Bearclaw Valley mesmeric revelation

the sentiment is much like her father's, and for the briefest of moments, she let her mouth relax into a small smile. me too, she responds, and contentment falls around her like her mother's embrace. warm, soft. she is fevered, true, but she is beginning to give in once more to the haze, the constant pull of sleep.

eventually, her eyelids droop so far that all that remains of her gaze is two indigo slits. then they fade, too, as she takes a deep inhale and then lets it out at the very edge of sleep, her ribs easing into it. the nightmares would come, eventually, but for now, all is peaceful.

and Ashlar would get no verbal thanks, nor goodnight—but it is only because she doesn't know quite how to say it.