Dryad Eyes, part 15
2801.
I got it done! I may take a second look at the last scenes when I've had a little sleep, but I'm actually quite happy with this entry as is.
The room was spinning. Treyp could not see, and therefore could not confirm this sensation, but that is what it felt like. It was as though her bed were caught in the heart of a vicious twister, soon to fall into a fairy tale land where she would have to escape a mob of half-sized men and steal a witch's slippers in order to return home. She had always liked that story. It was one that her father had told her often enough for her to clearly remember so many years later. It was a touching tale, if a bit grim in parts. The helpful, flying gorillas appealed to her, but the woodsman that hanged himself in order to bring the apple orchard to life would make her cringe until her dying day.
Arimus was in the room when she fell asleep, Treyp was certain. Then, suddenly, she was gone. Heavy, rhythmic breathing, and the smell of canine, told her that Sharn was sleeping near the foot of her bed. What, by all the Gods, was he doing there? She fretted over this only briefly before her mind began to drift, and she slipped toward the realm of sleep again. For what seemed like several hours, she wavered from resting just beneath the surface of the waking world to a deep, dreamless sleep that did not quite take her. Finally, though it was difficult to hold them open, for what little good it did her, she forced her eyes to open and tried to rise up. She was freezing. The fire popped and crackled a short distance away, but still her teeth chattered and she tried to pull the blankets more tightly about herself.
At the foot of her bed, the great wolf stirred. She imagined that she could see his fearsome head, lifted up and looking over her footboard. In her mind's eye, he looked hungry. What could she do, however, as he rose and walked around to her bedside? Given his size, it took him only a couple of steps. Terror, born of helplessness, coursed through her. However, much to her surprise, Sharn did not bite her. He laid down again beside her bed instead. A few moments later, a wave of warmth flowed over her. Was he helping her?
As drowsiness began to take hold of her again, she tried to find her voice. "Th-thank you."
"Shhh," was his only answer.
Sleep took her. When she came awake again, her throat raw and her head pounding, the wolf was gone. With him, the heat had departed. Treyp wondered if he had really been there at all. It was strange to think of him as kind, after all the talk of eating people, particularly her uncle Geran. She was grateful for it, however, even though he was gone now. After being attacked in the alley and nearly bleeding to death in the snow, she did not care for the cold. Trying to shut it out, she pulled her blanket up, over her head, and tried to rest. The cycle of drifting from asleep to just short of awake began again, and continued for hours that seemed like days. Twice, when the comforting warmth washed over her again, she thought that Sharn had returned, but he was not present when she finally surfaced again.
It was daytime, she thought, but had no way to verify this. Beside her bed, instead of a wolf, was a familiar, comforting presence. He spoke when he noticed her stirring. "Good morning Little Girl."
"Lencu."
He took her hand, swallowing it with his much bigger one. Though his fingers felt like ice sickles, she appreciated the contact. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm tired. I'm cold. I hurt. How are you?"
Geran's other big hand brushed across her forehead, and felt her face. "I am well, thank you for asking."
"I have a fever?"
"Yes," he answered after a moment. Then he added this, teasingly. "That is what you get for picking fights and gallivanting about in the snow the other night."
"Well, you know me." She favored him with a weak smile.
With a soft chuckle, her uncle gently brushed his lips across her knuckles. Though he sat down again, his chair pulled close beside her bed, he did not release her hand. More to the point, she did not release his hand. She needed him just then. Since long before she learned of her father's fate, for years and years, she had looked up to Geran as a surrogate father figure. Often, he was caught up in one adventure or another, but he had always been there for her. He had always come back to her, and made time for her even in the midst of those adventures. In her mind, he represented a kind of stability that her true father, as much as she had loved him, had never been able to provide for her.
A while passed, and her awareness swam to and fro once more. She grumbled a sleepy protest when he removed his hand from hers, but did not come fully awake. That he remained in the room was enough, she decided, and allowed herself to drift back into slumber. Kalibak's face came to her again, and she found herself searching through the trees for the clearing in which she had seen him. A sense of urgency came over her, and she broke into a run. Where was it? Suddenly, a brilliant idea occurred to her. Ask Lencu, she thought, for surely he would know. She came awake as she turned her head toward him, or the spot where he had been. There were no trees here. There was only the pain, the cold, and the soft mattress and pillow beneath her.
