The aftremath of a storm.

Phoebe woke up the next day in a place that was both unfamiliar and familiar, David's bedroom at the Saxon tower. She had no memory of how she had made it there or why she had spent the night there.

She blinked rapidly and tried to sit up and found that it was a task because she was not alone in bed. David was holding onto her body tightly like as though she would disappear at any moment in her sleep.

She grunted and tried to loosen his arm, but it was like being held down like an iron rod. She could have used her energy or magic but chose not to do so. Instead, she mumbled and tapped the hand.

The soft sounds of complaint that came from her woke him, he leaped from the bed like a soldier that just heard a siren. First, he poured some water into a glass and gently moved it to her lips, holding it for her as though she had no hands.