Karen BaneshotDreams I could recover from the late Valas Baneshot are scattered through-out the library. Here is one such Dream, recorded in the second and third points of view. This one took place on December 13th, 1010 M.R. - Aven
It's a strange word to have slip into your subconscious as you drift off to sleep in the warm, stone room of the Coventry Castle. Perhaps it was the fact that you were nestled between soft arms that held you tightly, kept you safe from the outside cold, the outside world. And yet, there it was.
And there you went.
"Too often you give that child answers to remember rather than problems to solve," a gruff voice filters into your ears.
"So?" comes the light-hearted, more feminine response. It sounded familiar, comforting.
It sounded safe. Safe, like the strong arms around you, holding you up.
Your eyes, they were shut. You sniffle once, twice, before opening them. The eye sight is perfect, if not blurred a bit with tears. The scent of pine weighs heavy in your nostrils; your father loved the smell of pine after a close shave upon his skin. Your mother, you recalled, disliked it.
You could have gone either way, but because she didn't like it (and you saw her more often than him), you chose to dislike it as well, right then and there, and wrinkled your nose up as you faced her.
Auburn hair that danced about her shoulders and neck, graceful as a swan. She had light gray eyes, and a soft touch. Her favorite colors were plum and ebony: she wore a long-sleeved linen dress, trimmed in black rabbit fur. And her hair was swept back loosely by plum blossoms pinned to a black wreath band... and her necklace was shining like a dark night against the bright red sun.
It was Moving Day. And you had fallen down and skinned your elbows and one knee. And you asked your mother 'why does it hurt' in-between squalling and squirming with pain. And she told you why: because you were a human boy, and falling hurts humans.
The sun was shining bright, but it was chilly that day. The wind was playing with her hair as she laughed gaily and asked your father if they should consider having 'another one'.
And you remember your father snarling at your mother, who clutched you close under an onslaught of words you didn't understand. Yet. And she apologized. And as he stormed off, your mother cried, cried silently. And you were so astonished, you stopped your own tears to dry hers.
Mothers aren't supposed to cry.
You awaken not long after you went to sleep, tears down your cheeks and not knowing why, lost/confused... and with skinned elbows and a knee.
Created by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 10-29-12 09:30 AM
Last Modified by Janna Oakfellow-Pushee at 10-29-12 09:30 AM