Headaches - 6 June

Christian stopped laughing. He knew that voice. Uncurling, he looked up and peered at the shadowy and oddly blurry figure several feet away. "Jenny?" he said quietly as though if he spoke any louder the illusion might shatter.

And Jenny knew that voice. "Mike," she said quietly, something like pleasant relief in her tired tone. It was good to have a friendly visitor, even though she had been trying to sleep. She uncurled from her corner and slid nearer to him. She was not much interested in conversation - she still wanted to sleep - but she was grateful that he had come to see her. She found his hand. "How did you know I was here?"

Christian squeezed her hand gently, the pounding in his head all but forgotten in that moment. It was really her, he thought blearily, vaguely surprised at the surge of joy the realization brought. Pain, however, quickly forced its way to the forefront of his consciousness and he became aware that he was simply staring at her, and that she had said something to him. "Uh..." Say something idiot! he thought desperately. "I-I didn't," he stammered, "They just.... put me in here. You're not hurt are you? They didn't hurt you?"

"No," she said in a mellow, dreaming, far-away voice as she closed her
eyes again. "You?" She vaguely remembered seeing him injured, but
obviously he had lived through it.

Christian felt a rush of relief. She was alright. "Nah," he lied, pushing himself up so that he could sag against the side of the wagon. He let his head sink forward onto his arm and closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of her hand in his. Despite the pain and fact that they were prisoners and the seeming eventuality of rotting in some Frog prison, he felt absurdly happy.

Jenny laid her head against the leather mattress, content to fall asleep again. She felt drunk and dizzy, with the sensation of pain somewhere in the distance threatening to return if she did not bury it in sleep. But something confused her. If he had not known she was there, why had he come? Had he already explained that? She could not remember.

"Why are you here?" she murmured, her eyes barely opening to look up at him. He was sitting above her with his head on his arm. "Lie down."

Obediently, Christian eased himself down onto the leather mattress. That seemed better somehow. "It's nothin'," he mumbled, "Just a bump on the head."

"Oh." His answer satisfied her. She smiled, closed her eyes again and fell asleep.

His head still ached appallingly, but the throbbing had settled into a steady tattoo and eventually, succumbing to the demands of a concussion, he slept as well.