****************
In the dark of the night, the wee hours, August stirs. He sighs out, and moves. His motion is more easy, now, fuller and with less pain, but now it is tense with something else. He twitches, shifts, and moves on the pillow. A mutter, something unintelligible. Then a moan. And he moves again, caught by dreams (or nightmares?), a flinch. The bruises he bears have faded even more with the passage of time in a Freehold and the care of others. He subsides into (peaceful?) sleep again.
****************