 He's coughing and he can't seem to stop. It shakes his lungs and makes his throat sting; Jorg pounds on the door all the harder. His eyes are stinging too and he's not sure if he's crying or not but there are tears streaming down his face.
"Svea!" he croaks, as loudly as he can, but when he hears it - it isn't very loud at all. The smoke filling the room seems to be filling his head too and its starting to pound along with the frantic beating of his heart. He barely registers the sound of hurried footsteps on the other side of the door. The next thing he registers is the cool air of the hall and the gentler warmth of Svea's arms. Now he's crying, he's holding onto her as she drags him through the house and out of the back door. He spots his sword and shield lying in the grass where he had thrown them.
"I'm sorry," he coughs, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve. Jorg cries out as he catches his injured hand and then tries to hide it behind his back. "I'm sorry," he says again, taking a deep breath of night time air. "I think...I think it was me..." Was that right? He can remember the dream but nothing else before he woke up to the flaming room, but it brings back another memory, of a bath full of dancing fountains - had that been him too?
"I had a bad dream..." he manages at last, sitting himself down in the grass, his legs crossed and his injured hand cradled in his lap. "I did something bad and then...and then Papa was chasing me only it wasn't Papa anymore it was this big monster." Jorg shudders, drawing closer to Svea where it feels safer.
It's cold outside and he can feel himself shivering so much it seems to be moving his entire body. He looks at Svea standing so solidly in the dark and feels his temper bite. He suddenly resents being so small, fed up of things happening to him and being able to do nothing about them. He'd been fine when he'd run away, hadn't he?
"Why do I keep doing things wrong?" he mutters to the grass, plucking at it with his good hand. He's leaning away from her again as he tries to dry what remains of his tears.
"Is the house broke?" he wonders, unable to think of any other way of explaining why they're sitting outside in the dark. Svea would have to go and get his Papa and bring him back here to fix it. His resentment shivered as trepidation rolled in.
"You're going to tell Papa..." Jorg says sadly to his feet, "he'll be so mad."
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