Three days.
Ignotus spent three days staring at a white ceiling, playing connect-the-dots with its cracks.
Eris, thankfully, didn't take too long to wake up. On the morning of the third day, she stirred on the pillow next to him, stretched her little black paws, and yawned.
'You look terrible.'
"Good morning to you, too."
Ignotus grunted, swinging his legs off the bed.
He cracked his neck, which sounded like a bag of gravel.
For seventy-two hours, his routine had been thrilling:
Sleep. Wake up. Eat tasteless mush. Go to the bathroom. Sleep again.
He hated these biological necessities; eating took too much time, and digestion took energy.
Going to the bathroom so much was just... undignified.
He couldn't wait to hit the Shepherd Class.
