It was useless to try and sleep. Not that the hard earth was uncomfortable beneath her body. She'd been sleeping out-of-doors all her life. And the thin bedroll protected her from prickling pine needles and tiny pebbles. And it wasn't that the night lacked peace around her. The sounds of the wood in the deep hours just before dawn were as familiar as anything to her ears. The leaves whispering in the cool wind that rolled eastward, the far-off rattle of a frog's song, the subtle snap of a twig as a fox passed through the gloom nearby.
Was he sleeping? His form was a shadow among shadows; unmoving and silent.
She wanted to stir him again, to ask him questions, to dump the excess of her worry on his ears. To apologize for being so...stupid? No, she didn't feel stupid. Or did she? No. This was the default feeling whenever things became difficult. Whenever she sensed her own vulnerability and imperfection and helplessness. That it was stupid. That she was stupid. But even in the midst of being held in the grip of this bitter, hurtful mood, she knew, deep down, that it was not stupidity.
Her mouth tasted sour. She despised the flavor of wine. Her hand fumbled about in the grass until it found her waterskin again. Uncorking it, she impatiently thrust it between her lips to chase away the lingering, fruity remnants of what had been drunk from his flask. She laid her head back down upon her layered hands and waited. Waited for the wine to lull her towards unconsciousness. Waited for the eastern sky to become grey and fuzzy with the promise of morning. Waited for her thoughts to stop replaying disjointed images of people she couldn't recall and bodies falling to the ground.
She wanted to reach out and take his hand. Not to disturb him. Only to seek a little comfort. She forced her eyes closed and recalled the sound of his voice, for it had been oddly calm and soothing while she wrestled with hysteria. It would be all right, he said. Everything would be all right. In the absence of a hand to grasp, this replaying voice would suffice.
After a time, her lips began to move silently as she mouthed the words to herself. An hour passed. She rolled over, grunting in weary frustration, and curled into a new position. Another hour dragged on with agonizing slowness. Her mind wandered into the murky shadows of near-sleep, where thoughts arose unbidden, straying along trails she couldn't control. Now and again, she would muster the mantra, his voice repeating in her skull, forcing back the fearful images. Little by little, her restlessly moving lips went still, and her breathing evened out, and sleep came.
