Upon the porch of the Inn he stands, watching wistfully, yet without flinch as the incomprehensibly infuriated Melantha buries her fist against unyielding wood beside his shoulder. Eyes widen as she folds Dream and storms through into the unfamiliar swirl of energy. Black brightens with delighted comprehension, and, placing the silver acorn upon his tongue, he swallows. Head tilting back, eyes close, and reality folds around him as
There becomes here becomes there becomes...
Dream. The curl of a fern spirals down into ivory, deep ivory roots sprouting up in the sickle arch of a dragon's horn, blossoming with cottonwood sheep to drift off on a field of amber sunlight, where an ancient, trapped spider with a grandmother smile spins nets of web to catch silver smoking candle fish that taste of nursery tales and a child's sleeping sigh....Chill flesh wakes to gasping, breathless darkness, and turns, and sleeps, dreamless.
New. Different. Wondrous. A whisper drinks from the well of Dream.
Cat becomes rabbit becomes roast darting through shadows of the memory of grass and alleys of overwhelmingly rich scents. Claws flail against stone become smoke become air and the dog wakes, confused, to huddle beneath the shelter of a porch and wait, exhausted and unsleeping, for dawn and familiar hands to dispel the memory of darkness and nothing.
Drifting. Wandering. Watching. Sipping at the edges of phantasmal fragments of fleeting reality. A new scape to stir curiosity, to taste and to feel, to explore. So vivid.
Walls of halls and rooms, a house without windows that never ends, too real to be easily dismissed by the dreamer. Faces, hands, never twice the same of other wanderers, unliving figures recognized, but never met. Something to be found, sought, needed - but something unidentified. A familiar form, the well-known features of a never-seen stranger and the shock of wonder that he should have come to be among the unliving. A hope, anticipation, the dream-certainty that the object of weary searching is near. A breath of difference drawing at the edges of walls of halls and rooms, swallowing the endless house. A heart stutters as the woken sleeper jolts upright, panting with the premonition of insomnia and the need for bright lights to chase back the night.
Here becomes there becomes here becomes...
The reflections of Dream lingering in wide, wondering black eyes as he studies the reality about him. Rhy'din again, though nowhere he recognized. Rotten wood crumbling from a foundation of sturdy stone walls, tangled with the strangle-vines of ivy and moonflower. Stone cobbles thick with a carpeting of fallen leaves and needles, dropped within the building's frame through the roof that had fallen in at some point in the distant past. Decay had created a rich mulch, providing rooting for flecks of greenery. Gaze unfocused, Adam sinks down to a seat upon the still-sturdy stone hearth-bench, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping both arms around them. Head falling back against the bare wall, he smiles to see the spangle of stars above.
Such a nice night.
There becomes here becomes there becomes...
Dream. The curl of a fern spirals down into ivory, deep ivory roots sprouting up in the sickle arch of a dragon's horn, blossoming with cottonwood sheep to drift off on a field of amber sunlight, where an ancient, trapped spider with a grandmother smile spins nets of web to catch silver smoking candle fish that taste of nursery tales and a child's sleeping sigh....Chill flesh wakes to gasping, breathless darkness, and turns, and sleeps, dreamless.
New. Different. Wondrous. A whisper drinks from the well of Dream.
Cat becomes rabbit becomes roast darting through shadows of the memory of grass and alleys of overwhelmingly rich scents. Claws flail against stone become smoke become air and the dog wakes, confused, to huddle beneath the shelter of a porch and wait, exhausted and unsleeping, for dawn and familiar hands to dispel the memory of darkness and nothing.
Drifting. Wandering. Watching. Sipping at the edges of phantasmal fragments of fleeting reality. A new scape to stir curiosity, to taste and to feel, to explore. So vivid.
Walls of halls and rooms, a house without windows that never ends, too real to be easily dismissed by the dreamer. Faces, hands, never twice the same of other wanderers, unliving figures recognized, but never met. Something to be found, sought, needed - but something unidentified. A familiar form, the well-known features of a never-seen stranger and the shock of wonder that he should have come to be among the unliving. A hope, anticipation, the dream-certainty that the object of weary searching is near. A breath of difference drawing at the edges of walls of halls and rooms, swallowing the endless house. A heart stutters as the woken sleeper jolts upright, panting with the premonition of insomnia and the need for bright lights to chase back the night.
Here becomes there becomes here becomes...
The reflections of Dream lingering in wide, wondering black eyes as he studies the reality about him. Rhy'din again, though nowhere he recognized. Rotten wood crumbling from a foundation of sturdy stone walls, tangled with the strangle-vines of ivy and moonflower. Stone cobbles thick with a carpeting of fallen leaves and needles, dropped within the building's frame through the roof that had fallen in at some point in the distant past. Decay had created a rich mulch, providing rooting for flecks of greenery. Gaze unfocused, Adam sinks down to a seat upon the still-sturdy stone hearth-bench, drawing his knees to his chest and wrapping both arms around them. Head falling back against the bare wall, he smiles to see the spangle of stars above.
Such a nice night.