Yuulatune 2022

QTE #2 Dreamscape – Among the Clouds

Character/s: TigerLily#302 (central), 112-D || QTE: Dreamscape

The hum of chattering Ptithians disappears with the rumble of the train as Leilah ventures further down the hallway. She has heard whispers of an ethereal realm in the last carriage, something unimaginably picturesque and calming. Claws brushing cool metal rails, Leilah enters a train car bathing in sweet pink and orange sunlight, paws pausing as they land on moist grass.

She wanders out onto a wooden boardwalk, head tilted upwards.

The sky is splattered and freckled with stars, planets strewn, drifting, tugged, across. Where it disappears into the sea of clouds, the sun and the moons cling to its rich blue.

The mellow sunlight flows through every cloud and Leilah feels that this twilight will never end; even if the sun were crashing through the horizon, the feeling would not flee: the quiet of the mind and the lullabies of the stars that they hope will follow them into their dreams – though the endless space holds nothing louder than a soft silence, she can hear the echoes of a guitar’s summery strums from a distant dream.

Leilah sighs and puts one paw in front of another, searching aimlessly for the end of the path of planks. Around her, the clouds saunter along the ground, wandering without end, maybe falling off the horizon. They slide past storm-grey stones standing in the sea and glide over scattered objects below – a rocking chair of faded wood, a glinting mirror, a sculpture of a strange Echoer with a tiny tail and antlers reaching outwards like tree branches.

‘Excuse me!’

Scanning the world below the pale mist, Leilah nearly misses another visitor on the boardwalk: a streaky green dragon with webbed spikes of a more vibrant shade. White scales trail down either side of his neck, and his undersides are pale red with black flecks, as is his face.

‘Hello, how can I help you?’

‘I fished this out of the clouds,’ the dragon replies, lifting a pastel teal shawl threaded with gold off the tip of his tail. ‘I think it would look good on you, please take it.’

‘Thank you.’

Leilah drapes the airy fabric over her shoulders and around her mane. It is so light it could almost be nonexistent. Between two fingers, they rub circles in the shawl, taking in the nameless familiar, faint smell. Looking up, Leilah sees that the dragon has taken a step back.

‘Quite fitting, especially in this setting. It does suit you.’

‘Thank you. I don't have a mirror, so I'll trust your judgement.’

'Is that so?' With a gleam in his eyes, the corners of his mouth pull back. ‘If you'd like some jewellery to match, come see me in Maw's Clutch. The name's Watermelon.’

Leilah returns a warm smile, wishes Watermelon a relaxing train trip, and continues walking.

A visit to Maw’s Clutch could be interesting…

She entertains the idea for a moment. For years, Wyndgale – Aethe Edge in particular – had stirred a cloudy cocktail of indescribable flavour in their mind. In this cloudscape, the water is still and clear, and Leilah can taste the region’s idyll and rugged beauty. Plumei Santos had been painted cold white by the wintery weather, but in every inn and shop she had found a thawingly cordial atmosphere. In the train, the hosts had prepared a toasty accommodation, quite a holiday destination in itself – Leilah will have to find Kalel later to commend her.

And here – Leilah catches herself where the wood planks stop – the otherworldly scenery, disconnected from reality, is simply tranquil. With no further to go, Leilah sinks down, soaking in the ambience. Lying upon the boardwalk, the warmth of the wood seeps into their bones, her featherweight shawl fluttering in a faint breeze. Leilah lets their paws fall into the pastel ocean. It feels like nothing, yet reminds her of a very tangible sensation, and the longing to soar amongst the clouds again strikes her as true and strong as everything altogether.

But, unlike every time before, the yearn is not accompanied by heartache.

The sky doesn’t feel so out of reach, the wind not so far from the space between her feathers.

As Leilah dips her wings in the milky pink and orange, she learns to know something akin to patience – or perhaps more like contentedness.

I can wait until I can fly again.

The deadweight tethered to their half-grown wing lightens, the chains that drag her to the ground pulling free.

I can wait.

Leilah lets her wish wander into the dreamy landscape.