I should really be sleeping not writing

How long has it been? Seconds melded with minutes, melded with hours. How many had passed since he climbed up the side of the Hall and perched himself within a high window; one leg dangling loosely over the edge of the stone while the other wedged bent toes into a corner of the window, securing himself as he settled the rounds of his shoulders back. Yet even still he watched, watched through the dim light as sheets twisted, rustled. He thought he heard sounds once, whispered groans and breathy sighs, and a sudden crescendo of delight. Though when he peered to look, the Shadow found himself waking with a start, fingertips curling against the bend of a knee sharply to dig into the flesh beneath and leave small crescent welts. It hurt, that was good.

The crazy druid in Borean had taught him the Winterfin dialect, but these Chillmere murlocs sounded entirely different to Lormar's ears. He sat on the warm surface of the large rock, watching the ancient fishman scratch symbols in the dirt below them with the thin staff he leaned on.

The old creature looked up at the rogue, his dark eyes sad and wet. He gestured at the symbols and warbled, a few of the gurgling sounds close enough to the Winterfin's that, combined with the pictures and expansive gestures with flippery hands, Lormar realized with growing horror what the elder was asking.

I'm laying in the dark, alone, in her spare bedroom. I've been twisting the ring on my finger around and around, I don't know for how long.

Darlain went to get some of my things from the home I should be sleeping in. I'm scared he'll think I don't mean to come back. Dar promised to leave a note, or talk to him, if she finds him.

My dress is hanging on the wall, the burgundy skirt still wet from when I sat in the snow, helpless and uncertain of what to do while two of the people I love most in the worlds beat on each other.

He pushed me aside.

How does one manage a stubborn, silly patient? There are certain methods one can use, depending on the subject. Cerwis, for instance, was actually fairly easy to manage. And it led to amusing notes like the ones stuffing Lirriel's mailbox lately as she went to the post outside the Hero's Welcome to check for the most recent letter.

Lirriel closed the door of her room and sighed, leaning back against it, staring up at the ceiling before lighting the lamp. To her left was the empty armor rack Draulgos used when he stayed with her in the keep. She furrowed her brows and frowned, pushing away from the door to put her healing bag down, sorting the potions and tools from the surgery earlier, and the herbs from her evening lesson with Vetusunus. The familiar activity helped calm her.

After all, she was probably just being silly again, right?