#damen

He can't remember the last time waking up felt this awful.

If Damen eventually manages to drag his lumbering bulk out of bed, it is out of sheer necessity; he has spent far too long in the limbo between consciousness and sleep; he cannot afford to lose any more time. He sighs and he groans, but he ends up rising regardless. Then, he slips into his well-worn morning routine and sets off for a jog. Damen's preferred path runs along the edge of the cliff his house is built upon, where he is met by a crisp morning breeze and the loud cries of seagulls. While both aid in lifting the haze blurring the edges of his mind, they do not help with the tight little knot clinging to the pit of his stomach.

Because of his earlier delay in getting up, Damen arrives twenty minutes late to his last training session of the week. Makedon watches him walk in with arms crossed and brows furrowed. He doesn't look angry. The feeling contorting his features is something else - something worse.

Worry.

As Damen draws near, Makedon opens his mouth-

"Sorry I'm late. Rough night. I'll get started right away," Damen says.

-then closes it. Damen walks past him, towards the spear rack that stands against the far wall. They spend the next minute or two in silence, until Makedon accepts Damen's dismissal for what it is and starts giving instructions instead of asking questions.