At certain levels of profound exhaustion, it's like the creatures of the Fade take one look at you and go yeah, let's leave that one alone tonight. No dreams -- nothing that leaves an imprint on the mind, anyway. Just blank, black rest.

Alistair would be grateful, if he were...well. Not in the middle of that utterly insensate level of sleep.

Occasionally, he shifts: a roll onto his side, or a moment to pull the blanket tighter. Once or twice, he snores. Otherwise, for a couple of hours, it's downright peaceful.




Then his breath begins to shift, too, from the slow rhythm of sleep to harsh, hissing gasps.