Bran lay on his bed with his eyes open, staring up at the ceiling. He was tired, dead tired, but he couldn't sleep - his mind was filled with the sensation of touching Misha's bare skin with his hand.
Outside, he heard the front door click. He sighed. He wasn't sure how to face Misha right now, so he was glad for this interlude, yet being apart made him feel listless. Was love always this fickle?
Bran sighed and sat up and pulled out the messenger bird messages Amethyst had given him earlier.
He folded out the one from Malcolm first then folded it back up when he confirmed it was just the usual nagging to get his health looked after, to go see his aunt, and all that, no mention of the matter Bran had asked him about. Slightly annoyed, Bran sighed and opened Tuesday's next.
Based on the decay of the delivery spell this should have been sent ages ago, probably soon after Bran and Misha had holed up in this flat, and was as short as it was befuddling.
