Chapter Eleven
Har-Jay
I awoke at my own pace.
No birds chattered outside the window. Just a quiet, early morning return to wakefulness, one that left me lying still with only my stomach barely moving the light sheet above me, one that allowed me to watch the man across the room at work.
He bent over a desk, profile pinched, hand tight on a stylus that scratched out strange characters on a large, rolled out parchment. Another, smaller parchment, the writing smeared and disorganized, as if written in great haste, rested near the top of the desk. He leaned forward once in a while; eyebrows furrowed in concentration, then sat back, dipped the stylus in a tiny, dark jar and returned to his task.
How long did I lay there? Long after the sun climbed into the window and then above it. I didn
