Eleanor's lashes fluttered slowly, her eyelids coming to a slow opening. Her eyes moved around, trying to make sense of her environments. Everything seemed unfamiliar. She swallowed, then started to push herself to a sitting position.

"I think it is best if you stay lying. You do not have enough strength for that."

She turned to her right, and Conaan was sitting on a small stool, his robe around him, his eyes fixed on sharpening a small arrow.

The memory came back like a violent stab, and she moved away to the edge of the bed, like she needed to put more distance between to show him just how much...