The Rider's Truth.

Council

Unedited. 

Chapter 20 – War Council.

Nethore wasn't sleeping well.

I was, surprisingly, but it was that mixed and fitful sleep where I could feel him churning over memories that neither of us would ever be rid of. Eventually, before even the turn of the witching hour, I wrapped myself tight in the duvet and plopped myself down on the balcony, so I could read to Nethore. It helped – his mind focused instead on the adventures of a fantasy wizard instead of the all too real adventures of our own.

Sometime then during the night, the others came to my room. They had duvets trailing behind them, and pillows tucked under their arms. Peter was bare-foot and slightly confused, with mussed brown hair and the expression of a grizzly that had been rudely waken from a nice, warm hibernation. Jamie was not any better – I actually thought she was going to start throwing punches before she bagsied one half of my bed.

Dem balanced trays of food, but they would be devoured sleepily in the morning while we hoped that the trainers wouldn't roll around and find us surrounded by bad things.

"What are you doing on the balcony?" Dem questioned, his voice too loud for the night – too jovial and carefree for this atmosphere.

Blearily, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and shifted the duvet up around my narrow shoulders. "Sleepin?"

Glittering, humoured eyes shifted down to the slim book clasped in my hand. Dimples pressed into his cheeks as he smiled. He snapped out his duvet with Dem like precision, sprawling out beside Peter whose mood didn't look like it was shifting, and he gave his boyfriend a dirty look for even daring to disrupt his sleeping space. I glanced away when Dem's smile turned cheekily affectionate, catching sight of the next gaggle of Riders slipping into the room.

The twins; wearing matching pyjamas of alternate colours that just seemed to scream how they were both different sides of the same coin. Collette was still smiling, while Odette dragged a decidedly nervous Alex in. Last came, Zephyr and of course he couldn't be nice to my fragile heart and wear decent pyjamas.

Instead he wore a simple pj's trousers that slung low on taunt, toned hips. His t-shirt was plain and tight, but my attention focused solely on sleep tousled hair and the hooded, tired look in glowing nephrite eyes.

'Well colour me red...'

I dragged my eyes from his broad shoulders where the cloth clung to thick muscle – to meet his eyes sheepishly. I noted instantly that he was tired, and wired as if the events of earlier today hadn't quite left him. Recognising the haunted look on his face as a mirror of mine, I motioned to the ground.

"At least the carpet is comfy."

He cracked out a small smile. "You are too kind."

I threw a glance to the ground. I knew that I would end up on the carpet anyway, curling tight against the nearest corner, or tall object so my back would be defended.

"I bagsie this spot," I plopped down onto the ground near Dem and Peter, stretching out the kinks in my body.

"Why don't you sleep on the bed?" Peter asked blearily.

Dem had a single eye cracked open and was watching me closely. Peter glanced to the bed as I answered, spotting Jamie sprawled madly out across the double mattress. She tended to kick first in her sleep and badly apologise later. I pitied the guy who ended up sharing her bed. His pain threshold would have to be high, or he would just have to build a wall between them.