[Eventually, the time comes when Myr cannot fight the creeping exhaustion any longer--even for all the novelty and awe of watching L at his craft. He struggles for it like a child trying to sit vigil the night before Satinalia, knowing that even though sleep will hasten morning's arrival, there's a certain magic in sitting up to greet the dawn.
But he will not, tonight, for the first time in many nights; as L promised, he'll sleep better than he has in weeks. His imagined-self's own eyes slide closed as the desert quiets and its colors fade in their intensity. (All but the eyes, reliably and startlingly green; they remain vivid until L shuts the last of them.)
In the waking world, the Faun relaxes, still leaning into the hand on his temple, his hand fallen to rest on his Bonded's knee and his expression--at last--one of slack peace. The sunbeam he'd been sitting in fades with the evening's onset, leaving the cottage in a dim gloom that seems, now, more restful than dismal.]
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But he will not, tonight, for the first time in many nights; as L promised, he'll sleep better than he has in weeks. His imagined-self's own eyes slide closed as the desert quiets and its colors fade in their intensity. (All but the eyes, reliably and startlingly green; they remain vivid until L shuts the last of them.)
In the waking world, the Faun relaxes, still leaning into the hand on his temple, his hand fallen to rest on his Bonded's knee and his expression--at last--one of slack peace. The sunbeam he'd been sitting in fades with the evening's onset, leaving the cottage in a dim gloom that seems, now, more restful than dismal.]