Carasel bolted up right in the bed, her heart pounding in her ears. She was drenched in sweat and her chest heaved violently. Her eyes flashed to the door of her small room. It was closed. A small stool stood propped against it. A red stone pitcher balanced precariously on the footstool. She stared at the pitcher. The mouth had a large chip on one side. She continued to tremble, overcome with adrenaline. Large tears began to well in her eyes and roll down her cheeks. They ran from her face, making dark blotches on her sleeping gown and her blanket. After a minute she brushed the tears away from her eyes. She tossed the thin linen blanket aside and swung her feet to the floor. She sat for a moment, her head in her hands, and calmed her nerves. After a few moments the shaking had subsided a