Second Chance Mate

Nathan

Sunlight streamed into my father's lavish sickroom, lending false vigor to his gaunt features against the plush pillows.

I prayed the dawn's radiance portended hope, not a cruel irony. Father had lingered languidly near death's door for weeks as his mysterious illness wasted his body relentlessly away, always rallying just long enough to kindle fragile hope before the next precipitous decline.

But now, miraculously, in the scant handful of days since Terra's arrival, that dreaded pattern seemed to have reversed. No longer did Father lie motionless but for labored breaths, the stillness of a tomb except for the pestilent stench of decay permeating the heavy velvet drapes around his four-poster bed.

Now he could sit upright unaided for short periods, lucid enough to hold fragmented conversation or sip broth and weakened tea. The pallid tinge to his skin showed early signs of healthy pink renewal. Even his silver mane and beard gleamed brighter, as if reflecting an inner vitality