| 3rd of Spring in the year 112 BV |
| Drip… …Drip… …Drip… Sticky… The unconscious waving of a hand. Oily… The hand comes back around. What could possibly be sticky and oily? The muddled feeling of waking was there, eyes creaking open, mostly dark. Muttered words and then his eyes slid shut again. Consciousness quickly wrapped up once again in the dark embrace of its opposite. …Drip… …Drip… …Drip… Stop… The unconscious waving once more. Stop it… Another wave. His muttering voice returns, not quite clear enough to hear yet, but it is noticeable. Then again, this time more audible, “Cap the oil…” It was an odd statement, coming from underneath a large wooden table, but that’s where it emanated from. …Drip… …Drip… …Drip… |
