Back in Eirik's chamber, the soft glow of the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the room.
Morgana remained seated at Eirik's bedside, her eyes never straying far from her son. Her hands gently cradled a dish of sliced fruit, offering it to him as he eagerly shoveled food into his mouth. His movements were quick and almost frantic, as if he hadn't eaten in days, his focus solely on consuming what was before him.
"Eirik, try this one next," Morgana suggested, her voice soft and soothing. She held out a small bowl of warm porridge, the steam rising delicately from its surface. "It will be easier to eat." Her hand reached out to tenderly brush a strand of his pale, white hair from his forehead, a small gesture of affection that seemed to calm him momentarily.
