Laurel

Gaheris feels a bit of consciousness come to her. She’s in an odd place, filled with mist and clouds, stretched over the horizon as far as the eye can see. Her body feels numb and light as she begins to explore. Suddenly, she finds herself unable to move. In front of her, is sitting a man in a cloak, with a purple, wooden staff perched next to him, a vial of water dangling from it. He seems to be saying something, but she can’t hear. 

She squints a bit, trying to decipher if he’s talking to her, or if he’s just mouthing. It’s all so unclear and smoky. She tries to blink the sleep from her eyes, but this seems to be... A dream. She rubs her eyes to try and see the man better, trying to stumble towards him, her body heavy, yet limp.

He removes the cloak from his head, but she still can’t see his face. All she can perceive is his smile, which feels familiar in some way. 

He continues speaking, with the words becoming audible, but distant and confusing. 

However, she can make out a single sentence: 

“…Lost, are we, little Gareth?” He speaks.

Gaheris has no time to respond. 

The man is quickly swallowed up by the darkness, and she, back into empty sleep.