A Dream About a River

I’m in the resting place, not moving waters. I’m in the resting place. I know that what I lived while sleeping wasn’t real. I do, but Flesh shudders and the mind is full of thoughts. So many thoughts. Too many, for a false danger that’s now gone.

Pulse is loud in my ears, like the roar of the water as it dragged me below. Cold claws, slicing through fur, through skin, trying to take fever’s warmth. It’s hard to breathe. Each breath comes too quickly. Is that dampness I taste? There’s water here. Why is there water? I can’t breathe-

I’m in the resting place. There is no water here. There’s not a hint of that mild sharpness. Nothing pulls and Flesh and fur. The only sound is the quiet murmuring of Heres and Others. I know it’s safe here.

The water had felt safe at first. It had been so calming, so peaceful, with gentle sounds that made me think of singing. It made me think of Friends. I remember smiling at that thought and humming along. I remember letting Flesh take over, of only giving a moment’s thought before diving into the water. I can feel the beginnings of a stuttered purr at the memory. Jumping in had been so cold at first, but I quickly found comfort in the water’s hold. It was like when Friend Haloiota held Friend Something, but nicer, I imagine. Having a Here grip one's neck can’t be too comfortable.

I’d let the water guide me and I felt safe. I realise now that feeling safe was my mistake. Just as it had been when the danger had been real, the water turned against me. Soothing and steady became rough and raging. Flesh shivers as I think on it. It still believes we’re in the dream.

The mind is confused. It doesn’t know what to think. I like the water, but I fear it. I love the feeling of lightness when I swim, but the sting of water going where it shouldn’t - the burning as it fills Flesh - is terrifying. Water refreshes, but water drowns. It soothes and sears, brings peace and panic. It’s good and bad... or something in between. Is it neutral? That doesn’t sound wrong. Water is maybe neutral, which is good to know. (I must thank Less again for this learning).

Working slowly through the thoughts is nice. Pulse has slowed a little, and Flesh’s shudders are less frequent. Thinking too deeply about the waters still makes the fur bristle, as thinking on my feathers does. I think slowly and carefully, and I savour it. In the resting place, there’s time for that.