"...have to be ready." Geran was saying, some time later. His voice sounded distant, as if he were standing out in the hallway. "When they decide to use what they've learned, if we do not have a ready response for the people to hear, things will quickly go from bad to worse."
Another voice chimed in. At first, Treyp could not place to whom it belonged. Then it hit her; Kurik. "Are you seriously planning on running with that 'adoption' story? People will still talk, you know. They will say that there is only one reason a man of your station would bring her into his home, whatever the pretense."
"Perhaps." Geran agreed, though he was clearly not happy about it. "But it may be that, in this case, an uncomfortable truth is preferable to a destructive lie."
"I don't like it." Kurik stated this after the briefest of silences had passed between them. "She deserves better from you."
"I'm doing what I can."
Something cold and wet touched her face, and Treyp jerked away. She had not realized that she had fallen asleep again, listening to her uncle and the swordsman talk about whatever it was that they had been going on about. Gasping against the pain, radiating from her wounds in response to her sudden movement, she tried to crawl away from it, or to curl up and protect herself from it. A pair of hands, small but not as tiny as Arimus' were at present, took her by the shoulders. One of them still held the damp cloth that had startled her.
"No. No. Easy." Eyrenya told her. Normally overbearing and boisterous, she kept her voice low and gentle. This made Treyp nervous, for some indefinable reason. "Easy."
"Eyren...?"
"Yes, it's me." Her half-dryad, half-nymph cousin answered. Caressing the wounded dryad's face with one hand, she wet the rag again from the bucket that was set upon the chair, and applied it once more to Treyp's forehead. "Try and relax, okay?"
"Lencu was here..."
"Hours ago. He sent for me when he had to leave, and asked me to stay with you tonight." Though blind, Treyp could almost see the smile that accompanied Eyrenya's words. "I would have anyway, of course."
"Thank you."
"Anytime, Nisuco. Always."
The reply that Treyp murmured, meant to be heartfelt, was less than coherent. Even she could tell it. Trying again, she was not sure that she had made any sound at all. If only she could uncover her eyes, this would be easier. She raised her hands to find the blanket that covered her face, but found that her wrists were tied. Growing desperate, and babbling incoherently in the dryad tongue, she yanked against them with all the strength she could muster. It hurt, but they gave a little. Then they hauled back, pulling her arms back down. Distantly, she could hear Eyrenya calling to her, begging her to please, please, please settle down. That made sense, Treyp decided. She was too exhausted for this struggle anyway. Falling back against her pillow, she breathed heavily and allowed her mind to float away on the sea of agony and delirious images that flooded her.
After a time, she began to wonder where Eyrenya had gone. It was not like her to say that she would be somewhere and then not show up. Treyp hoped that nothing had happened to her cousin. She should look for her, she decided, and began to stir. It hurt too bad to keep that up, however, and she relaxed. A moment before she had resolved to try again, the door to her room opened and two sets of feet walked in.
"...shouldn't be getting worse. I don't understand it." Her uncle, Geran, said. He sounded miserable, she thought. It was as if he was a step shy of heartbroken, and a little too close to panic.
"It is some kind of infection, Brother. Whatever it is that is eating at her, it is on the inside." Arimus' oh-so-serious little girl voice sounded very cute, and Treyp tried to laugh. Whatever noise she made caused the speakers to move closer to her, and two sets of hands to check her brow.
"Is there nothing you can do, then?"
"I have tried almost everything I can think of. It isn't responding. I... I'm sorry."
"It isn't your fault, Arimus." From the sounds of rustling cloth, it was clear to the bed-bound dryad that they were sharing an embrace. Geran's voice sounded thick when he at last spoke again. "Stay with her, please. I am going to go speak with Kimera again. Perhaps there is something... "
"Go. I will be here."
With a sudden clarity the likes of which she had not enjoyed in what, in that moment, seemed like forever, Treyp realized that they had been talking about her. What was happening? What infection? A great, dark fear overwhelmed her. She did not want to die. Before, when she had been bleeding in the snow, she had been grateful that she had her sight. Today, even that was denied to her. She could not see, she could not speak, she could hardly think. It was not fair, she wailed inwardly. Then, as she heard the door open, she panicked. No, she cried. In that moment, she wanted Geran to stay. She needed her uncle, and his seemingly infinite strength. Trying, desperately, to call out to him, she reached out in his direction.
