After the second guard change, I was sitting half-dozing by the entrance of the tent, on the chair, coat over my shoulders, sword within reach; the coals in the hearth only glowed a dull red, now and then a cold gust pooled against the canvas, and every sound seemed more muted than in daylight, so when I first heard scratching from the bedroll and then, suddenly, an irregular thud, I was on my feet in a single motion and already halfway to the girl by the time the next noise reached me—a water cup tipping over with a clatter.
Sera wasn’t just tossing and turning: she was jerking, flailing; she kicked the blanket off with her legs, slapped about with her arms, her chest was heaving, and a sound rose up from her throat that chills the skin at the base of your neck—not a scream, but that muf
