The dawn in the forest came gently.
A hush lay over the new village, the trees whispering in the breeze, fireflies finally dimming as the faintest chorus of birdsong began.
Inside Kael's two-storied house, where roots had bent themselves into polished beams and sunlight pooled through wide windows, a bed of woven bark and soft moss lay warm and quiet.
Kael stirred.
Dull golden light spilled across his face, and for the first time in a long while, his lashes flickered open at dawn. His brow furrowed faintly, as though the fact itself offended him.
"...Strange," he murmured, his voice husky from sleep. "Since when do I wake before the sun finishes stretching?"
He didn't remember his past, but in the eleven days he could remember, he recalled waking up only when the sun was high in the sky.
Kael turned his head slightly, searching for some disturbance, some noise, or some misplaced presence that had stolen his slumber.
