The sun had already risen, pouring its light through the single window, announcing that the day had begun without him. He pressed his hand to his forehead, grimacing as he poured a cup of water from the ewer on the bedside table. It never worked when he attempted to rub away the dull ache between his eyes, but he tried anyway as the lukewarm water slid down his dry throat. He had a full day’s work ahead of him, whether he felt like performing it or not, and he’d already wasted an hour. Not that he’d done so out of slothfulness – it had been a miserable hour, and he’d have risen before dawn if he’d been able. But some mornings, dreams held him captive, so intense he couldn’t wake up even though the time to rise had come. The last vestiges of those nightmares clung to him now, shrouding his mind in a fog like gunsmoke. He finished the water in a hurry, not caring that some had spilled down his chin, dripping onto his chest and beading on his skin. His mouth still felt like cotton, but at least the drink would help with the headache.
