there was a snake in his bed.

he awoke with a slight start. there was a taste in his mouth, he wasn't quite awake enough to distinguish it yet. it was strong, is all he knew. his throat was positively parched for water, and the corners of his eyes needed a cleaning.

there was a snake in his bed.

dirty eyes, he thought to himself. what was the grime of the eye called? his mind was too tired to respond, still filled with images of the half forgotten dream he had (carrots with teeth eating rabbits stuck in the ground) or what his first kiss tasted like (onions, she had eaten onion soup for breakfast).

it was wrapped around him, not tight enough to be uncomfortable, but tight enough to be felt.

garlic, he realized with a start. the taste in his mouth was garlic. and a little turmeric too. he didn't know how he recognized the second. karmic justice, he thought, that a man who eats garlicky food and doesn't rinse his mouth before bed had had his first kiss with a woman who ate onion soup as breakfast.

coiling twisting shifting holding strangling his limbs.

he was a little more conscious now, brought back to the waking world from his visit to the seven kings by the memories of onions and lips and tongues. certainly awake enough to rub at his eyes to rid himself of the... what in the bloody hell was it called again?

it softened around the arm he moved, but didn't let go.

it was called sleep crust, he remembered, by the vast majority of civilization in the Commonwealth. the people of Xioylu in the west called it dozy dust, which he always thought rather childish, and he knew the word used by the people of Almirqa, the desert lands he currently resided in, roughly translated to "slumber sand". but he also knew there was a gods damned scientific name for it, his brain simply refused to cooperate.

breaths. on his neck. on his artery, on his adam's apple. the softening had allowed it closer still.

he swallowed his saliva, hoping for some temporary relief from the itching burn in his throat. he felt it flow down. and that's when he remembered. Rheum, from the greek Rheuma. translated as "to flow." used to describe the mucus naturally discharged by the eyes during sleep.

it's fangs were visible, long and sharp and made for the hunt. any moment it could dig them deep into his flesh, into his neck, straight into the vein.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

he had something to do. something or the other, he couldn't quite recall yet. to do that thing he needed to remember first, he thought sluggishly. to remember he needed his thoughts not to be sluggish.

to...unsluggen his thoughts to the point where he didn't feel the need to invent words to describe the sad state of his mentality, he needed to wake up. the only thing that had been efficient, so far, at ridding him of the molasses in his skull, was wetting his throat.

they had been carved to reap souls and end lives, and had been used for just that many many times. a natural instrument of death, mother nature scoffing at humanity's need for swords and dagger when she could make weapons like these. true things of beauty and practicality. although they were made to rip and tear, a little nibble was all that was really necessary. the poison made easy work of the rest.

water was an absolute commodity around here. all liquids were. it was a desert, after all. and although the caravan he was traveling with had brought along quite the excessive supply (nobles liked bathing, and rich merchants liked pretending to be nobles.) it was still tightly locked and closely guarded in case a rhi'vati thief decided to visit in the night. thankfully, however, he had a spicy rhi'vati wine in his carriage. ironic, he thought, the rhi'vati fixed problems caused by the more unlawful part of their population via making damn fine wine. it was supposed to be served warm, but the cold desert night hadn't been kind. not that he cared all that much.

he reached for the clay jug.

his stirring awoke the snake in his bed.

his palm felt the fine engravings, too extravagant for his taste but the rhi'vati merchant insisted. "it must be drank from the jug it was brewed in. that is how it is, how it has been and how it will be." although he considered himself quite stubborn, he couldn't match the force of a man defending his culture. a challenge too troublesome for the reduction of a mere few copper talons.

it stirred in response, yawning, fangs on proud display. terrible, terrible fangs.

"good morning." he said, sheepishly, he had forgotten to be gentle in his movements, and his reaching

hand had untangled the two of them in a boorish manner "sorry for waking you."

"ahh, no problem, ameli." she replied, blinking in quick succession to get rid of the rheum in her emerald eyes. her kha'vusi accent was as charming as ever. she yawned, and wrapped her tail around him again.

not tight enough to be uncomfortable, but tight enough to be felt. to let him know she was there, to remind him of her presence.

another yawn, her canines were so cute.

she closed her eyes and put her head on his neck. through a tangle of dark black hair, he heard "although i think i would prefer to stay in bed a little bit longer."

such a lazy princess, he thought, gulping down a mouthful of divine wine. he would indulge her, of course, as he always did. he would lean back, drink his wine, and enjoy the contrast of her warm arms and cold scales, both wrapped around him. that "something" he had needed to get done completely forgotten.

he has always indulged her in her lazy mornings. but today, he indulged her a good half an hour or so more than usual. they were on vacation after all.

there was a snake in his bed and he loved her to death.

~fin~