Then she stood up, and leant and fell.
Her eyes were closed embracing the dark within, waiting for the final pain, and then no more.
She felt hands gently placed on her head, and opened her eyes. She saw a face and then it went black.
"Zenna."
Her name moved through the night and stood before her. She kept her eyes closed while she willed her self back to blessed unconsciousness.
"Zenna. It's time to wake up."
She heard a voice whisper "No. Time to sleep." It didn't sound like any voice she'd ever heard before.
"Zenna, its ok to wake up. I have a hot malted milk for you. You can open your eyes."
"We dared to platt the moonlight twishers for her? She has no courage."
"She has courage, it has just been pushed until she became exhausted. Give her rest she will be courageous again."
Zenna opened her eye. She could see nothing and no-one but a faint grey haze.
"I'm not worth it. I can't see. Let me sleep. Let me die."
She felt a hand on her back. Urging her upwards. Without effort Zenna raised to a sitting position. She couldn't understand why she wasn't panicking, her body was moving on it's own.
A warm cup was put into her hands. She could smell the malt and milk in the steam.
She looked down finally, and saw a cup with the milk. She lifted it to her mouth. It tasted sweet of cinnamon and sugar.
Zenna remembered sweetness.
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