falling deeper, with an ear sharp for the fall
Dune woke hungover on dreams, feeling full of sand. Grit, everywhere: behind the eyelids, between the teeth; crammed in the squishy folds of the brain. He blinked, not knowing where he was for a split second before the sounds of home washed over him. There was shouting somewhere in the streets, ringing through the labyrinth of the city. Elsewhere a clay pot crashed to the ground, and someone moaned in despair. A white cat on the windowsill noticed he was awake, and rolled over to expose its soft belly with a quiet sleepy sound.
“What in the world was that about?” Dune shakes his head and instantly regrets moving-- it feels like his brain is bouncing around in his skull. He keeps his eyes closed, breathes deeply, waits for the absolute worst of the sickness to pass. It wasn’t the first time his magic left him absolutely drained, and he knew well the rest of the day would be plagued with brain fog, body aches, and waves of dissociation.
He has questions, and frustrations, about what strange things unfolded in the fiery woman’s dream. But he doesn’t have the time to linger on them. As soon as he can move about without wanting to die, he’s down the streets and on his way to the docks to find work for the day.
To him it was just another dream, and the day that follows just another day.
@Morrighan ah it's been an honor and a fun thread, thank you! <3