Then, very suddenly, he was beside her again. She wanted to sob in relief, and could not be sure that she was not. His hands checked her forehead, smoothed back her hair, and his voice came softly to her ears. "Treyp? What is it?"
"You stay," Arimus said firmly. "I will go find Kimera."
Frustrated by her inability to communicate clearly, the dryad woman finally gave up the attempt. It was probably a relief to her uncle, she considered. How long she had lain there, muttering, mewling, and babbling nonsense, she could not say. Through every second of it, though, he had been hovering over her, talking to her. He asked her what was wrong, if she needed anything, and told her that he loved her. Later, he had talked to her at length of the forest in which they had both grown up. How exhausted he must be, she thought, before her conscious mind finally slipped away from her yet again.
Much later, though she felt certain that not much more than a few hours had passed, Treyp came to just enough to realize that the huge wolf, Sharn, was in the room again. She could feel his blessed, glorious heat flowing across her, warming her. What a marvel it was, to realize that she had a friend of sorts from such an unexpected quarter. As her mind cleared, somewhat, she remembered that her uncle, Geran, had not been gone for long. He had promised to return soon.
When the door opened, her heart leapt. That must be him, returned already. Within moments, she realized that this was not the case. The smell was wrong, and the soft, quiet whimpering belonged to somebody much younger.
"Shhh," Kurik, the swordsman, told the little girl that he loved as if she were his own daughter. "Be strong for her, okay?"
"She looks so bad," Talia replied in a broken voice.
"I know."
"She isn't going to get any better, is she? That is why you brought me."
It was with a sigh and a clearly heavy heart that the swordsman answered this question. "I don't know, dear heart. I really don't."
"I don't want Treyp to die!"
"You listen to me, okay?" Kurik kept his voice gentle, moving the both of them closer to the bed. "We are here because I would not deny you the chance to say goodbye, even if it is just in case. What you need to do, for her sake, is keep her in your heart. Remember that you love her, and why. As long as you do that, no matter what else happens, she will be just fine."
"Even if... ?"
"Even then." He promised sincerely. "Especially then."
Had she any strength left at all, she would have risen then to give comfort to her sad little friend. Dear, sweet Talia, Treyp thought, I love you too. The girl's affection, and the swordsman's conviction, flooded her heart with warmth as real and vital as that which Sharn provided to warm her body. She was loved, she realized. It had never seemed as real to her as it did just then. Surrounded by so many people, and at least one generous wolf, how could she not be okay in the end? It should be so no matter what the outcome, just as Kurik had suggested.
Time passed, and more people came and went. There was Matthew, strong and silent, and her uncle. Eyrenya came often, as did Arimus. Sharn returned often. Sometimes it seemed as though she were lost amid a sea of familiar faces that she could not see. Even her father's face was there, unseen and silent, and she found herself once again searching for that clearing in the woods. Perhaps it was heaven, she thought, remembering that Kalibak had referred to it as the safest place. It was so dark that she could not see the branches that she brushed aside, but she could see the light just up ahead. She was getting close, Treyp knew, so close.
Voices, unexpected and close, cut through the fantasy. Once again, she found that she lay in the same bed exactly as she had been before. The pretty, wavering lights that she had been working her way toward were, in fact, reflected firelight from the window. Though she could see little else, her eyes were beginning to focus. That gave her hope, which swept away most of the disappointment she had experienced over finding the clearing out of reach yet again.
"Her fever finally broke." Arimus was saying, her young sounding voice coming from the blackness that obscured the foot of Treyp's bed. "It is still too soon to tell, but I think she might actually pull through this."
"Thank the Gods," Geran whispered. He sounded twice and twice again his age, just then, but the strength of his feeling was evident. "And thank you, Sister."
"Thank Kimera and that girl, Lithia." She corrected him. "If they hadn't been able to cleanse the infection from her blood, she would not have lasted a third night."
"I know. I know." With one of his big hands, he stroked Treyp's dark, matted hair.
Treyp allowed her eyes to drift shut, enjoyed the sensation, and rejoiced in the news. The clearing would have to wait, she decided. She wanted to live. Were she not so incredibly exhausted that she was already beginning to lose her focus and slip back toward the infinite realm of dreams, she would have been giddy at that thought.
In a future post, the working title for which is 'Dryad Eyes 15.5,' my friends queenthespade and kingofheart will be co-writing some scenes in which some of the characters from this story will interact with Treyp as she recovers.
