So, this one is sort of an inversion of the scene where Amara read stories to Kat when she was laid up with a broken leg — and is largely inspired by the fact that I’ve had a cold for most of the past week, which I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned with various degrees of passive-agression…
Once again, the header image for today isn’t perfect (she should have Elf-ears…) but considering the constraints of using free stock photos, it’s awesome.
Copyright J.B. Norman
“Ugh,” Amara groans. “This is intolerable, Katherine! Look at this — I’m wearing three housecoats and I’m still shivering. I’m coughing every —”
Right on cue, she starts coughing into her elbow.
“— fifteen seconds. My nose is so congested with some kind of putrid slime —”
“Eww,” Kat says, wincing as she sits at her best friend’s bedside.
“— that has no word in Gardian, Elven, Ancient Tanithite, Modern Tanithite or Flag Semaphore to describe just how awful it is.”
Right on cue, she blows her nose into a tissue.
“Yeah,” Kat chuckles. “Your voice sounds really funny right now.”
“Katherine,” Amara groans, narrowing her eyes at Kat.
“Okay, okay,” Kat says apologetically. “I’m sorry. But it does sound really funny.”
“You should be supporting me in my hour of need, Katherine!” Amara cries.
“I am supporting you,” Kat insists. “I just don’t want to get too close, or you’ll cough all over me.”
Right on cue, she starts coughing into her elbow. Kat cautiously inches her chair away from Amara’s bedside.
The door to Amara’s room opens and Amara’s maid Isla returns carrying a ray with a bowl of soup.
“How are you feeling, Miss Amara,” Isla asks.
Amara rolls her eyes. “Well, no worse than the last time you asked that, Isla.”
Isla reaches out to touch Amara’s forehead.
“Well, Miss Amara, you don’t feel quite as hot as you before,” Isla notes.
She lays the tray down in front of Amara.
“This is my grandmother’s recipe. It always helps me feel better when I’m sick.”
Amara takes a spoonful of the soup.
“Oh,” she groans, frowning around the spoon still in her mouth. “My nose is so stuffed I can’t taste anything!”
“You still need to eat, Miss Amara,” Isla urges. “It will help you get your strength back up.”
After Amara finishes the soup and Isla clears it away, she turns to leave the room. “I’ll check on you again in a little while, Miss Amara,” she says with a bow.
She turns to Kat.
“Thank you for looking after Miss Amara, Miss Kat,” she says. “It’s good to know what she has somebody who cares about her so much.
“Yeah, well. What are best friends for?” Kat replies.
With one last smile, Isla leaves the room.
“Ugh,” Amara groans again, flopping back onto her pillows. “This is truly intolerable. And I’ve only just realised how much I despise the wallpaper in this room. We’ll have to do something about that.”
“So,” Kat ventures. “I think you’re maybe going a bit stir-crazy — or maybe just crazy-crazy. But I have good news.”
She reaches under her chair.
“I did pick up the next Bridgewalltonshire book on the way here. You just get comfortable, Amara, and I’ll read it to you.”
“Will you do the voices, Katherine?” Amara asks hopefully.
“Yeah,” Kat says. “I’ll do the voices.”
Kat clears her throat and opens the book.
“Happenings at Bridgewalltonshire Priory, Volume One Hundred and Forty-Seven,” Kat begins reading. “The Bridgewalltonshire Plague.”
Kat winces.
“D’oh,” she mutters.
This is probably not the best thing to read a friend who’s sick in bed.
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