what dreams may come
#8
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He knew what lay deeper in the forest even though he wasn't sure if he had been there before. It felt like he should have and he knew his memory was more haphazard than most; maybe this was really a reoccuring nightmare, but he didn't know until he woke up. Did he ever remember his dreams? He didn't recall. The world he awoke into wasn't any more real or imagined than this one though, so it didn't matter in the end, did it? Laruku shrugged and followed. Behind him, the water rose slowly from the lake, quietly, like someone was carefully pushing at the center of a strong sheet of cloth. When he forgot about it, the wave would crash down and sweep them deeper into the black and white hell of snow and dead trees.



Has your smoke always turned into dragons? he wondered, caught up with the other red-eyed man now. There were so many things he was oblivious to. And has there ever been a night as clear as this? No fog, no fog. That, more than anything else, disturbed him tonight. There was no shield to cover him from the eyes of the ghosts he had disappointed and the gods he didn't believe in.



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