The first thing Isabella became aware of was the sound of Glimora chewing something.
Not cute chewing.
Aggressive chewing.
Violent chewing.
The kind of chewing that made Isabella wonder if Glimora had returned to her feral origins and was currently dismantling a tree root with war-crime level enthusiasm.
The second thing Isabella noticed was that her heart hurt.
Not physically, though the remains of the cold still made her chest feel heavy. No, this was emotional. A slow ache that throbbed deeply inside her like a bruise she kept pressing just to make sure it still stung.
She blinked groggily and rolled onto her back, staring at the top of the tent.
The memory hit her like a slap.
The dream.
Her babies crying.
Asking for their father.
Calling for Cyrus.
She squeezed her eyes shut, inhaling sharply. Her throat tightened again, threatening tears. She was not about to start her morning with crying. She refused. Absolutely not. She was too pretty for sadness before sunrise.
