The screaming woke everyone in the house, except the sleeper – trapped in another place and time. Elle Yomin sighed as she combed her fingers through Allen’s hair; the young man curled up like the child she found hiding in the bottlery so long ago.
“He’s bleeding,” Alle whispered. He turned his wrist; a ceramic jar of balm in hand now. “I don’t remember this wound.”
Elle shook her head, eyes focused on the spreading red stain on the fabrics, despite the potion’s application to his back. The bed was the only familiar item in the room, something her husband took in stride.
“This had to be from before,” she said. Alle helped their still-sleeping son into a sitting position. “Shh, sweetheart, you’re safe. Come home. Come home.”
Elle hummed the melody of a lullaby she had heard before, not of their culture or village but…
“I know,” he told her. “We’ll get through this, too.” The older man rubbed his son’s back, a sense of deja vu as both parents recalled the night the svelte child came into their lives.