Larksong Grotto Imaginary hands folding over you

he dreamt he wept he babbled he spoke he cried out he screamed he slept.
the kaleidescope of images danced beneath his fervent eyelids.
but wake from dreams lestan did not — not yet.
not for some hours, and then he came vitally alive with a gasp and an aching plead for "water."
he scrabbled weakly in the dust for the deer-bone.