"What demand makes refusal impossible?"
Auryn stared at the blank parchment. Quill hovering. Words forming but dissolving before reaching ink.
His hand was cramped. He flexed his fingers as his chest wound throbbed. A quick and sharp reminder why this mattered.
I need to move first. Strike before they coordinate any defense.
But the perfect words wouldn't come. They kept evading him.
"Tsk"
A sound suddenly broke him out of his dilemma. He turned to Lyra entering. Wooden tray in hands. Steam coiling up with each of her steps.
The smell hit him immediately, his heightened senses revered It. It was rich and familiar.
The same healing herbs. The ones his old healer used to pack wounds.
She set the tray on the desk beside his failed attempts. She moved parchments aside carefully. Ignoring his worried face with only one intent in mind.
"You need to eat."
"I'm trying to write." He glanced at her irritated.
"You can do both." She pulled a chair close and sat.
