Ragnar had been soundly asleep when Athelstan had gotten the message. He'd actually had a long couple of days with the Guard and the whole situation with Athelstan and Ivar and Dodger still weighed heavily on him. The combination was draining enough that if he was able to nod off, his body would greedily force him to get as much sleep as possible. Though he didn't wake up when Athelstan quietly slipped out of bed and left the house, strange dreams put him on edge enough so that when a strong wind rattled the bedroom window, he jolted away.
It was still dark and by the heavy stillness and silence, his guess was that it was early morning. Grumbling a little, he went to roll over to tangle up with Athelstan and found the bed empty and cold. He sat up a little, frowning as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
"Athelstan?" He said the monk's name softly, not sure what he was expecting. The man obviously wasn't there. He pulled on a tunic and pulled one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around him as he wandered out of their room. The house felt so still. Poking his head in to check on his daughter first, he then made his way down the stairs. No lights on. No Athelstan.
He forced himself to think rationally and swallow down the rising panic as he quietly opened and closed the back door, going outside barefoot and padding his way across the grass to Athelstan's art shack. Was there a light on? It was difficult to tell.
He eased the door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, and felt a wave of relief.
"What are doing?" He asked groggily, stepping inside to get out of the early morning chill, closing the door behind him. How long had he been out here sketching?
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It was still dark and by the heavy stillness and silence, his guess was that it was early morning. Grumbling a little, he went to roll over to tangle up with Athelstan and found the bed empty and cold. He sat up a little, frowning as he tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.
"Athelstan?" He said the monk's name softly, not sure what he was expecting. The man obviously wasn't there. He pulled on a tunic and pulled one of the blankets off the bed to wrap around him as he wandered out of their room. The house felt so still. Poking his head in to check on his daughter first, he then made his way down the stairs. No lights on. No Athelstan.
He forced himself to think rationally and swallow down the rising panic as he quietly opened and closed the back door, going outside barefoot and padding his way across the grass to Athelstan's art shack. Was there a light on? It was difficult to tell.
He eased the door open, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, and felt a wave of relief.
"What are doing?" He asked groggily, stepping inside to get out of the early morning chill, closing the door behind him. How long had he been out here sketching?