What Dreams May Come
"I am a grounded dreamer. I am loyal to that which earns it, merciless to that which mocks it."
The People never dreamed much.
They rarely had a need to dream.
Renne knew he didn't need to dream much; really he still feared sleep like a plague. He'd grown accustomed to going without sleep for days on end but no life-form could go too long without it.
Not even him.
When exhaustion took over and forced him to sleep, he didn't expect to dream unless it was of the Hunter. He didn't expect to dream unless it was of thunder, rain, fire, smoke and screaming voices.
He dreamed of that. Of all of that.
He dreamed too, of happier things.
Brighter, warmer things.
Tonight, the capricious Hunter had no chance against this dream.
------------------
Renne stood on powder-fine sand and listened to the deep, rumbling roar of thick, black ocean waves. They called to him, sang to him, laughed at him, taunted him, soothed him. The burning red-gold sky above howled with never-ending stratosphere winds and the afternoon screams of the crels.
Such odd creatures, crels.
They screamed so horribly, hunted viciously and even fed upon one another. And yet, those beasts took to the Mountain Tribes like tame dogs to loving owners.
He stood there, listening, and shed a single tear as a voice called from an unknown distance -- calling with a song as sweet as these endless oceans. She called the same being but never saw this tall, straight-backed, upright creature.
She called the skinny, small thing that was truly himself. That was himself after Amadeus Night.
Renne turned around, sang a little song to the sea and felt himself shrivel, shrink and twist into the creature he knew himself to be.
He was no handsome knight in shining armour.
He was no sin-free being that had some kind of purity.
He was just very innocent, even stupid, of the worldly things Outworlders -- Humans -- had exposed him to.
He was just a hopeful child/not-child caught in the grip of that tempest called love-of-all-kinds.
Renne left the roaring dark oceans and burning, howling skies and went to another place. A humble stone-and-wood place with Elven ladies and irascible, heroic Vikings. A place of mortal, deity, angel, demon and everything in between.
He lingered there, knowing he'd return. Faithfully, he'd return there as he would the black waters and gold skies.
She kept calling. Singing.
He moved on.
Renne came to another place, a tall place of oak, gunpowder and coffee. He lingered here, too. He laughed. He wept. He kept company and he was alone here.
Renne crawled out the back door, went down to the sea and found her.
When he cried, she sang. When she wept, he whispered.
When he dreamed, he sang to her.
~<>~
What Dreams May Come began as a single-shot idea that turned into an entire dream-sequence. Dreams in different segments occur on different nights.
"I am a grounded dreamer. I am loyal to that which earns it, merciless to that which mocks it."
The People never dreamed much.
They rarely had a need to dream.
Renne knew he didn't need to dream much; really he still feared sleep like a plague. He'd grown accustomed to going without sleep for days on end but no life-form could go too long without it.
Not even him.
When exhaustion took over and forced him to sleep, he didn't expect to dream unless it was of the Hunter. He didn't expect to dream unless it was of thunder, rain, fire, smoke and screaming voices.
He dreamed of that. Of all of that.
He dreamed too, of happier things.
Brighter, warmer things.
Tonight, the capricious Hunter had no chance against this dream.
------------------
Renne stood on powder-fine sand and listened to the deep, rumbling roar of thick, black ocean waves. They called to him, sang to him, laughed at him, taunted him, soothed him. The burning red-gold sky above howled with never-ending stratosphere winds and the afternoon screams of the crels.
Such odd creatures, crels.
They screamed so horribly, hunted viciously and even fed upon one another. And yet, those beasts took to the Mountain Tribes like tame dogs to loving owners.
He stood there, listening, and shed a single tear as a voice called from an unknown distance -- calling with a song as sweet as these endless oceans. She called the same being but never saw this tall, straight-backed, upright creature.
She called the skinny, small thing that was truly himself. That was himself after Amadeus Night.
Renne turned around, sang a little song to the sea and felt himself shrivel, shrink and twist into the creature he knew himself to be.
He was no handsome knight in shining armour.
He was no sin-free being that had some kind of purity.
He was just very innocent, even stupid, of the worldly things Outworlders -- Humans -- had exposed him to.
He was just a hopeful child/not-child caught in the grip of that tempest called love-of-all-kinds.
Renne left the roaring dark oceans and burning, howling skies and went to another place. A humble stone-and-wood place with Elven ladies and irascible, heroic Vikings. A place of mortal, deity, angel, demon and everything in between.
He lingered there, knowing he'd return. Faithfully, he'd return there as he would the black waters and gold skies.
She kept calling. Singing.
He moved on.
Renne came to another place, a tall place of oak, gunpowder and coffee. He lingered here, too. He laughed. He wept. He kept company and he was alone here.
Renne crawled out the back door, went down to the sea and found her.
When he cried, she sang. When she wept, he whispered.
When he dreamed, he sang to her.
~<>~
What Dreams May Come began as a single-shot idea that turned into an entire dream-sequence. Dreams in different segments occur on different nights.