Death Comes a-Calling(continued from Death is only the Beginning: Cynwyd) Cynwyd awoke to the smell of cooking meats and warm bread. His body remained lazily heavy; inertia having ruled his limbs for so dreadfully long. On the bedside table, he dimly recognized the shape of a breakfast tray with bacon, sausage, and fresh pastries and jam. When he finally focused his eyes, he could see Vaille over in the corner – silently watching over him with her blind eyes. A stern scarecrow loomed over him, unmoving and patient. Benedict. He gave a curt nod, “Breakfast. Then talk.” Somehow Cywnyd resisted the urge to immediately try to spring up at the realization who was standing over him. Truth be told, it wasn't due to a great resistance to any urges, but an inability as the room still spun a bit when he made any sudden moves. But he did manage a return nod. As Benedict retreated to await him, he slowly sat up, and tried his limbs to make sure they wouldn't fail him. The smell of food was at once mouthwatering and nauseating, but he managed to force himself to eat, and felt a gratifying infusion of strength at the act. He knew that they had to be more than a little impatient, and he cursed himself for his weakness, for he was also. But finally, he was prepared for whatever might follow. |
