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<blockquote data-quote="MacConnell" data-source="post: 7302897" data-attributes="member: 6855223"><p><strong>Y 0: Day 159: Doldrums 39: Taking Rest</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>[gm]Raven has no difficulty deciding on a good spot a little uphill from where the main work is being done. Occassionally the smell of the cookfire reaches him, but even with his lack of interest in pork, it is not offensive. Being much further downhill, the refuse offers no impediment to rest.[/gm]</p><p></p><p>[gm]Sleep comes quietly and with stealth, as it always seems to for Raven Elk. In the darkest hours of the morning when sleep is at its deepest, the dreams come. They sprinkle in, like they do, a glimpse her and there. A chicken scratching in the yard becomes a pig rooting in the wood, which becomes a beetle digging at a long fallen tree, then the vision blacks out to a single point of light, like a solitary star in the vast night sky.</p><p></p><p>The start grows larger or perhaps the dreamer is moving toward it, until the light is upon him and a new dream appears. Ravens take to sky, though it is dusk and their vision is limited. As a raven shaken from his roost, Raven flies through the darkening sky. It is not the coming of night that makes the greatest dark. There is smoke over the next hill. The indigo hue of the falling sun on the horizon marred by an angry orange glow.</p><p></p><p>The glow is not some campfire, not some ravish of nature started with a bolt of lightning, though lightning crashes through the sky, filled with circling crows. The glow is total destruction of a community that once occupied the valley over that hill. Men, soldiers in armor, walk that hill depositing a prisoner at the feet of pitch black warhorse. The man on the horse looks down at the defeated heap, then toward the sky and its cawing ravens. Turning his head to his left he seems to look directly into the eyes of one out of kilter rook.</p><p></p><p>Those eyes are pits of darkness, even blacker than the horse. The fires of the community light up in the reflection of his eyes like some mirrored pool into the abyss.[/gm]</p><p>[gm]Raven Elk wakes with a start and sit up, looking directly into the first rays of the rising sun. It was only a dream, or was it. He is shaken to his core having met that gaze and his body is covered in cold sweat. Never before has dream felt to carry such portent.[/gm]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="MacConnell, post: 7302897, member: 6855223"] [b]Y 0: Day 159: Doldrums 39: Taking Rest[/b] [gm]Raven has no difficulty deciding on a good spot a little uphill from where the main work is being done. Occassionally the smell of the cookfire reaches him, but even with his lack of interest in pork, it is not offensive. Being much further downhill, the refuse offers no impediment to rest.[/gm] [gm]Sleep comes quietly and with stealth, as it always seems to for Raven Elk. In the darkest hours of the morning when sleep is at its deepest, the dreams come. They sprinkle in, like they do, a glimpse her and there. A chicken scratching in the yard becomes a pig rooting in the wood, which becomes a beetle digging at a long fallen tree, then the vision blacks out to a single point of light, like a solitary star in the vast night sky. The start grows larger or perhaps the dreamer is moving toward it, until the light is upon him and a new dream appears. Ravens take to sky, though it is dusk and their vision is limited. As a raven shaken from his roost, Raven flies through the darkening sky. It is not the coming of night that makes the greatest dark. There is smoke over the next hill. The indigo hue of the falling sun on the horizon marred by an angry orange glow. The glow is not some campfire, not some ravish of nature started with a bolt of lightning, though lightning crashes through the sky, filled with circling crows. The glow is total destruction of a community that once occupied the valley over that hill. Men, soldiers in armor, walk that hill depositing a prisoner at the feet of pitch black warhorse. The man on the horse looks down at the defeated heap, then toward the sky and its cawing ravens. Turning his head to his left he seems to look directly into the eyes of one out of kilter rook. Those eyes are pits of darkness, even blacker than the horse. The fires of the community light up in the reflection of his eyes like some mirrored pool into the abyss.[/gm] [gm]Raven Elk wakes with a start and sit up, looking directly into the first rays of the rising sun. It was only a dream, or was it. He is shaken to his core having met that gaze and his body is covered in cold sweat. Never before has dream felt to carry such portent.[/gm] [/QUOTE]
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