I woke up groggily, my mind taking several long seconds to remember where I was or what day it was.
The room was dim, filled with the warm orange light filtering through the shutters.
I blinked at the ceiling, processing.
Then I sat up, stretched my arms above my head until my spine cracked in several places, and swung my legs off the bed.
My body ached, muscles stiff, joints protesting, the ghost of exhaustion still sitting in my bones despite the rest.
I moved to the window and pushed the shutters open.
The sun was already descending toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
The village was winding down its daily work, the sounds of dinner preparations carrying on the breeze.
I ran a hand through my hair, still trying to shake off the fog.
I slept for almost a whole day?
The last thing I remembered was collapsing into bed sometime after midnight. Which meant I'd been out for... what, sixteen hours?
No wonder I feel like I got hit by a wagon.
