Seaside Moors cause taking you to another landscape is my mandate.

i'm dreaming -- I'M NOT GOING!

faint echoes down an abandoned hall, no soul there save valravn's. his ears strained as a tongue more intimate to him than the susurration of his dam's heartbeat beckoned -- but all around him, the world was black.

he peered down at his feet; they were crowded by dark clovers, as plutonian as his own pelt. he was puzzled for he recognized the dissonance of reality in his dream, where all was dark save a bobbing blue wisp in the distance.

it radiated out, not unlike the shimmering phosphora of his birthden; he recognized it intimately and had no name for it.

he drew close, marveling at how the dark shrouds under this animus' feet seemed to lift, as if concentrated sunlight was cast into that dour realm and banished all shade -- underfoot the clovers transformed from black to lime green to a rich mahogany, all on faintest sigh of a soul's breath.

he stood transfixed as the lightness drew close. where he stood the shadows coagulated and writhed like a pit of asps; where she stood, lightness and wealth and happiness seemed to exude, siphoning off the blight of his dreamworld in little incandescent rays.

die sonne? the bauble of blue and shimmering silver spoke. val's eyes flew open with a start, a soft o of his mouth announcing his surprise to see his dreamworld visited by so splendid a dreamwraith.