Page 121 of Bound
Harquil weren’t meant to fall. Even a fledgling could slow their descent from almost the beginning.
Humans were meant to keep their feet staunchly on the ground.
She was neither. Or both. She’d only been doing what was necessary.
Was she crying? That could go too, because it made her head pulse with each beat of her heart, and she’d rather go back to sleeping if it meant waking to this.
She wasn’t alone. She didn’t know why that was so apparent to her, not when she kept her eyes tightly closed and desperately sought some sort of comfort in this bed. It didn’t feel like hers. It wasn’t soft and welcoming, it was...
There was nothing for it.
She peeled one eye open and was met with Merryweather’s face almost directly at her own, her eyes wide and nervous as she looked up at her.
“’ello,” Wren murmured, reaching out a hand so she could offer a little comfort to her. “’m all right.”
Or would be. Once she could get to her feet and shuffle to the kitchen for some of her mother’s herbs.
She sat up. There were quilts all about her, and she squinted at them in some confusion. Her feet were not touching the floor, which was another oddity given the height of her bed.
These were Mama’s quilts. From her bed.
“Tell me what you need and I’ll fetch it for you.”
Perhaps it was a testament to her befuddlement that she didn’t startle at his voice. Or maybe it was that... she expected it would be him that found her.
She was in the kitchen. On the table. She opened the quilts tucked about her and then closed them hastily again as she caught sight of herself.
Wren swallowed, her mouth too dry.
Her worries were vague, unformed things. About what it might mean to have been naked, to have been defenceless. But it had happened to her anyway, even when she wasn’t freshly fallen from a roof. When she’d worn clothes and...
She sighed deeply, rubbing at her head and wincing as her wing shifted. “Herbs. Small canister on...” Directions failed her, so she pointed instead. “That one.” He looked to her for confirmation. “Is there warm water?”
He put the canister down and moved the kettle closer to the fire. It was a large one—much more robust that the ones she usually made. “There can be.”
“Good,” she managed, feeling more exhausted than she cared to admit.
She got off the table, not at all certain why he’d put her there when she had a perfectly good bed upstairs.
Except...
Her eyes welled.
“I didn’t shut the window.”
Braum turned, a mug in his hand. “No, but I did.”
Her throat burned. “How bad is my room?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed. Or laundered. By me.”
She was supposed to argue about that. Remind him he did not live there and most certainly was not going to be attending to her bed linens. But words were an effort, and that was a discussion they could have later.
She made it to her feet. Found they could support her well enough when she leaned her hip against the table. “Wren,” Braum chastised, his voice a little sharp. “You should not be up yet.”
“I hurt,” she informed him curtly. She hadn’t meant to be brusque, but it was far too true to allow for niceties. “I’m going to bed.”
“You need the warmth,” Braum argued, coming around the table so he could grasp her elbow. “You were chilled through when I found you. Let me...” She turned tired eyes to him and waited. Watched as his shoulders sank ever so slightly and his voice softened. “Would you like the bed in front of the fire? I’ll put everything back how it was, after. I should have done that before...” There was a crease between his brows, and she should ask how long he waited for her to wake up. How long she was lying out in the yard before he came.