(no subject)

*The sores are beginning to scab over, and the fever's stayed down for most of the day. And she is beginning to feel hungry, for the first time in more days than she can remember. Maybe when Peter comes back she'll ask for something more substantial than broth and juice.

She's found a copy of the Complete Works of Shakespeare in the bedside table's single drawer, and it's keeping her more-or-less-happily occupied during the periods when she's awake enough to be bored.

Home, soon. Very soon. Perhaps tomorrow.*