'Wake up.'
Godfrey's eyes snapped open, and he sat upright in a blur before realising he was lying on a bed in an unfamiliar room. Gradually, his memories filled in the blanks. This was Isolde's room, and he remembered returning here with her.
His heart pounded loudly, each beat bringing a faint throb of pain that made him press a hand against his chest. He drew several deep breaths and exhaled through his mouth until the discomfort subsided and his mind cleared.
Strength had returned to his bones and vigour to his spirit. Finally, he felt alive again.
"He's still asleep. I don't think we should wake him," Isolde said from outside the room.
"The others will eat without him, and that's not what we want."
Was that her mother? There was no mistaking that voice. It had lost some of its sharp, commanding edge, but it was certainly Christie.
"Why don't you wait outside? We'll wake him up," Lucy suggested.
"I don't know," Isolde replied, sounding uncertain.
