The pain was much worse than the usual dull throb that too much wine left, and as he lifted his head, the agony intensified. He opened his eyes and looked around. There were strange square patterns next to his face, marked with uneven patches of sunlight. He blinked, feeling dizzy, and realized he was lying face down on the floor of his bedchamber. His body was stiff and cold, and Maelgwn raised himself with painful slowness, trying to remember how he had come to be there. He glanced around the room, noticing the messy tumble of clothes and baskets and the disarray of blankets on the empty bed. Aurora—it was morning, and she was gone. Maelgwn struggled to organize a confusion of memories from the night before. His recollections were misty, almost dreamlike, but the events came back to him, He had fought with Aurora... chased her... fallen. He recalled his own drunken desire, his rage and humiliation at Aurora’s rejection. He could even remember her cold, mocking words. Maelgwn put a hand to his head, feeling the lump on his forehead that spread hot fingers of pain into his eye and scalp.
