Coughing.
Henry's eyes snapped open at the sound. He looked around at the barracks where the knights and apprentices slept and saw that they all remained still. The knights had gotten used to Henry's coughing and the only thing that could stir them anymore was the sound of a commander's voice or the metallic noise of a sword being drawn.
They had mastered efficient sleeping while Henry had not.
It had come from across the canvas that separated Rosalind from the rest of the barracks.
"You alright?" Henry whispered, facing his body away from the rest of the barracks.
"Fine, Henry," she whispered back and rolled over.
Her healing had been slow.
For a month she was in bed, but the purple mark around her mouth and down her chest was slowly fading each time she was able to give herself a cloth bath and observe herself, she could see that it had receded up to her neck.