This song played several times during the creation of this entry.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHU9dN0Itrk
I got it done! I may take a second look at the last scenes when I've had a little sleep, but I'm actually quite happy with this entry as is.
The room was spinning. Treyp could not see, and therefore could not confirm this sensation, but that is what it felt like. It was as though her bed were caught in the heart of a vicious twister, soon to fall into a fairy tale land where she would have to escape a mob of half-sized men and steal a witch's slippers in order to return home. She had always liked that story. It was one that her father had told her often enough for her to clearly remember so many years later. It was a touching tale, if a bit grim in parts. The helpful, flying gorillas appealed to her, but the woodsman that hanged himself in order to bring the apple orchard to life would make her cringe until her dying day.
Arimus was in the room when she fell asleep, Treyp was certain. Then, suddenly, she was gone. Heavy, rhythmic breathing, and the smell of canine, told her that Sharn was sleeping near the foot of her bed. What, by all the Gods, was he doing there? She fretted over this only briefly before her mind began to drift, and she slipped toward the realm of sleep again. For what seemed like several hours, she wavered from resting just beneath the surface of the waking world to a deep, dreamless sleep that did not quite take her. Finally, though it was difficult to hold them open, for what little good it did her, she forced her eyes to open and tried to rise up. She was freezing. The fire popped and crackled a short distance away, but still her teeth chattered and she tried to pull the blankets more tightly about herself.
At the foot of her bed, the great wolf stirred. She imagined that she could see his fearsome head, lifted up and looking over her footboard. In her mind's eye, he looked hungry. What could she do, however, as he rose and walked around to her bedside? Given his size, it took him only a couple of steps. Terror, born of helplessness, coursed through her. However, much to her surprise, Sharn did not bite her. He laid down again beside her bed instead. A few moments later, a wave of warmth flowed over her. Was he helping her?
As drowsiness began to take hold of her again, she tried to find her voice. "Th-thank you."
"Shhh," was his only answer.
Sleep took her. When she came awake again, her throat raw and her head pounding, the wolf was gone. With him, the heat had departed. Treyp wondered if he had really been there at all. It was strange to think of him as kind, after all the talk of eating people, particularly her uncle Geran. She was grateful for it, however, even though he was gone now. After being attacked in the alley and nearly bleeding to death in the snow, she did not care for the cold. Trying to shut it out, she pulled her blanket up, over her head, and tried to rest. The cycle of drifting from asleep to just short of awake began again, and continued for hours that seemed like days. Twice, when the comforting warmth washed over her again, she thought that Sharn had returned, but he was not present when she finally surfaced again.
It was daytime, she thought, but had no way to verify this. Beside her bed, instead of a wolf, was a familiar, comforting presence. He spoke when he noticed her stirring. "Good morning Little Girl."
"Lencu."
He took her hand, swallowing it with his much bigger one. Though his fingers felt like ice sickles, she appreciated the contact. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm tired. I'm cold. I hurt. How are you?"
Geran's other big hand brushed across her forehead, and felt her face. "I am well, thank you for asking."
"I have a fever?"
"Yes," he answered after a moment. Then he added this, teasingly. "That is what you get for picking fights and gallivanting about in the snow the other night."
"Well, you know me." She favored him with a weak smile.
With a soft chuckle, her uncle gently brushed his lips across her knuckles. Though he sat down again, his chair pulled close beside her bed, he did not release her hand. More to the point, she did not release his hand. She needed him just then. Since long before she learned of her father's fate, for years and years, she had looked up to Geran as a surrogate father figure. Often, he was caught up in one adventure or another, but he had always been there for her. He had always come back to her, and made time for her even in the midst of those adventures. In her mind, he represented a kind of stability that her true father, as much as she had loved him, had never been able to provide for her.
A while passed, and her awareness swam to and fro once more. She grumbled a sleepy protest when he removed his hand from hers, but did not come fully awake. That he remained in the room was enough, she decided, and allowed herself to drift back into slumber. Kalibak's face came to her again, and she found herself searching through the trees for the clearing in which she had seen him. A sense of urgency came over her, and she broke into a run. Where was it? Suddenly, a brilliant idea occurred to her. Ask Lencu, she thought, for surely he would know. She came awake as she turned her head toward him, or the spot where he had been. There were no trees here. There was only the pain, the cold, and the soft mattress and pillow beneath her.
