He had a soft spot for dreamers like these. There were so many of them, more than they could realize. And though he met them one by one, each in their own miserable world, he pictured them all together as a group of wild children. Orphans. Scattered, lost, trapped. He had no obligation-- he could easily come and go in their dreams and nightmares without getting involved. But he felt for these strangers, who nurtured wounds where no one else could see.
This dream was full of strangers to Dune, but he could feel the way the dreamer reacted to their faces. Her thoughts were on display here, although she couldn’t realize the extent of it. And although he pitied her for her demons and her cages, he was also distinctly envious. Dune’s life was a hard and lonely one. He had very few friends (who were not cats) and his most intriguing acquaintances rarely remembered him upon waking. Simply stated, there was no one who cared enough about the stallion to hurt him. There was a freedom, but also a great loneliness, in that.
When the nothingness comes, there is a relief. Dune can feel the understanding settling over the pied mare, and with it a lightening of the world around them. He begins to purr.
She has questions for him, of course, but he is resolute in his silence. He just rumbles away reassuringly, and bumps against her with encouragement as willow trees rise, wraithlike from the nothingness.
“Are you doing this?”
He answers the question with a shake of his head. There is a certain amusement in the gesture. If he could change the landscape, it would be brighter, stranger, bigger. Dune was not very imaginative by nature, but peering into countless dreams has given him more than enough inspiration.
He presses a damp nose to her skin as if to say “you. You’re doing this.” And then he trots off, tail curled like a question mark, to investigate one of the white figures walking around not very far away.
This dream was full of strangers to Dune, but he could feel the way the dreamer reacted to their faces. Her thoughts were on display here, although she couldn’t realize the extent of it. And although he pitied her for her demons and her cages, he was also distinctly envious. Dune’s life was a hard and lonely one. He had very few friends (who were not cats) and his most intriguing acquaintances rarely remembered him upon waking. Simply stated, there was no one who cared enough about the stallion to hurt him. There was a freedom, but also a great loneliness, in that.
When the nothingness comes, there is a relief. Dune can feel the understanding settling over the pied mare, and with it a lightening of the world around them. He begins to purr.
She has questions for him, of course, but he is resolute in his silence. He just rumbles away reassuringly, and bumps against her with encouragement as willow trees rise, wraithlike from the nothingness.
“Are you doing this?”
He answers the question with a shake of his head. There is a certain amusement in the gesture. If he could change the landscape, it would be brighter, stranger, bigger. Dune was not very imaginative by nature, but peering into countless dreams has given him more than enough inspiration.
He presses a damp nose to her skin as if to say “you. You’re doing this.” And then he trots off, tail curled like a question mark, to investigate one of the white figures walking around not very far away.
@Luvena
