Starlight of a Moonbeam

Freedom of Flight, Ten - Age 17 (Elena POV)

~ Flashback ~

"How mad is he?" I ask, unable to keep the smirk off my face.

"Absolutely furious. I think you've set an all-time record." the warrior drawls from where he sits beside my bed, where he always sits when I've done some stupid reckless thing that's ruled me bedridden.

Yes. Out of all of them: My parents, all my Uncles, and Aunts, all the members of my mother's court, my Father gets the angriest with me when I pull some stunt that ends with bruised ribs, damaged lungs, or broken bones. Most likely a combination of them all and worse.

My mother, on the other hand, couldn't care less about all the shit I pull and tends to spend next to no time scolding me, and instead, educates me on how to protect myself when attempting new stunts.

Take: Jumping from spire to spire on the roofs for example, or finding the sucking currents of the water that will pull you down to the depths of the ocean in a matter of minutes, or leaping off a wyverns wing and free-falling until the last second. My Aunt Petrah taught me that last one.

But whatever the trick I try to pull (and I make 98% of them) my father will rage at me until the shingles on the roof shake.

"And what about you?" I ask with raised brows. "Are you displeased with me as well?" I say in a cunning tone. He usually is to some degree, though understands the reckless urges I have for the thrill, and won't shame me as hard as the others.

"As satisfying as lecturing you does sound when you're bedridden and can't escape, I think I'll save that privilege to Rowan." Fenrys drawls, and I give him a shrug of indifference.

"So you're playing Nanny to the wounded Princess then?" I tease with a raised eyebrow and twist my head on the pillow to face him fully.

But the only effect my words have on the warrior is the huff of a laugh and the piercing stare that now holds me. "Like I always do." His deep voice rumbles out: more like a wolf murmur than human words but I understand all the same.

"Like you always do." I echo.

~ End of Flashback ~

Perhaps it is the routine that I've followed so many times, or the rut my brain - even not fully conscious as it is - has fallen into, but as I come to my senses: the delicate sunbeams on my cheek, the smooth sheets over my body, the gentle breeze brushing through my hair, I find myself turning my head to the place I've known him to be, and I open my eyes.

But he's not there.

To the left of my bed, I see a small wooden table, barely off the ground, with a beautifully glazed vase filled with boughs, branches of pale wood that hold hundreds of colored berries, boughs I know come from a bush a far flight from here...

"You're awake!"

Turning my head over to the other side, I see Almuru sitting on the ground with his back leaning against a large wooden post that holds up the canopy. I'm in the medical tent.

I try to twist a bit more to properly face him, but the movement is abruptly halted by the throbbing ache between my shoulder blades and down my spine, and a groan of pain escapes me.

"Don't move your back too much," he says and walks over to the side of my bed, crouching down so we're on the same level. "That bolder hit you hard, but thankfully you got mostly bruises with only a small crack in the bone. Shouldn't take more than a day or so to fully heal, but you'll need to keep still most of the time."