Nine hours, deep and without dreams, the sleep of a body that had held itself upright too long and was finally allowed to drop.
He woke in the late morning with the light already flat and grey across the floorboards.
There was a note on the sill that had not been there when he closed his eyes.
He read it sitting up in bed.
He did not move on you last night. He is giving you a few more days. He wants to see what you do with them. – S
Alistair read it twice, then held the corner to the candle and watched it curl into ash, and lay back against the wall with his eyes shut.
'A few more days. Of course he is. I handed him the uncertainty myself, so now he gets to enjoy it for as long as he wants, and I cannot hurry him or slow him down.'
He rose, washed, and rewrapped the bruise on his forearm.
