Moonspear Is there a spirit that spits upon the exit of signs.

He sank inward, thinking of his dreams as they faded from his memory. Bits and pieces that patchworked with reality, clinging to them as if they held more sense than what stood before his eyes.

A cliff face, with raging sea below. Waves crashing so violently that they foamed the edge, frothing like rancid spit over the tooth of a rabid animal. A dark shape and a voice speaking. The waves crash, the foam becomes a shape - a wolf - he thinks it is his father. It does not speak but it also does not solidify.

Revui does not know how to make sense of this. Even as he tries to recite the moments to himself, they are fading. Was it the ocean booming on the cliff in his dream, or was it the shouting of a voice? Was the wolf white like the cresting foam, or is he confusing the scenes in his fever dream with memory, or with life now? It did not matter in the end; the pieces fell away to nothing. He was left empty-headed and tired.

A raging storm at the edge of the world, but the ground is made of tall wheat, not jagged rock. The booming comes as a stampede. He is running, a bear at his hocks, its mouth open and pouring hot breath. It reaches for him; he is falling, he looks back to the bear with one eye and sees a face sprouting between the massive teeth. A wolf head in place of tongue. It grins, its teeth are black, its eyes are blue.

Over his thoughts was a whisper he did not hear. Kukutux said something maybe. Revui kept his eyes shut and pretended to go back to sleep, as if that might bring clarity - but he was too awake for that, and merely looked childish and avoidant in that instant. The images he tried to pull up again and again, and they mixed and muddied, twisted and faded until it was incomprehensible. He lets out a heavy sigh as the last of the images leaves him.