Warm light filtered through the window above, golden and quiet. The scent of antiseptic herbs mingled with the aroma of porridge place on the table close to the table. Somewhere outside, he could hear hushed voices moved back and forth. It was too peaceful.
Zyran eyes snapped open.
Pain flared through his side the wound still raw beneath fresh bandages but he forced himself to sit up,his heart heart hammering. He was in a well furnished room, but he didn't have the time to think much into it.
His hand instinctively moved to his side. The dagger wound was bound. His legs splinted but intact. His breathing was strained, but steady.
He was alive. They were rescued from the debris, and "Amira?" he called, voice cracked and dry.
There was no answer.
