Sleep is not nearly comforting as it should be, not for his harried soul. He had settled into his little hiding spot, hoping for relief from his complicated reality, but even unconsciousness is not enough to banish her from his mind.

As he arrives in the murky, vague dreamscape, a thick mist creeps and coils around him. It is not exactly cruel and cold, nor is it warm and welcoming, but the heavy ocean scent that comes with it wrenches at the taut strings of his heart. He can sense the heat of another’s presence, but his eyes cannot pick out even faint outlines of landmarks, let alone those of another body.

Despite the false blindness he is subjected to, he decides to move in search of this hidden party; his initial steps are hesitant, but a measure of reassurance flickers into life as he eventually realizes that the ground seems to be solid and level. His pace picks up as he continues, but no matter which direction he takes or how far he wanders, that sense of nearness never changes.

Without any warning, an odd, dull clinking noise rushes past him just as a flash of color catches his eye. The haze seems to thin at the same time and to his left, a red and gold tail flicks toward him before disappearing into obscurity once more.

He is sure that he recognizes those ombre strands, so he launches into pursuit. Though he cannot see further than a few feet in front of him, he can still hear that strange noise and that is what he follows. It seems an eternity passes and at some point, the ground changes beneath his feet, giving way much more easily (and thankfully, he does not go sprawling when the transition occurs). His muscles burn with effort, and just as he begins to wonder if the mist will ever surrender his prey, it does.

As suddenly as though a switch is flipped somewhere, the gloom is dispelled by a disorienting bright light and this time, he does stumble. He manages to recover before he hits the ground, but what he sees next makes him stop, makes him want to sink to his knees anyway.

She’s there, standing on the pale sands of what he now recognizes as a beach (though he cannot quite tell which one it is), while the ocean stretches expansively at her back. The passage of time has not dimmed the loveliness that he remembers and is only enhanced by the waves that crash and froth around her. His heart skips a beat and he hesitantly steps toward her, eyes silently pleading for her to stay this time, to take a moment to understand.

She holds his gaze as he takes his time approaching, but as he draws close enough to reach for her, a hardness settles in her eyes. The frosted scales that he had once enjoyed melting with his breath seem to harden as well, creating a layer of ice over her supple curves, a layer that seems as unyielding as the one that she’s been keeping her emotions behind.

He swallows thickly around the lump that is forming in his throat, realizing she is on the verge of flight again. As he opens his mouth to call for her, she whirls around, kicking up a spray that splatters across his face and chest, causing his eyes to instinctively slam shut to avoid the sting of the seawater. His body jerks at the surprisingly cold dousing he receives and when he opens his eyes again, he blinks into the warm sunshine that peeks through the willow branches he’d taken shelter beneath.

Disappointment floods his system; not only in that he hadn’t really seen her, but also that she was just as unforgiving in his dream as she’d been in real life. He makes a disgruntled noise at the thought, then realizes though it should not be, water is streaming down his face. A feminine voice calls his name and for a moment, his heart swells with hope, but it quickly dawns on him that the voice is different. He glances around and notices the figure that looms nearby, features hidden in shadows since the sunlight comes from behind them.

At first, he is wary and scrambles to his feet, tense with the idea that he’s been discovered by an unfriendly wanderer. He cranes his neck, attempting to find a different angle that might reveal the stranger’s face; finding this unsuccessful, he shuffles his own position until the light changes and gives him what he wants.

It has been a long time, but he quickly recognizes the face, despite being unfamiliar with the playful expression she wears. The strain of his rigid posture immediately relaxes and, though he has been craving a bit of solitude, he is grateful to see the warrior standing there.

His eyes glint with amusement as he tilts his head. “Am I still dreaming? Or is that Famkee, come to find me once again?”

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber

He immediately notices the guilt on her face and he dislikes it, but the expression morphs into something he can’t name, but it evokes an even stronger response. He is on the verge of apologizing when her eyes seem to glaze over and her body freezes in place. At first, he is bewildered by the vacancy that has seized her so tightly that she does not respond when he calls her name, or when he reaches to gingerly prod her shoulder with his nose. He steps back and studies her more closely, gazing curiously into the sightless eyes. Suddenly, the answer comes to him: the clairvoyance she’d been gifted after their time on the Mountain, it must be showing her something. He waits quietly for some sign that the supernatural grip is weakening.

After what seems an eternity, she still does not show any sign of rousing, so he decides to call to her again, head tilted and that feigned pleasant air about him. She does begin to stir shortly after, but he wonders if it is because of him or the blood he sees dripping from her nose. Whatever the reason, she seems unsettled when her consciousness fully returns, but she is quick to mask it behind an almost convincing smile. He is not fooled, though. He knows that move all too well, having to utilize it himself as he portrayed himself as an unbothered man that had heard of a lost kingdom and, his curiosity piqued, had gathered a group who were willing to take a gamble on restoring their home. He had told none of them, not even Kreation, with whom he’d spent the most time, his real reason for wanting to pull Tephra from the void that had consumed it.

The truth is both selfish and shallow and he often feels a burning shame when he thinks of the fond memories they had shared with him, of the genuine love everyone carried, of the profound investment they all had in the kingdom. And here he is, wanting to use Tephra as a carrot to dangle in front of the one who had left him standing alone at the edge of the Dale’s lake, to use its return as a means to capture her attention once more, so that she might at least give him a chance to apologize to her. He sighs quietly, annoyed that he had gone looking for a bit of reprieve from his angst and had not gotten a single minute of peace.

He grows suspicious as Famkee makes her feeble attempt at conversation, the tense smile still plastered across her face despite the body language that betrays the turmoil roiling within her. He tilts his head again and watches as her eyes dart from one spot to the next, never resting in one place, let alone on him. What the hell could she have seen (or felt) that had created this reaction? He nearly asks her outright, but her tongue is quicker than his and suddenly the questions pour from her mouth, pulling him into a similar state of discomfort.

Who is she?

He is at a loss for words, trapped in a cage of truths that Famkee eventually builds upon with every question or statement. He wishes he could lie, could make up some story about a pretty stranger that had caught his eye once. But she was far more than that and Famkee is not wrong when she says that this unknown woman consumes him; yes, she is becoming his everything, though whether that is a good or bad thing, he is still unsure. One of his hooves scratches absently, ripping out the roots of whatever grows in the soil beneath him. He is not sure how to answer her question, nor is he sure if he even wants to attempt to, so he mulls things over as she continues, waiting in agitated silence until she seems to have exhausted her curiosity.

His eyes are not quite diamond-hard with anger, but neither are they soft with fondness as he finds his voice again and responds, “Her name is Adriana, and she is different.” His gaze drifts toward the Forest that conceals the shore upon which she had stood when he’d emerged from the ocean after so long. “But.. she’s gone.” The slump of his shoulders is subtle, but it is still there as he looks back to Famkee. It has been one thing to deal with the aftermath of their disagreement (for lack of a better term), but it is a beast of another kind to admit it out loud, even to someone that he knows and trusts. He’s not sure how he feels about her knowing everything that he’s been trying to stifle, but a small voice tells him it’s not the worst thing in the world.

The contriteness in her expression is strange, not because he questions the sincerity of it, but simply because he has never known her to be like this. However, as he well knows, a lot can happen even in a short amount of time, and he can only imagine what has been going on in her life. He does not want to get too bogged down in his story and end up forgetting to check on her wellbeing, so he decides to try a compromise. “If you will tell me about your struggles, I will share mine.”

All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware

--Martin Buber