Lion Head Mesa persimmon

Nazli slept through the morning and deep in to the day, missing her usual moment of waking, and did not rise to meet the dawn. She had been given leave for the day; but this wasn't a choice, this sleep. The drinking of the night before had made sleep come readily, and then the inevitable pain which the girl had not expected.

Her head was pounding when she did eventually rise. The alcove was almost too warm and when she tried to slide off of her sleeping furs, she moreso tumbled, and felt as if the world was somehow alive and pulsing.

What spell was this? Had she failed in her role so poorly that she had earned herself a curse? With a moan the girl flopped back among the sleeping furs and tried to find comfort again; within moments she kicked off some layers, twisted one way, then another, and found herself wallowing.