Bearclaw Valley gardenia and king protea

Evien must be so tired, he thinks. Tired from squeezing his first fight in between getting to know Merrick and Taylor, two people who were indisputably a pain in the ass to get to know, from squeezing in making poultices and taking care of not only himself but other people in Ursus, squeezing in marching and possible war.
He feels guilty for not having left Evien to fall asleep sooner. For a while, he stares at his face, which is turned slightly away from him. His eyelashes flutter, the fine facial muscles twitch. It feels good to be looking at someone and them not knowing that you were looking, in the way nature photographers so lovingly recorded butterfly wings and the flashing red belly of salmon during mating season.
His lids grow heavy. Before he knows it, he slips into unconsciousness, into a smooth and dreamless sleep, with the sun glowing red through his closed eyes.