The sky had not yet dawned, but a faint warmth already permeated the dome-shaped room.
The wooden wall panels had been slightly heated by last night's fire, and a lingering scent of ash and charcoal hung in the air.
Ian slowly opened his eyes under the heavy woolen blanket.
For a moment upon waking, he even forgot where he was. Having moved here for half a year, he was still unaccustomed.
The bed was too soft, the bedding too warm, and the ceiling above too neat and pristine.
He habitually turned his head and saw a small fabric doll placed in the corner by the bedside, with slightly curled ears and a crooked eye—one of Mia's creations.
Outside, there came the low sound of footsteps, perhaps a patrolling knight walking past the muddy alley entrance, or an early craftsman moving tools.
Ian lay quietly, staring at the little doll for a long time, suddenly feeling unreal.
