Sophie climbs under the sheets with you when you go to sleep, planning on resting for nine hours. She sleeps next to you, just barely touching you. You rub her shoulder affectionately before the two of you nod off.
You’re as healthy as you can be.
You awake from your slumber to a gentle shake. Eyes fluttering open, your gaze falls upon the cloaked, hooded figure that looms over you, a rough, hard hand grasping your shoulder. You’re assaulted by the smell of ale and fire, and nearly cough, but the figure places another hand over your mouth, surprisingly gentle. You try to struggle, but the stranger is surprisingly strong.
“Shhh, lover mine,” the figure whispers, pulling back her hood. Helia smiles down at you as her long red hair spills out, draping over her shoulders and the hilt of the scimitar strapped to her back. “Hey, hey, it’s just me,” she says, taking her hand from your mouth and, ever so gently, brushes her fingers across your cheek.
Groggily, you ask the salamander what she’s doing at your camp.
“I just. uh... need to talk, is all. Can we go someplace more... private?”
You nod and clamber out of bed. Smiling, Hel puts an arm around your shoulders and leads you out beyond the fringe of the camp. She takes you a fair distance from your bedroll, out to the old ruined wall a stone’s throw from the perimeter. By the time Hel hefts herself up onto a rock, she’s practically glowing under her cloak; her long fiery tail is burning more brightly than you’ve ever seen it shine before, its radiant light putting your meager campfire to shame.