The feeling of being pulled down. Or drawn up? The most exquisite sensation of drowning, of air being robbed from lungs and flesh from bone.

Juniper, Juniper, Juniper ...

And then, they were awake.

Curtains rustled, having clearly only just been thrown open so that the fingers of the sun could touch their skin.

Or. Where skin ought to have been? Juniper reached down, patted at their leg. Rather…what were those, tibula, fibia…no, no. Nomenclature didn't matter. What did very much matter was that they were there, exposed, and dry. Panic seized at the awakened tiefling as they drew their knees up, inspected the other leg, and the grip of the sensation only grew stronger when they found it to be in the same state. As was their left hand, their right, clapped both of those limbs against their chest and heard only the sound of bone striking bone, hollowed reeds clunking together musically in the breeze that still danced around the lonely place they’d come-to.