Redhawk Caldera westworld

He was swimming in small, red flowers; enveloped and warm -- dare he say, happy? -- feeling every bit of his prime. Frolicking beside him was something black, a delightful and oozing drop of ink. It wiggled amorphously, shimmying and quivering, filling him with the purest sense of mirth, as he watched it. Gold pinpricks  bubbled up from the oily blob, swirling until they became eyes, peering at him like tiny  worlds full of innocence and kindness, lain bare in aurelian diamonds. The blackness began to spread, taking on limbs and becoming more solid...

Are you asleep?

Kaizer made a slight jerking motion, and then he was blinking at her, feeling unable to pull himself from against her side. "No," he lied, a stupid sort of smile creasing his muzzle. The expression felt weird, and something in the back of his head seemed to want him to get up, remove himself from... whatever this was, he couldn't think... but the voice was distant, nearly inaudible, and he ignored it in favor of counting the rise and fall of her breaths, against his cheek. "I don't want to get up," he said out loud, forgetting Raven was a cognizant wolf and not the happy, shimmering dot from his mind's sleepy eye.