don't go where I can't follow."

He took her in his arms then, her head tucked into his chest.

"Never" he whispered, fingers again preening through her curls.

It was with that uttered promise that Daine finally succumbed to sleep.