It had been explained to Jonas in vague terms that he'd been performing at the peace rally when the dark wizards attacked, that part he remembered, and been beaten to a pump by one of the said dark wizards, that part he didn't recall. In a sudden anxiety, he tried to ask if the others at the rally had faired, but the words weren't coming out right. His brain was still sluggish and all the nurses and healers had dared tell him was that there had been casualties. That made him feel sick, though he was still too high to really feel sick so it was more of a light queasy feeling. All he wanted, now, was to see his wife, his family, his friends.
And then there she was. His beautiful girl was standing in the doorway looking stoic and unharmed. It hurt his heart when she threw herself at the bed like he'd been gone for weeks. He then realized he hadn't thought to ask how long he'd been in the coma.
Though it ached, Jonas lifted a hand toward her to reach out to her, trying to touch her hair, her face, and everywhere else to make sure that she was all right. He managed to finger a lock of hair between his creaky fingers.
"Don't cry, love," he said in his weak, but still throaty tone, seeking out her gaze. "M'all right. Just a few bumps. Me head's harder than we all thought."
(Read comments)
Post a comment in response:
scribbld is part of the horse.13 network
Design by Jimmy B.
Logo created by 
hitsuzen.
Scribbld System Status
