Cherished dreams are never asleep

[Emwe Soul]

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ind//for i bakvendt-land indentind//der kan alt gå an //Emwe Soul tar det siste verset av en sang han ikke kan Emwe stared at his glass, wondering a little bit what he was going to do with it. Well, it was obvious - he wasn't stupid after all! - but he didn't have any hands! And everyone but him and Conor had other stuff in it anyways. The boy eyed his brother, who had spilled his glass, wanting to best him. He wanted to drink from the glass, but it was a no can do case. Looking around to see if anyone were looking, the little pup abruptly stuffed his whole muzzle into the glass, hoping it would still stay erect if he did it that way. It was a success! The contents were not on the ground - and were quite tasty, actually. The boy didn't really get to drink it, though, but he dipped his tongue into it and could definitely taste that there was something to it. It was kind of funny to breathe in there though, and he decided to maybe stop doing it, and have a nice breath of air instead. Lifting his head, the glass followed, vacuumed onto his face by his own breathing. Dampness was forming inside the glass from his nose, and the air in it was getting recycled rather quickly. Plumping down on his bum again (he'd been standing up for better aiming and accuracy!), he raised his front paws and tried to somehow drag it off of himself, but it didn't work! He had no hands! Tears was in his eyes as he fought with the now deadly (at least in his mind - he hadn't noticed that he was actually breathing a little through everything, but his panic made the glass continue to stick to his face) thing stuck to him. Oh, wouldn't someone help him? Tears flooded his silver-blue eyes as he was (again) convinced that his death was only moments away, emitting sounds of panic that became muffled by the glass. He was going to die, certainly! //der er de like tøysete og rare alle mann //

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