[ what a question. Bruno makes a small, discontented noise in return. ]
Healthy people don't sleep for weeks.
[ or, at least, healthy humans don't. Do bears hibernate? It's not like there are a lot of them roaming around urban Italy - he doesn't know. Maybe that's what happened. It's as likely as her getting hit by any other new and bizarre misfortune in this place.
Either way: she's fine. That's what really matters. He shakes his head gently, as if reorienting himself. The answers will come, one way or another; for now, what matters is Trish herself. ]
We can worry about it later. What's important is that you're not in pain, and that you're awake... Finally.
[ a quiet exhale, gazing at the burnt-out beast in front of him. This creature is hardly the haughty, elegant girl he knows; he wouldn't recognize her if he didn't know the truth from the start. But it is Trish. And he feels the same quiet resolution to protect her now, in this massive shape that is not her own, as he does when she barely reaches his shoulder. Thank God. Thank God that she's not dead, taken by some mystery sleeping sickness that he was absolutely helpless to fight against, after everything. ]
We were beginning to worry.
[ she may not be able to see him, but maybe she can hear in his voice that he's smiling a little; certainly, she might feel him briefly extending a claw to brush her hair (or the tuft of fur on her head resembling it) from her eyes, just barely. ]
[gets hit in the face]
Healthy people don't sleep for weeks.
[ or, at least, healthy humans don't. Do bears hibernate? It's not like there are a lot of them roaming around urban Italy - he doesn't know. Maybe that's what happened. It's as likely as her getting hit by any other new and bizarre misfortune in this place.
Either way: she's fine. That's what really matters. He shakes his head gently, as if reorienting himself. The answers will come, one way or another; for now, what matters is Trish herself. ]
We can worry about it later. What's important is that you're not in pain, and that you're awake... Finally.
[ a quiet exhale, gazing at the burnt-out beast in front of him. This creature is hardly the haughty, elegant girl he knows; he wouldn't recognize her if he didn't know the truth from the start. But it is Trish. And he feels the same quiet resolution to protect her now, in this massive shape that is not her own, as he does when she barely reaches his shoulder. Thank God. Thank God that she's not dead, taken by some mystery sleeping sickness that he was absolutely helpless to fight against, after everything. ]
We were beginning to worry.
[ she may not be able to see him, but maybe she can hear in his voice that he's smiling a little; certainly, she might feel him briefly extending a claw to brush her hair (or the tuft of fur on her head resembling it) from her eyes, just barely. ]