A good rest helped his migranes - even if it was only for those hours - and his muscles were cramped like crazy.Ī good sleep, a good massage, a good meal. He must have lost fourty-eight hours of sleep over the past few weeks. Yet it felt like days, the hours dragging more and more. He had spent three hours twisting and turning, trying to get some form of sleep. And the grumble that was cracked with exhaustion, which came from his throat, was caused by the horrorific time. The clock on the bedside table had bright red numbers, his narrowed eyes couldn't lessen the throbbing ache at his temple, the light an intruder to the darkness. As much as sleep was useful and something that he needed a lot of, he was more terrified of it than he would, perhaps, admit.Įarth haunted his dreams. The Major turned in bed, unable to sleep.
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