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Nightfall had come to the Styrian camp after the peasant’s attacks, and all was quiet. For now, at least, until the next horde of humans came with their meek weapons. Even though Styria was victorious, the words from their conversation still rung in Morana’s ears.
She felt herself pull in closer to her spouse whose gentle snores and breath brushed against her ear. Today they were successful, but Striga was breathing heavier than normal after the battle. Were they that formidable or was this just a stroke of luck for them?
She remembers seeing Striga lumbering into the tent afterwards, breath heavy and shoulders slumping. Though she was calm and collected externally, Morana felt panic for the first time in centuries. What if they were caught off-guard again? What if the humans had another trick up their sleeve? What if there were traitors? What if Striga wasn’t looking and—?
She couldn’t let herself finish that thought. She didn’t want to think about the “what if?” and the harsh realization about their vulnerabilities as a vampire. If anything, today only solidified what she was thinking for a long time now. To just leave it all behind and start anew elsewhere.
It would be a struggle in of itself to pry Striga away from elements of their old life, but there was that small voice in her mind that offered some small assurance. For now, she just wanted to surrender to the brief respite that sleep had to offer. At least in this brief moment, it could be just them.