Elann’s pain would continue to increase in strength while Noah’s had long since plateaued and would begin to ease up in the next few days. He felt tomorrow would be the start of the height of his sickness and after a few more days he would start to feel better. He didn’t keep track of Elann’s monthly bleeding, knowing it came and went when it did. Noah was helpless in stopping her discomfort, only being able to alleviate what he could with his presence and giving aid when she requested it. She knew all she had to do was ask for him to do something and he would without much hesitation, so long as he was aiding her. The same couldn’t be said for him entirely, seeing as he liked to reside with himself when he wasn’t feeling well, but that was the difference between the bonded pair.

She scooted and shifted, placing herself between the bench and his body. He remained daze and therefore unperturbed, going through his own suffering quietly, presuming it would be soon that the wagons would attempt to pull over for the night. Maybe if they made it to the outpost Elann would be able to better find aid for her discomfort. As it were though, Noah’s sense of direction was all but shot, only to be restored if he took to the skies in order to scout ahead. Sliding in and out of daze and shallow sleep made him lose all track of distance and time.

Aimee was gone now, the flaps closed, so he was even more unsure whether or not it was still midday or evening or if the wagon was trudging on well into the night. He was unsure if the light coming through the slits of the flaps was sunlight, moonlight, lantern, or torchlight. He didn’t focus too much on it to discern the vague differences in color either; what of his attention that could be focused was on Elann or himself, consistently checking to see how he felt or searching their bond for any signally feelings aside from her pain.

“When we stop,” he whispered, “stay here. Aimee will come back because I’m not feeling well and I’ll send her to get dinner.”