The unmistakable touch of Wren's fingertips darted across Rowan's skin, brushing the hair from his face while his fever burned through him.
Rowan wanted to open his eyelids, but they were too heavy. He mumbled something incoherent as he turned his face this way and that in his fitful slumber, only barely registering that his head rested on a pillow.
He tried to speak again, straining to force his mouth into the shape of Wren's name. For some reason he felt like Wren needed to hear it or he would disappear completely. This time he couldn't even make an incoherent noise.
His frustration churned inside him, and he struggled even more.
Immediately the caress came again, melting into him like a balm for his restlessness. Soothed by the confirmation that Wren knew him even if his Shadows clouded his vision, Rowan's face stilled on the pillow, and he stopped fighting against himself.