"...have to be ready." Geran was saying, some time later. His voice sounded distant, as if he were standing out in the hallway. "When they decide to use what they've learned, if we do not have a ready response for the people to hear, things will quickly go from bad to worse."
Another voice chimed in. At first, Treyp could not place to whom it belonged. Then it hit her; Kurik. "Are you seriously planning on running with that 'adoption' story? People will still talk, you know. They will say that there is only one reason a man of your station would bring her into his home, whatever the pretense."
"Perhaps." Geran agreed, though he was clearly not happy about it. "But it may be that, in this case, an uncomfortable truth is preferable to a destructive lie."
"I don't like it." Kurik stated this after the briefest of silences had passed between them. "She deserves better from you."
"I'm doing what I can."
Something cold and wet touched her face, and Treyp jerked away. She had not realized that she had fallen asleep again, listening to her uncle and the swordsman talk about whatever it was that they had been going on about. Gasping against the pain, radiating from her wounds in response to her sudden movement, she tried to crawl away from it, or to curl up and protect herself from it. A pair of hands, small but not as tiny as Arimus' were at present, took her by the shoulders. One of them still held the damp cloth that had startled her.
"No. No. Easy." Eyrenya told her. Normally overbearing and boisterous, she kept her voice low and gentle. This made Treyp nervous, for some indefinable reason. "Easy."
"Eyren...?"
"Yes, it's me." Her half-dryad, half-nymph cousin answered. Caressing the wounded dryad's face with one hand, she wet the rag again from the bucket that was set upon the chair, and applied it once more to Treyp's forehead. "Try and relax, okay?"
"Lencu was here..."
"Hours ago. He sent for me when he had to leave, and asked me to stay with you tonight." Though blind, Treyp could almost see the smile that accompanied Eyrenya's words. "I would have anyway, of course."
"Thank you."
"Anytime, Nisuco. Always."
The reply that Treyp murmured, meant to be heartfelt, was less than coherent. Even she could tell it. Trying again, she was not sure that she had made any sound at all. If only she could uncover her eyes, this would be easier. She raised her hands to find the blanket that covered her face, but found that her wrists were tied. Growing desperate, and babbling incoherently in the dryad tongue, she yanked against them with all the strength she could muster. It hurt, but they gave a little. Then they hauled back, pulling her arms back down. Distantly, she could hear Eyrenya calling to her, begging her to please, please, please settle down. That made sense, Treyp decided. She was too exhausted for this struggle anyway. Falling back against her pillow, she breathed heavily and allowed her mind to float away on the sea of agony and delirious images that flooded her.
After a time, she began to wonder where Eyrenya had gone. It was not like her to say that she would be somewhere and then not show up. Treyp hoped that nothing had happened to her cousin. She should look for her, she decided, and began to stir. It hurt too bad to keep that up, however, and she relaxed. A moment before she had resolved to try again, the door to her room opened and two sets of feet walked in.
"...shouldn't be getting worse. I don't understand it." Her uncle, Geran, said. He sounded miserable, she thought. It was as if he was a step shy of heartbroken, and a little too close to panic.
"It is some kind of infection, Brother. Whatever it is that is eating at her, it is on the inside." Arimus' oh-so-serious little girl voice sounded very cute, and Treyp tried to laugh. Whatever noise she made caused the speakers to move closer to her, and two sets of hands to check her brow.
"Is there nothing you can do, then?"
"I have tried almost everything I can think of. It isn't responding. I... I'm sorry."
"It isn't your fault, Arimus." From the sounds of rustling cloth, it was clear to the bed-bound dryad that they were sharing an embrace. Geran's voice sounded thick when he at last spoke again. "Stay with her, please. I am going to go speak with Kimera again. Perhaps there is something... "
"Go. I will be here."
With a sudden clarity the likes of which she had not enjoyed in what, in that moment, seemed like forever, Treyp realized that they had been talking about her. What was happening? What infection? A great, dark fear overwhelmed her. She did not want to die. Before, when she had been bleeding in the snow, she had been grateful that she had her sight. Today, even that was denied to her. She could not see, she could not speak, she could hardly think. It was not fair, she wailed inwardly. Then, as she heard the door open, she panicked. No, she cried. In that moment, she wanted Geran to stay. She needed her uncle, and his seemingly infinite strength. Trying, desperately, to call out to him, she reached out in his direction.
Then, very suddenly, he was beside her again. She wanted to sob in relief, and could not be sure that she was not. His hands checked her forehead, smoothed back her hair, and his voice came softly to her ears. "Treyp? What is it?"
