Kyra stood before the window, her eyes drawn to the still image of Yul standing beside Rog. The view seemed odd in that neither Rog nor Yul were moving. He, in bed, eyes closed, still unconscious. She, standing ramrod straight, looking much like a lone sentinel, on guard, protecting him. She held his hand in hers. If one looked closely, there was an ever so slight movement, the only movement in the room. As if performing some secret spell, Yul slowly rubbed her thumb in circles on his palm. Yul was facing away from the window, her back to Kyra but the tilt of her head indicated that Yul’s eyes were watching Rog’s face and that each rotation of her thumb, the soft pressure of her subtle skin against his tanned and leathery palm, sought to transfer warmth and healing as if the friction between them would and could spark the fire of life to come back into his face. Her eyes would not wavier, would not take the chance that she might miss the first slight flutter of his eyelids, the first signal he was waking up. And so she stood. Ramrod straight; only her thumb and her thoughts in motion. From outside the window, the view might just as well been two mannequins in a store window.

Categories: Story, Kyra, Yul, Rog

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