Emberwood my future looks bright to me

The only good thing to come out of her recent illness was the nearly perpetual sleep, which she had needed even before the cold had overwhelmed her. All the wandering, gathering, conversation with strangers, racing around in the forest—it all caught up to her with this flourishing sickness. The sleep would do her good, though.

In her dream she was—singing, an audience of shapes around her in the grass. It was spring, with flowers wreathing a plateau of stone that served as a stage. She was aware of how warm it was; too warm for spring at least. The song—her mouth was moving and she could feel the emphasis of the music, but there was only silence. Silence and then a high-note screeching, climbing, becoming so sharp, like a dog whistle.

There was pressure in her throat and nose, and suddenly Ibis was awake. Not exactly coherent, but she was gasping for breath, her nose whistling a bit as she struggled to inhale through a plugged up nose. When she resorted to mouth breathing things went a bit smoother—and as she groggily opened her eyes, she felt the sting of winter air and winced.