The ache behind Lucavion's eye faded slowly.
It withdrew in uneven pulses, leaving a dull pressure along his temple and the lingering impression of rain striking a window that did not belong to his dormitory. He kept his fingers against the blanket until the room settled into its proper shape again: the low ward-lamp, the open pane, the pale curtain moving in the winter air.
Vitaliara remained upon the windowsill.
She had respected the gesture asking for silence, though her attention never left him. Her golden eyes followed each change in his breathing, and the tip of her tail had gone still against the stone.
When Lucavion finally straightened, she waited another breath before stepping down.
Her paws met the floor without sound. She crossed the room, leapt onto the bed, and stopped near his knee rather than returning to her earlier place beside his wrist.
[Does that happen often?]
Lucavion lowered his hand from his temple.
'Often enough.'
[That is not reassuring.]
