SOLO LOGLET: Haroun, early this morning.

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Haroun's first morning back in his own room.



It was truly good to be back in his own room, in his own bed. Even if she had altered the dimensions of the room to make room for that obscene monster of a bathroom, and even if she had swapped out the sheets from plain-but-servicable whatever to some sort of silk blend.

He lay in bed, staring at his own feet. Wiggle, wiggle, wiggle went the toes, and a grin crept across his face. It was absurd to get excited about a little thing like a toe-wiggle, yet here he was, feeling all accompished and stuff. They weren't _quite_ like the feet he remembered - something was just a tiny bit off. He wasn't sure if it was the toenails (plastic, but closely resembling the real thing) or the shade of skin that they'd vatgrown for him, or what it was. The more he thought about it, the more it was going to bother him, so he set it aside to just ... feel for a moment.

Smooth silk, warm from trapped heat. A slight scent of Moroccan incense and good old-fashioned woman still lingered in the air, hours after Alison had departed with an apologetic look to go about the business of her day. According to the calendar, it was deep into Ramadan, and Haroun felt it deep within his soul. It was a time for reflection, for healing and leading a life considered.

That was one of the other new things about him that marvelled him. He was patient now. He didn't fidget, he didn't get bored nearly as easily, and he hadn't felt the need to hit something since he woke up. Of course, he thought guiltily, there was the small matter of Marius, but the boy didn't seem to harbor a grudge, so that was apparently all for the good. Miles, perceptive lad that he was, saw it almost immediately. He wasn't sure Alison had or not, but she had her own business to take care of, and he didn't really want to disturb her any more than necessary.

And speaking of bothering, he was feeling a biological necessity, and it was probably best if he got it taken care of as soon as possible. He swung his legs over to the edge of the bed after extracting them from the depths of the sheets, and oh-so-slowly eased himself to his feet.

His back still hurt, but here he was. Standing. On his own. The trip to the bathroom was ponderous and slow, picking up his feet almost comically and taking slow, heavy steps to the monster bath.

One day at a time.
One step at a time.
Left, right, left.