"Agh."

Alistair opens his eyes to find Fuzzy inches away from him. The mabari's hefted himself onto the chair next to Alistair, front paws on the table as he peers down at his person. When Alistair doesn't move, Fuzzy whines and tries to stick his nose in his ear again.

Oh.

Still creaky with sleep, Alistair pushes himself up. Fuzzy scoots closer and starts licking his face, scattering a few reports as he goes. Alistair doesn't have the heart to push him away. His face is plenty damp already, anyway.

Just a dream. Right, then.

He sniffs, and rubs his shirtsleeve over his face once Fuzzy's done. The reports are -- no, they're not getting finished tonight. He's in no state to keep working. Back to the palace for now; he'll try again tomorrow.

As he sweeps the papers together, his fingers brush over a gouge in the table. It looks quite fresh.

Alistair's positive it wasn't there when he sat down.

As careful as if touching a dagger's edge, he runs his thumb over the mark, back and forth -- and breathes, and breathes, and breathes.