Shredder 35
Merinde’s eyelids fluttered open to the mute glow of darkness. The hot embers shaded the clearing in orange, and the starlight gave her a picturesque sense of the camp. No moon was in the sky, and a deep blue orb on the horizon nudged the night away. This dawn was like none she could have dreamt.
Her heart pounded still. Her own dream disintegrating with each fevered pump. Her miniature efforts upon a giant game board. The pieces crashing down around her. Huge fingers plucking her out of harm’s way and dropping her into another embattled region. Had it been Seravis’ hand? That smarmy bastard. She couldn’t recall, and already the imagery sifted away on the conscious winds.
Merinde was spooning Gerard, her arm winding under his and across his torso. She was a little appalled with herself, but she was warm. Gods that was a pleasant change. And, she realized with some astonishment, she was free.
The Last Dance had been a clumsy partner. Her life a harried waltz of deception and skulduggery. She would awaken, many times grateful simply to do so, with machinations already spinning around her mind.
Now there was nothing. Her thoughts touched upon slipping away from camp to scout around, but she had no need. Well, her bladder had needs, but she dismissed them, smiling and tucking further into the warmth.