22
CODY
Cody sleeps the whole day, a restless, fluttering sleep. When Penn comes knocking at her door at dusk, she’s frumpy–clothes all sweat-stained and bunched up with wrinkles.
She wipes her eyes. She’s slept too long. Now her head feels like it’s full of sand, too heavy. It’s a task to keep from nodding off, no matter that she’s standing upright.
Penn leans against the door jamb. He slides his hands into his pockets and says, “Are you going to sleep through First Festival, Cody?”
“I might,” she says.
“Sit and have a drink with me. The musicians are all out.”
“Are they already playing?” She’s enjoyed the minstrels since arriving in Yurka. No one ever plays music in Ithil. She thinks all the instruments there have been burnt up in ovens for heat.
“You’ll hear every instr
