Like the desk is (ironically) a vortex of sloth.




By the time the sky starts to lighten, Cullen has poked his head out, witnessed the snow over in the corner, discerned that he doesn't have anywhere to be and (just as the healer promised) he's very stiff, and put his head back on the pillow with the fur back up to his nose.

This kind of being a bear, he supposes, is socially acceptable. When he's forced into idleness, and his army's leagues away and taken care of.