She thinks maybe she says thank you again, but isn't sure.



It isn't a solid sleep; deep, yes, but broken by occasional coughing and by some fitful dreams. (The dream with everything running like wet chalk doesn't come back, but there's a confused one with rain and a jungle and a new dress.)

It's early evening, with the sun mostly set, before she feels like she's maybe had enough sleep for now and tries to sit up.