playing house

Abasi

Grace is just weakness

For the first time in quite a while, Abasi had woken up himself. Foggy and grumpy as usual, but the Blight didn't seem to be lurking in his mind; it was like he had had a fever that had lifted overnight. At first he had spent some time just sitting up in bed and hugging his knees, staring at the wall and wondering just what all of this had to mean. Because it had to mean something.

When he eventually couldn't turn up an answer, he got up and got dressed, mostly in clothes borrowed from the manor - he wore his own rings, though. His jewellry looked strange next to the warm, practical winter clothing, their dull gold and shining stones belonging to another place and time entirely. A place not so damned cold; as he left his room he rubbed his arms and gritted his teeth, wondering when this chill was going to end.

In search for food, company or perhaps a magical portal to Egypt (though he had accepted by now that was unlikely) he came down the stairs and wandered from room to room, until he ended up somewhere that almost reminded him of home. The shelves of books, similar to his own study with the scrolls and papers everywhere, the windows to observe the stars. And there, sat reading, was his saviour of sorts.

Formally, stiffly, Abasi walked over to Loren and when he was about a metre away, he stopped and bowed his head. "I...wish to thank you, for housing me through my sickness." As much as he wished Loren hadn't seen him in his more embarrassing moments (which he could not quite remember, but was sure existed) he was grateful for having had the chance to rest out most of his illness within a house with a warm bed and someone to care for him.

Or so I've been told