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Shane Marion (wolfishane) wrote in bellumlogs,

It was almost eleven in the morning by the time Shane woke up. He'd slept almost straight through, waking only once to down two of the pills Shiloh had offered him dry and pull the blanket tighter around himself.

He was greeted by light outside and throbbing pain around the stitched wound. His head felt like it had been weighted to the pillow, his mouth bone dry. Water. That was what he needed. His thirst won out over how much he knew it was going to hurt to quench it, and he sat up in the bed, biting the inside of his mouth when the pain skyrocketed.

He leaned on his hands, staring blankly at the floor. Sitting up was hard enough. Standing and walking somewhere to find water was going to be ten times that.