[ Reynir doesn't want Onni to go. His heart is beating so fast, and the fear is a physical, chemical thing in him, in his bloodstream. But there are no ghosts that he can see, nothing threatening him. And so he lets Onni help him lay down and gives a small nod, to say it's okay for Onni to leave. Reynir had only just noticed the water spilled on the floor.
What a mess he is making, here.
He closes his eyes, pulling the covers up to his nose once again, telling himself over and over again that he'd been imagining things, that it was a trick of the light, that there are no ghosts.
But as he slips between the thinnest of sleeps and wakefulness, he is restless and fitful. The fever is at its worst, now, and he slips between the dreamscape and the bed in Onni's room, back and forth, a few seconds walking across the water and then twisting in the too-hot sheets, back and forth, disorienting and far from restful.
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What a mess he is making, here.
He closes his eyes, pulling the covers up to his nose once again, telling himself over and over again that he'd been imagining things, that it was a trick of the light, that there are no ghosts.
But as he slips between the thinnest of sleeps and wakefulness, he is restless and fitful. The fever is at its worst, now, and he slips between the dreamscape and the bed in Onni's room, back and forth, a few seconds walking across the water and then twisting in the too-hot sheets, back and forth, disorienting and far from restful.
When Onni is back in the room he mumbles: ]
Sorry I made you spill.