Sometimes, the dreaming happened fast, before you even realized you were asleep. You closed your eyes in one place, opened them another. Like crossing a line, or flipping a coin.
This dream was different. It was smooth, heady, intoxicating. It came on slow and certain. Bit by bit he sank into a warm darkness. Gradually, shapes (feelings, scents) took form around him. Within him.
The first thing Dune recognized with certainty was the water. It pulled him along gently; he had no choice but to give in to the current, let it sweep him where it may. Slowly his body took shape, and with it a sense of buoyancy-- it must be salt water in which he drifted.
Eventually the water washed him up on a grassy shore. But when he opened his eyes it was not the sky he saw but the ceiling. A cave? Willow trees dotted the ceilings, like old women hanging upside down. Their pale green branches swayed in a warm breeze that was at once spiced and sweet.
The closer he looked and listened and felt, the more details came into focus. He noticed tiny blue flowers dotted among the leaves, and colorful little razor-winged birds flitting to and fro with a delicate grace. The light had a strange quality to it, a bluish tint and a haziness at the edges like something not-quite remembered right. It came from what seemed to be glowing gemstones (or were they a sort of fungus?) that spread across the walls and ceiling in patches and swirls of color.
He did not see the dreamer yet, unless she had taken the shape of a tree or bird or stone. Untroubled by her absence (he is strangely certain it was a her, not that it matters) the intruder slowly begins to explore the cavern.
This dream was different. It was smooth, heady, intoxicating. It came on slow and certain. Bit by bit he sank into a warm darkness. Gradually, shapes (feelings, scents) took form around him. Within him.
The first thing Dune recognized with certainty was the water. It pulled him along gently; he had no choice but to give in to the current, let it sweep him where it may. Slowly his body took shape, and with it a sense of buoyancy-- it must be salt water in which he drifted.
Eventually the water washed him up on a grassy shore. But when he opened his eyes it was not the sky he saw but the ceiling. A cave? Willow trees dotted the ceilings, like old women hanging upside down. Their pale green branches swayed in a warm breeze that was at once spiced and sweet.
The closer he looked and listened and felt, the more details came into focus. He noticed tiny blue flowers dotted among the leaves, and colorful little razor-winged birds flitting to and fro with a delicate grace. The light had a strange quality to it, a bluish tint and a haziness at the edges like something not-quite remembered right. It came from what seemed to be glowing gemstones (or were they a sort of fungus?) that spread across the walls and ceiling in patches and swirls of color.
He did not see the dreamer yet, unless she had taken the shape of a tree or bird or stone. Untroubled by her absence (he is strangely certain it was a her, not that it matters) the intruder slowly begins to explore the cavern.
@Obsidian
