Never in his life had Alabaster been glad to be completely and utterly exhausted. Had he not just passed out the second he hit the pillow, he knew he would have dreamt about his final battle. How it went, how it could have gone, how it should have ended. But no, unconscious claimed him and held tight for another couple of days.

When he finally came to, he was substantially less sore and substantially less exhausted. And also starving.

He lifted himself from the bed, with considerable improvement over his last attempt to do so, and headed for the livingroom.