Brand woke up in chapters.
A voice called to him, breaking through the senseless wave of oblivion. He did not open his eyes at once—did naught at all. His breath came shallow, and his ribs protested the effort. Somewhere very near, something—someone—smelled of salt, and wind, and warm sun. The scent lingered, soothed, and then he slipped back into the darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, it was dark. The world was washed pale and indistinct beneath yellow lights. It was very warm and uncomfortable, and every part of him hurt. The ceiling above swayed; the painting on the wall was alive. He tried to turn his head but the pain at his side warned dully, forcing stillness upon him. His neck ached. His back burned.
Then movement.
A hand. A figure. A woman.
She sat closer than propriety should allow. Dark hair sitting on her shoulders, face halfway claimed over by darkness and his blurred vision.
A calming hand. A soothing touch. A worried look.
The pleasant smell of the ocean.
