This, too, was not an entirely unfamiliar place for Besca to find herself. As many mornings as she’d awoken with her head pounding, she’d had just as many nights plagued with bad dreams. Unfortunately, the similarities ended there; it had become clear that Quinn’s dreams were different from the dreams of others. As long as she’d been here, and for as many troubles as she’d had, Quinn had rarely—perhaps ever, even—listed nightmares among them.

Perhaps that should have been concerning, but right now Quinn wasn’t asleep. The dreams couldn’t touch her here. A part of Besca briefly, selfishly saddened at the idea that whatever spark of her had appeared in Quinn’s sleep had been unwelcomed, but it was gone before the girl had even uttered her meek apology.

Besca put an arm around her, rustled fingers through her hair. “[color=gray]Nothin’ to be sorry about, hun. Dreams are dreams. Important thing is that you’re feeling better. Here, c’mon, eat up. Want to get your energy back, get some momentum in you. S’what always helped me.[/color]”

Leading by example, she took another spoonful from her own bowl, which had been somewhat neglected as she’d worked. “[color=gray]So, start thinkin’ about what you want to do today, help get yourself moving again.[/color]”