Crow shifted to lay more comfortably in the makeshift straw bed as Penelope began to tell him the story of how she had met William. He rested his left arm beneath her head and draped his right arm over her waist, softly stroking her back with his hand to help take her focus off of the thunder. Though he was tired, he forced himself to hold her gaze while she spoke to him. He couldn’t let himself succumb to the softness of the hay or the warmth of Penelope’s body or the sound of her voice, gently lulling him to sleep…
Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment… he thought with a yawn. Nestling a bit closer to Penelope, he closed his eyes while he listened to her go on with her story. He enjoyed hearing about the prideful William getting ‘drunk off his ass,’ as she had put it and nearly jeopardizing a mission because of it. He wished he could have seen it for himself. Instead, he would just have to settle for holding the new information over the knight’s head if they ever saw him again.
Thinking about William and Abraxas, he wondered what had become of the two since he had last seen them. Were they still alive, being held as prisoners somewhere by the Younisian king? Or had they been executed upon their arrest? There was no way to know for sure, but he found that he was hoping they were still alive. At least then, the king of Brerra would be able to order their release once he got his hands on the staff.
Another distant rumble of thunder shook the stables and Crow opened his eyes again, realizing that Penelope had finished talking. He blinked blearily. He didn’t remember the end to her story, so he must have fallen asleep before she had finished telling it. Gathering her close to himself, he kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks for indulging me,” he said softly. He wanted to stay awake longer, but he knew he had reached his limit. Running his hand down her back one last time, he closed his eyes once more. “Goodnight, Penelope. I love you.”
--
Morning sunlight filtered into the stables through the opening in the roof, rousing Crow from his slumber. He lifted his head and looked around the stables as the memory of the night before slowly came back to him. Looking down, he saw that Penelope was still curled up in his arms, her chest rising and falling steadily as she slept. He smiled, enjoying the moment of waking up next to her once again.
He was about to wake her, but realized that she might not have gotten very much sleep. Since he had fallen asleep before the storm ended, he didn’t know how long she had stayed up last night. Perhaps he could let her doze for a little while longer before they headed out again.
Moving carefully so as not to wake her, Crow wriggled out from her loose grasp and rolled off of the pile of hay. He stood up and stretched, then crouched down by their bags to see if he could find anything to eat. His hands worked with silent precision as he dug through a bag, searching it by touch.
After a bit of prodding, he found the bag of seeds they had gotten from the marketplace near the border. He rocked back on his heels and sat down, quietly snacking on the food as his mind began to wander.
It was still hard for him to believe that they were so close to the castle. It felt like a dream—like he could wake up at any moment and find himself back in his old prison cell. But he knew it wasn’t a dream. It was real. Everything was real. In a matter of two or three more days, he and Penelope would be undergoing a heist more challenging than anything else he had pulled off thus far… and they couldn’t have been more ill equipped.
His eyes drifted to the bow that laid at his side. He wanted to practice with it again before Penelope woke up, but he had promised her that he wouldn’t overexert himself. His gaze fell to his bandaged hand, and he felt a pang of bitterness. It was all because of his cursed fear of blood. If he hadn’t been so paralyzed in their fight with the mercenary, they wouldn’t have gotten as badly hurt as they did. He hated how powerless he had been.
Before he knew what he was doing, Crow reached towards the quiver that laid next to the bow and drew an arrow. He held it up and turned it over in his hand. Not anymore, a look of resolve came over him. I’m not going to let this control me anymore.
Heart racing, he pressed the arrowhead against the inside of his left forearm. He could already feel the usual panic setting in, even though he had yet to do anything. Come on, he thought, his face contorting into a grimace. You can do this, Crow. Stop being such a coward!
In a short burst of rebellion, he pushed down on his arm with the arrowhead, wincing at the sting as it cut into his skin. A small trickle of blood formed from the wound, making him feel dizzy, but he didn’t look away. It’s nothing, he let out his breath in a forcibly controlled manner. It’s just a cut. He exhaled again, willing his wild heartbeat to slow down. It’s nothing to be afraid of. He felt a wave of excitement as the pounding in his chest began to fade. It was working. He was calming down.
Just a little more… he bit his lip, dragging the arrowhead ever so slightly across his skin before pulling it away from his forearm. The trickle of blood flowed a bit thicker, and he felt his heartbeat begin to pick up speed. Repeating his meditation, he focused on controlling his breathing. In and out; in and out. Slowly recovering from the panic. After a moment, he felt his heartrate decrease once again. He smiled to himself. Maybe he could overcome his fear after all.
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