Another night in the wagon it seemed. Noah was disappointed but was too groggy to show it. He was awake but his body was overtaken by the drugs still. He felt sluggish, his mind moving leagues faster than his body. He had the pillow and was lying on his front-side. He yearned to stretch his legs and move, yet, how it was, he could not and was left to lie there.

Aimee nodded at Elann when the Benshira said she would return in a bit. Once she left, her attention turned back to Noah and she went to lie down as well. Her head set by his as he looked around quietly. His silence was a normalcy to her, and in this injured state, he seemed to be slipping back into that. She thought it entirely peculiar and out of character for him to have been talking so much, but she once chalked it up to the changing influences of Elann. The Benshira, in Aimee’s opinion, could be a chatterbox. Naturally Noah would’ve aligned himself to that in order to better fit his mate, but as it were now he seemed relieved to not be speaking as much.

As Elann was away, Aimee stayed with her brother in his silence, looking where he looked or just there into his eyes as they both searched for something indescribable. The curiosity in the air was palpable between the two as they caught up in silence without speaking words. There was an apparent hurt and dullness to her brother’s sharp eyes that she could see, and he could see the same loss of shine in hers. Together they had been through a lot, and it just went on to continue to show how their fates were star-crossed regardless of distance.

In her time observing Noah and Elann, Aimee had formulated many opinions based on assumption and observation alone. She felt it wasn’t entirely her place to butt into the bond of her brother because he wouldn’t go butting into hers, but her intrigue was far too high for her to remain silent any longer. She felt she would need to voice something soon or she would burst with withheld questions, concerns, and warnings.

Looking to her brother, she knew he had seen his fair share of utterly jarring changes and misunderstandings. At first she blamed Syliras, but then realized her brother hardly felt the need to interact with people on a social basis, let alone business either. In the first year of him living on his own in Syliras he would send two letters a month, one to their mother and one to her so they knew how he was doing. He explained his hardships, explained how he felt about Syliras, and then asked for advice. Sometimes, in the somber letters, he would admit to wanting to be back in Zeltiva. Every time the somber letters came in Aimee had encouraged him to come home because she missed him, but upon their mother sending a letter telling him to stay and wait it out, he would stay. Over time, Noah stopped sending letters altogether, and it was then that Aimee had felt the same disconnect that distance brought. Now, here she was looking at a man that was hard to remember. Parts of him were either missing or changed and it was unnerving to see. His personality, though it was quiet, was also so vibrant to her. She didn’t see that now.

Hearing someone approaching the wagon, Aimee sat up and waited. Elann’s frame appeared, a pot of tea thunking onto the wooden floor of the wagon. The Benshira shoved it further into the wagon and then Aimee moved to pull it towards the front with the rest of their things. There was nothing Aimee needed nor wanted, and Noah seemed to be content in his loopy state. Elann was off again, coming back with food for both of the Kelvics later. Aimee had helped Noah sit up in the meantime and when it came to him eating, she tested the waters for what he could and couldn’t do before asking if he needed help. If he was anything like her father and brother, which he was to some degree, he’d rather test his limits before asking for aid.

When it did come time for him to relieve himself he asked to be helped out of the wagon but refused help from that point on. Aimee persuaded him to at least let them escort him to the thicket, but from then on he insisted on doing it himself. “I’m not broken,” he lied, pulling away from the two women slowly afterwards. Aimee nodded patiently and folded her hands to wait. When he was done they escorted him back to the wagon and helped him into it.

After another dose of medicine, Noah was sleeping until morning came. Even as the wagon jostled down the road he was quiet, though he was awake. There was an ache in his side but he was tired of sleeping every time he hurt. At that point he’d rather just deal with it, if only to stay awake for an hour or so more. That morning he sat on the wagon’s edge, his feet dangling as his hands sat in his lap, nowhere else for the right one to go without causing him pain. Though there was another wagon behind theirs, Noah seemingly stared past it, looking to the sides were the birds called around and the breezes drifted through the air. Both tent flaps were open, but he sat on the left side, shoulder up against the canvas, his head resting off to the side in his sad boredom.

 Aimee was napping beside one of the benches, her human form huddle underneath the blankets Noah called a bed. The sky was pale with clouds that day, forcing Syna to peek through holes when she could. Noah wanted it to rain, and he wanted it to rain down hard.