When Daphne was finally awake, it was Atticus who found himself rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had gotten nowhere near enough sleep after their nighttime excursion, and yawns kept on emerging from his mouth.
Strangely enough, Daphne only seemed endeared at this display of pathetic tiredness from him, even as he was half-slumped in front of her during lunch. There was a marked change in her attitude towards him; the sweetness of her sleepy mumbles from the night before no daydream, they were as real as the grains of sand stuck in Atticus's ears. And hair. And nearly every crevice of his clothes and shoes.
Atticus wondered what led to this shift in attitudes, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He had endured his fair share of misfortunes the night before― nearly dying in an explosion and getting spat at by a smelly camel.
And he would have to repeat this experience nightly until he got what he came for.
