For a moment, or so it seemed, he was back in the fog, in the thick almost substantial parts of it, but sounds drew him back to the bed.
Sounds of footsteps.
Sounds of voices.
Three people, out in the hall. Tall, male. Working men, wearing boots, that they were taking off, from the sounds. Weren't they supposed to do that out on the porch?
A slammed door on a rush of wind and rain hitting the inside floor answered that. Rain coming from that direction, the porch was probably inundated.
Only one of the men came to the door(?) of the room. "Any change?" he asked, but not like he expected an answer.
The hand woman said yes and the doctor woman said no.
The doctor elaborated that there had been no physical change worth mentioning. Irregular breathing irregularities, but that was to be expected. No signs of returning consciousness.
The other woman said, in a warm positive tone, that she felt a difference. That he WAS coming back from wherever he'd gone. She KNEW, she just knew.
There was no doubt in her voice or in her words. Her surety warmed him from the inside as her hands had his outside, and he knew he could sleep, and rest, as he knew he needed to.
