| Unwritten Letters |
| Summary: | Upon her rest break, Amara makes to write a few letters. But before they are written she succumbs to the plague. |
| Date: | 1967-12-07 |
| Related: | The Plague |
| Players: |
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There was nothing graceful about the way Amara flopped into the desk chair. She was bone tired. But that was how it had been for the past week. She had been tired in the weeks before, but this had just felt like a deeper tired, the quest rests and naps were not helping as much as they had been. It was to be expected, she figured, after pushing so long on so little. But they had all been doing that with so many patients in need.
Her fingers fumbled a little with the straps on her plague mask in her tired haste to get it off. It was a necessity, but it was so stifling and hot to wear. Amara could feel her hair was soaked through and clinging to her scalp. She didn't have the energy to see about a bath, maybe after she had gotten some sleep. But first something to drink, and a few quick letters.
The tea felt cool on her throat. It was no wonder to her when she drained the cup so quickly. She knew she should have taken a break midshift for a drink, but she had gotten caught up in getting the bandages changed on the last handful of patients. She sighed as she reached for the piece of parchment, it was not like she had anything new to write about. But Amara knew that it helped ease her mother's worries if she wrote. A few sentences would be enough for that. And the other.
Leander. She had wanted to write for weeks, especially once she had heard that he had been present for the Pacitta tournament. But she had not known…still did not know what to write. That she worried about him? And hoped for some word just to know he was well? That she thought often of the masque and could not wait to see him again? But when would she see him again? Would she even be going to the next circuit tournament…whenever the next one even happened. And the plague, it consumed their lives these days, what good would it be to write about that? She sighed. Her mother first, then she would think of something to write to him.
But as she reached for the quill, the world faded to grey and then black just before her head hit the desk with a dull thud.
The door creaked open, "See, I told you she was tired. She didn't even make it to her bed before she crashed out."
"We're all tired. And it's time for her to do rounds so I can get some sleep too." The tired and mildly grumpy man pushing the door open further as she pushed past the woman. But as he started to reach to give Amara a shake to rouse her, he groaned, "Doesn't look like she'll be going on rounds any time soon."
"Why…oh," it dawning on the woman before she even joined him and saw the rash along the young woman's arm. "She's what, the second one this month that's come down with it?"
"It's not making our work any easier, with our own staff falling now. I'll get even less of a break now," he complained, even if halfheartedly.
"I doubt they're doing it just to make life hard on ya, now help me get her into the bed. And then we'll inform the Master Healer."
All the answer she got was a bit of a grunt as he moved to help.