26
Dryas
The next morning, I stand outside Rue’s room, watching her sleep. It’s early, so early, that I am just able to make out her slim figure hidden beneath the blankets. She’s facing toward me, her hair splayed out beneath her in a messy arc of coppery mayhem. Sleeping, her eyelids closed beneath her finely gingered brows, she looks peaceful. Her eyelashes look long on her sun-kissed cheeks.
Her brow pulls down, but her corresponding frown is absent. If only she were this placid all the time. No, she is usually alive with emotion, be it good or bad. I’m glad for it, mostly. It’s part of what makes her so curious a creature.
Then again, I never want to see her as wrecked as she was yesterday. When I pulled her into my arms, she trembled and cried like she’d lost something precious.
