Wakefulness comes to Jinshi in long, languid waves. He drifts in the sea of sleep, slipping in and out like the rise and fall of the tide. The smell of herbs, sharp and medicinal; a warm weight tucks itself next to him, warming him to his core. Something tickles against his nose 'strange-smelling, but that, too, is somehow soothing. He could sleep for hours like this.

Dawn, however, has other plans. And as the world behind his eyelids lightens and his sleep shallows, Jinshi becomes aware of other things, too.

The surface beneath him is not as comfortable as his bed. When he groans and raises a clumsy hand to block the light and buy himself a few more hours of sleep, something soft and scratchy brushes against his ankle, his wrist. When his hand does not block the light, he groans, pressing his face further into his pillow. Something tickles at his face. It smells of rain and dirt and medicine.

It smells of blood, too.

That 's not right.