Pelin lay asleep, with his back to the doorway. Cal gazed at him. She remembered the time she’d slept there as a child, folded in his arms. On those nights, when she had cried for her mother, he’d held her close and the spell of his whispered words had comforted her. Now Cal was older, she had learnt to cry to herself. She didn’t want his comfort or protection. It stifled her, imprisoned her.