Her consciousness was like a reef sunk beneath deep water, slowly lifted by a gentle yet unceasing force, rising bit by bit toward the surface where light and sound intertwined.
When Charlotte's heavy eyelids finally trembled open by a sliver, the first thing that flooded her vision was the reassuring off-white of the tent's rough linen roof, glowing in the morning light.
There was no gunpowder smoke, no stench of blood—only the faint scent of herbs and clean linen lingering at the tip of her nose. The aching pain everywhere in her body and the constricting tightness of the bandages immediately reminded her that all she had endured before had not been a nightmare.
She turned her head slightly. Her vision was still blurred, but a tall figure stood with his back to her at the tent entrance, seemingly speaking in a low voice to someone outside. The armor stained with dust and dark blotches, along with that unruly brown hair that seemed untamable even indoors, let her recognize him at once.
"Friedrich?" Her voice was dry and hoarse, barely sounding like her own.
The figure jolted and spun around. On Friedrich's sharply lined face, now marked by obvious exhaustion, surprise and delight burst forth in an instant. He crossed the distance to her bedside in a few long strides.
"Charlotte! You're awake! Thank the Gods!" He bent down and carefully examined her complexion. His usually sharp gray eyes were filled with utterly unfeigned concern and immense relief.
Charlotte tried to move, but the intense pain throughout her body only made her suck in a faint breath. She licked her cracked lips, and Friedrich immediately understood. Carefully helping her half sit up, he brought a leather waterskin to her mouth.
The cool, faintly sweet liquid moistened her throat and restored