CHAPTER THREE
Some birds chirped outside, perched on the branches of the giant junipers, hidden by the shadows of the leaves, hiding from the heat of the afternoon sun.
A breeze gently sighed through the window, the lace coverings flapped about their hangings, animating them into a lively dance and scattering the shy sunlight that intermittently peaked into the room.
The room was large and fragrant with exotic incenses. The blue and white of the polished Lazurite walls pleased the eye, as did the intricately carved sandalwood furniture and bed frame. All of this added a most natural aura to the naked smoothness of the marble and the stone, utilized throughout the building.
In the white, fur-lined bed lay a man. His upper torso was propped up by blue satin pillows, stuffed with fluffy swans down. The pillows showed the unmistakable signs of dampness, from his sweat. He lay still, tiny beads of sweat streaming from his brow. His nostrils flared with each painful breath that he took. A blanket was drawn up to his waist. His arms rested on the blanket's end and to his side. His chest was circumscribed by clean bandages that held a herbal poultice against the wound in his side — an attempt to relieve his pain.
The sounds of people outside returned to normal. Business carried on in its usual way and the people carried on in their usual disarray.
Outside the room, in the hallway, was heard the whispering voices of a man and a woman. The woman was describing an incident that had occurred within the city square, that had injured their guest.
Within the room, the man on the bed stirred and woke up. He tried to sit up quickly but let out a deep, painful groan as he again lay back. His pain subdued him in silence. The voices outside the door hushed for a moment and the man's voice was heard again. It speculated that the injured man, in bed, may have regained consciousness.
The man in bed touched the bandages and grimaced in pain. He was motionless in the bed and looked about the room. The exquisite, luxurious beauty of the walls and patterned ceiling, with the many crystals hanging from it suggested "home". He looked towards the window, just in time to see a tiny swallow turn and fly from the ledge, and a red-breasted Bourbon, was balancing on a branch and singing its aria to him.
The latch on the door clicked as it was opened. The man in bed, lifted his head for a moment and watched three people approach him; the smaller one carrying a tray of food and drink.