I didn’t have much to do with that, I reminded her.
No? Rumor has it that a certain shifter needed your help to figure out where you were.
I grimaced at the reminder.I wasn’t supposed to invade his dreams, I admitted.
I really don’t think he had those particular circumstances in mind when he told you not to,she said mildly.
So you knew about that.
I saw his face, sunshine. When he learned what you can do.
I sighed.Oh.
So whatever happened in your shared dreams, or whatever didn’t, I know it changed things.
I nodded.
And that changed them again, then.
Another nod.
Would you like me to tell you a story?she asked after the silence stretched for a while.
Yes, please.
Sylvia had leftan hour or so before, and I’d taken her advice and made myself some tea—I’d gotten myself a sampler at some point, and there were a few packets of Sleepy Time chamomile in there.
I’d drunk half of it, and now it was just getting cold.
I’d learned that I didn’t really like chamomile tea.
And I wasn’t any sleepier than I’d been before it, either.
I was staring at the ceiling when I felt it. This niggling, tingling sort of feeling in the corners of my brain.
A shifting shadow with tiny, scrabbling claws trying to find a way in.
Fear thrilled through me, strange and uncertain.
Again, I felt it, trying to find purchase, trying to reach me, to… Find me.
I drew in a deep breath, trying to calm my rapid pulse.
The fear wasn’t mine.
But I recognized it.
I closed my eyes.
I wasn’tsure where I was—this wasn’tmydream, it was his. There was no river. No tree.
I looked around me, trying to figure out where he was.
I was surrounded by ruins and brambles, trees and vines and brush overgrowing everything. Choking out the dim light from what had to be a half-moon or less, to judge by the darkness. Then again, light doesn’t always make sense in dreams.
How to reach him.
How to rescue him.