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The day had been long and wearying, on both body and mind. Athwen felt exhausted as she sat beside Sythric who now slept. She could not exactly account for the weary feeling, for she had really done surprisingly little. There had been nothing for her to do, except for keep the fire going, prepare food, and sometimes lug water. That job was often given to Osmod, Fion, or Dorran, who could all carry quite a bit of water far more easily than Athwen.
Meghan had dozed off some time before supper. No one woke her. The wounds were all bandaged and looked after, nothing else had to be done, and she needed the sleep. A quiet settled over the camp. People said very little. Athwen and Dorran prepared the evening meal with silence between them. Brand woke long enough to eat some of the watery soup and then went back to sleep. Sythric did not come back to consciousness.
Athwen sat with her knees drawn up and one hand looped around them. Her other hand held a warm cup in her hand with steam rising out of it. She sat close to Sythric, watching for any change in his sleeping while at the same time, observed the sky changing colors and growing darker.
Meghan stirred nearby and then slowly sat up. She looked about her, blinking the sleep away, first glancing towards Brand and then to Sythric. Her eyes settled on Athwen. ‘How does he fare? Has he been awake at all?’ she asked.
Athwen shrugged slightly. ‘No, he hasn’t woken. I don’t know how he does. He seems to sleep peaceably enough. . .but I can not read a fellow’s health by his sleeping face.’ She looked at Sythric. Surely she would know, she thought. If his face held any trace of pain or uncomfortable sleep, she would know. ‘You slept quite a while,’ she went on, turning back to Meghan. ‘Would you like some tea? And there is soup left for you. I made sure that not all of it was eaten.’
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