The warlord does not sleep throughout the night. Lying on his back, he stares at the darkened ceiling lit by slants of cold moonlight peering from the window. Beyond the wooden walls, a long mournful wind billows like a foghorn, drawing clouds of darkness and snow.
A blizzard would ensue sometime during the day. The snow would disrupt their war on both sides.
His chest rises and falls solemnly, his mind drifting by emptily, ears only conscious of the stilted breaths of his mate.
She too is awake. Sometime in the hour he had untied her and she lay unmoving by his side. At some point she stirred and her thigh brushed his own, a subtle reminder of her presence, before growing still once more.
Her shallow breaths tell him that sleep deserted her as well, and he hears her teeth working ba
