08-28-2018, 08:18 PM
There were times at this quiet hour when, despite curfew, Nythadri would not be asleep; instead she would be bent over her desk under power-wrought bubbles of light, reading or writing until her mind dulled to numb silence. This was not one of those times. Though the neatly stacked papers of this evening’s studies had not been long departed, she’d fallen asleep almost as soon as she’d crawled into the cold bed. The blankets were drawn up almost over her head, and she was curled tight on her side, arms cradled about her face. Quiet, even breaths sounded in the pitch blackness; the first easy slumber she’d fallen into in a long time. And it was soon to be interrupted.
A sleep-fogged mind never really heard the word that woke her - presumably the whisper of her name - but sudden awareness of a solid shape in the darkness flooded her senses to a spooked alertness. Saidar gleamed first light and then protection, but the latter threads dissolved upon recognition of the face revealed. Elsae!? Fear quietened as quick as it had flared, replaced by sleepy irritability. Already half-way to sitting, heart blaring through her chest, she chucked her pillow at the Accepted in aggravated reflex. “Blood and bloody ashes, Elsae!” The words were a whispered hiss, croaky from sleep. Her brows drew deep over glaring eyes as she sat up fully, pulling her knees up to her chest and pressing her face into her hands. A dull ache throbbed in her head. Light what a lousy way to be woken. Not a funny prank. “What are you doing in here?” Her tone was miserably tired, but already the cocooned warmth of her huddled blankets was fading. Cold snaked across her bare arms, spiking consciousness through the remnants of blissful drowsiness. It was almost certainly not morning, not even close. Yet Elsae was fully dressed. If that damn girl is here to practise the hundred weaves...
She pushed her hands back over her head, mouth in a tight line. Black waves tumbled haphazard waves down her shoulders and back, and framed a pale face grievously unimpressed. This had better be good.
A sleep-fogged mind never really heard the word that woke her - presumably the whisper of her name - but sudden awareness of a solid shape in the darkness flooded her senses to a spooked alertness. Saidar gleamed first light and then protection, but the latter threads dissolved upon recognition of the face revealed. Elsae!? Fear quietened as quick as it had flared, replaced by sleepy irritability. Already half-way to sitting, heart blaring through her chest, she chucked her pillow at the Accepted in aggravated reflex. “Blood and bloody ashes, Elsae!” The words were a whispered hiss, croaky from sleep. Her brows drew deep over glaring eyes as she sat up fully, pulling her knees up to her chest and pressing her face into her hands. A dull ache throbbed in her head. Light what a lousy way to be woken. Not a funny prank. “What are you doing in here?” Her tone was miserably tired, but already the cocooned warmth of her huddled blankets was fading. Cold snaked across her bare arms, spiking consciousness through the remnants of blissful drowsiness. It was almost certainly not morning, not even close. Yet Elsae was fully dressed. If that damn girl is here to practise the hundred weaves...
She pushed her hands back over her head, mouth in a tight line. Black waves tumbled haphazard waves down her shoulders and back, and framed a pale face grievously unimpressed. This had better be good.