She'd fallen asleep on the floor, and the uneven boards did nothing for her aching muscles. She rolled over, feeling the ridges of the wood dig into her skin. Every joint screamed in agony. She wanted to crawl into bed and sink into the covers for the rest of the day. Savage was still where she'd left him last night, resting on the blood-stained burlap sack. She could tell by the even rise and fall of his chest, he was out. Slowly, and with great care for her sore back, she stood and stretched before going to see who was at the door. She'd look at Savage's wounds this afternoon. They needed to stay clean, lest infection set in. The sun peeked through the window, bright and welcome. She didn't hear father come home last night and wondered if he'd gone to work this morning. The rumpled cushions on the sofa and the pale blue blanket piled in the corner told her he'd been here, but there was no sign of him now. Even after they reconciled yesterday, he still wanted nothing to do with her.
