He pulled a corner of the blanket off his face and peered into the faintly lit room. The shadows indicated the light was from within. He rolled over and saw a candle burning on the small nightstand by Zarabethe's bed. The night elf was hunched over a pile of scrolls and two open books, scribbling furiously on a separate parchment. He sat up and glanced outside: it was still full dark, although the dawn would be upon them soon.
“Zara, have you been up all night?” he mumbled, his mouth still full of sleep. She didn't even glance his way.
“No.” She stopped writing long enough to run one finger along a line of words in one of the books, her lips moving silently as she read them to herself. “There's still night left.”
He groaned and flopped back down on the bed, pulling the blanket over him again.
“Go to bed, Zarabethe, you can do that in the morning,” he grumbled.
“I will shortly,” came her distracted answer. Giving up, Elforen stuck his head under the pillow and sought sleep.
This scene has happened so often in our house I can't even count it anymore.