The potions sometimes ran out. Rahai did his best to check on Qel’s stash of sleeping potions, the ones that barred him from dreaming, but sometimes he’d forget. With moving around as often as they had, it didn’t surprise him that one day, here and there, Qel might not have renewed his supply himself. Gods, with what time? When did they ever have time to think of the little things?
And it was one of those nights.
He’d been awake, reading as was his usual, when he heard the Seeker stir in bed. It was late, certainly the morning hours at this point, though still pitch black outside. Rahai crept his way into the room, and he sat on the bed, and for that little moment he watched Qel’s uneasy breaths and the way the sleeping man’s eyebrows tended toward a scowl.
Nightmares.
The Keeper knew if he moved any more than this, he’d wake Qel. That was all right. It was even good. So he laid beside the other miqo’te, and while this prompted those bright yellow eyes open, Rahai was busy conjuring the little phantoms of moths to fly above. Their wings shimmered, pure prismatic aether, and it gave the Seeker something else to look at. Something to surprise him, to pull his thoughts away from whatever it had been in the nightmare.
And that is where Rahai remained, without a word spoken between them, until Qel drifted back to sleep.