Assailant
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
@Famkee