Page 123 of Bound
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There was a hand on her shoulder. Not an annoying tickle—although its presence was enough to suggest the owner of that hand wanted her to wake. But it was present. Firm. And as much as she had no interest in going back to the waking world with all its pains and throbs, she did not entirely dislike the touch itself.
Not as far as touches went.
“Wren,” came the deep rumble. Apologetic, yet... urgent.
Her eyes opened because that must mean something was wrong with Calliope or Temperance, and she couldn’t abide that.
“Hush,” Braum murmured, his thumb moving ever so slightly. Gentling. Soothing. “They are fine. A bit cross when I told them they wouldn’t go out, but they even let me do the milking.”
Her lips pressed together. “Then why are you making me wake up?”
His hand moved. Away from her shoulder and rested gently on her wing.
She hissed.
Shoved away from him with a glare. “That was mean.”
His eyes were infuriatingly sad. “It would mean to let you lie here while it heals badly.”
She shrugged. Well. Wanted to shrug. But it was half-formed and quickly aborted once she felt her muscles scream at even that movement. “Not like they’re much use anyway. So it’s a little limp afterward.”
But even she knew that was foolish. To cripple oneself out of stubbornness, even if the appendage was rather poorly formed to begin with.
“Wren,” Braum repeated, this time with a tinge of impatience. “You need a healer. A good one.”
“I suppose,” she groused, but it sounded thin and not at all as she intended. Almost... almost an agreement.
Merryweather moved to stand on her back, and she did not have to open her eyes to know that she was pushing out her head to summon Braum to give her a pat.
“I do not want to leave you,” Braum admitted. “Somehow I do not think Merryweather would make a good nursemaid.”
Wren rubbed at her eyes. She did not particularly want a healer here. And she did not like the idea of Braum leaving either. Which was...
She didn’t know.
She’d reason it out later. Besides, if he left there would be no hand on her shoulder to wake her, and that was good. Wren felt she could sleep the day through. Maybe the next.
Braum couldn’t stay that long, surely. He’d have to go back to his lots and see to the trees. But she could pretend, as she felt the whisper of his palm down her back that he would be there, and she could rest and sleep and everything would get done and she didn’t have to worry about any of it.
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“Sweet,” Da called.
It was a dream, surely. He had no business coming—especially not in the middle of a gale. And if it was a dream, she could ignore him. Settle deeper into her blankets and sigh and pretend she didn’t feel the aching of her wing.
“Healer’s here, and he’d rather have a look at you awake.”
Her brow furrowed, and she opened one dry eye. Even that hurt, so she closed it again. Had Braum brought her a shift from upstairs? She couldn’t remember. She’d meant to ask him for it, but... hadn’t. Or had she?
Opening her eyes revealed little since she was pressed into the mattress, unwilling to move enough to even see just how naked she might be.
“M’ wing hurts,” she muttered, the herbs dulling her senses. The pain too, but also made her words seem rather far away. Another attempt to open one eye, squinting because that was her father, wasn’t it? “How’re you here?”
He smoothed a lock of hair away from her forehead, his brow furrowed. “Never mind that now.” Da’s voice lowered, and he leaned down so his voice was only for her. “We won’t even talk about the strange man I found in your house. The one that’s reluctant to tell me what his purpose is with you.”
If she’d had the strength to feel embarrassed, she would have. But instead she gave a sort of grunt as she felt the covers pull away from her back, and cool, knowing fingers pressed and considered her injury.