"You stay," Arimus said firmly. "I will go find Kimera."
Frustrated by her inability to communicate clearly, the dryad woman finally gave up the attempt. It was probably a relief to her uncle, she considered. How long she had lain there, muttering, mewling, and babbling nonsense, she could not say. Through every second of it, though, he had been hovering over her, talking to her. He asked her what was wrong, if she needed anything, and told her that he loved her. Later, he had talked to her at length of the forest in which they had both grown up. How exhausted he must be, she thought, before her conscious mind finally slipped away from her yet again.
Much later, though she felt certain that not much more than a few hours had passed, Treyp came to just enough to realize that the huge wolf, Sharn, was in the room again. She could feel his blessed, glorious heat flowing across her, warming her. What a marvel it was, to realize that she had a friend of sorts from such an unexpected quarter. As her mind cleared, somewhat, she remembered that her uncle, Geran, had not been gone for long. He had promised to return soon.
When the door opened, her heart leapt. That must be him, returned already. Within moments, she realized that this was not the case. The smell was wrong, and the soft, quiet whimpering belonged to somebody much younger.
"Shhh," Kurik, the swordsman, told the little girl that he loved as if she were his own daughter. "Be strong for her, okay?"
"She looks so bad," Talia replied in a broken voice.
"I know."
"She isn't going to get any better, is she? That is why you brought me."
It was with a sigh and a clearly heavy heart that the swordsman answered this question. "I don't know, dear heart. I really don't."
"I don't want Treyp to die!"
"You listen to me, okay?" Kurik kept his voice gentle, moving the both of them closer to the bed. "We are here because I would not deny you the chance to say goodbye, even if it is just in case. What you need to do, for her sake, is keep her in your heart. Remember that you love her, and why. As long as you do that, no matter what else happens, she will be just fine."
"Even if... ?"
"Even then." He promised sincerely. "Especially then."
Had she any strength left at all, she would have risen then to give comfort to her sad little friend. Dear, sweet Talia, Treyp thought, I love you too. The girl's affection, and the swordsman's conviction, flooded her heart with warmth as real and vital as that which Sharn provided to warm her body. She was loved, she realized. It had never seemed as real to her as it did just then. Surrounded by so many people, and at least one generous wolf, how could she not be okay in the end? It should be so no matter what the outcome, just as Kurik had suggested.
Time passed, and more people came and went. There was Matthew, strong and silent, and her uncle. Eyrenya came often, as did Arimus. Sharn returned often. Sometimes it seemed as though she were lost amid a sea of familiar faces that she could not see. Even her father's face was there, unseen and silent, and she found herself once again searching for that clearing in the woods. Perhaps it was heaven, she thought, remembering that Kalibak had referred to it as the safest place. It was so dark that she could not see the branches that she brushed aside, but she could see the light just up ahead. She was getting close, Treyp knew, so close.
Voices, unexpected and close, cut through the fantasy. Once again, she found that she lay in the same bed exactly as she had been before. The pretty, wavering lights that she had been working her way toward were, in fact, reflected firelight from the window. Though she could see little else, her eyes were beginning to focus. That gave her hope, which swept away most of the disappointment she had experienced over finding the clearing out of reach yet again.
"Her fever finally broke." Arimus was saying, her young sounding voice coming from the blackness that obscured the foot of Treyp's bed. "It is still too soon to tell, but I think she might actually pull through this."
"Thank the Gods," Geran whispered. He sounded twice and twice again his age, just then, but the strength of his feeling was evident. "And thank you, Sister."
"Thank Kimera and that girl, Lithia." She corrected him. "If they hadn't been able to cleanse the infection from her blood, she would not have lasted a third night."
"I know. I know." With one of his big hands, he stroked Treyp's dark, matted hair.
Treyp allowed her eyes to drift shut, enjoyed the sensation, and rejoiced in the news. The clearing would have to wait, she decided. She wanted to live. Were she not so incredibly exhausted that she was already beginning to lose her focus and slip back toward the infinite realm of dreams, she would have been giddy at that thought.
In a future post, the working title for which is 'Dryad Eyes 15.5,' my friends queenthespade and kingofheart will be co-writing some scenes in which some of the characters from this story will interact with Treyp as she recovers.
This song played several times during the creation of this entry.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aHU9dN0Itrk