A week passed in the blink of an eye.
The weather was lovely today: overcast, with a cool breeze drifting through the window and a fine rain falling like threads. There was no glaring sun, no stifling summer heat.
Weather like this was perfect for daydreaming, sleeping, reading, sorting through tangled thoughts, or playing games.
For once, Sparta had not slept in. He sat by the study window, an open book on the table beside him. It had been lying there for some time, its pages rustling softly whenever the wind caught them.
He did not look at it. Holding a steaming cup of tea, he leaned back in his chair and gazed lazily at the treetops outside, washed clean by the rain.
The leaves shone green. Whenever the wind passed through, an invisible hand seemed to brush across the canopy, sending ripples through it as droplets slid from the tips of the leaves.
Sparta took a sip of tea and followed one falling droplet with his eyes. It shattered against the flagstone path, and then he heard faint footsteps behind him.
"Marshal, here is the latest battle report." Craig stood respectfully behind him.
Sparta did not turn. His gaze remained on the spot where the droplet had broken. He rubbed a thumb along the side of his cup, then set it gently on the table.
He held out a hand without looking back. Craig understood at once, placed the report in his palm, and respectfully retreated two steps.
Sparta took the report but did not open it. He waved a hand, signaling Craig to leave.
"Go on. I want some peace and quiet."
Craig's head snapped up. A conflicted look crossed his face, and after struggling for a long moment, he finally managed to say:
"I'm sorry, Marshal, but