The next morning dawned bright and early, the sun streaming through her windows in a rare display of Sideran warmth.
Rache groaned, burying her face in her pillow. The last thing she wanted to do was get up, to face the day, the pressure, the expectations.
But she had to.
The dance was tomorrow, and there was still so much to do.
She forced herself to sit up, her body protesting every inch of the way. She was sore from the previous day's exertion, her muscles tight and aching.
But it was a good kind of sore, the kind that came from hard work and accomplishment.
She stretched, trying to loosen the knots in her back, the tension in her neck. Then she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor with a shiver.
A soft bleat sounded from the corner, and she smiled, turning to see Darry watching her with his big, dark eyes.
"Morning, sleepyhead," she said, her voice still rough with sleep. "Ready to start the day?"
