The Dream

My own horrible screaming awakened me and it took me a moment as my eyes adjusted to the soft flicker of the oil lamp to know that it had been a dream. Though as I glanced over the shadowy room I knew it was true, at least in part, for he was gone. In the dream Lysander and I were atop that acrimonious carnivore of a bird, high, so high above the city. The wind stung my cheeks as veils had long been lost to the brutality of the air. Below us like an apparition streamed forever the crimson peaks of the Voltai mountains. The jagged and unforgiving crags seemed to reach out expecting a taste of flesh and blood as we plummeted toward them. Its peaks were tainted with plumes of snow and the air was so thin it was painful to even breathe. I leaned back against him, my grip on the saddle so tight I didn't think all of the city of Treve would be able to peel me away from it. Oddly I thought “I can die now, I am finally whole, I have done everything, seen everything, been with everyone I would ever need”. I felt the movement of his arms around me, he always made it seem so easy but it was a fight, a battle of bird and man. The strength it took was evident by the firm contraction of each sinew of muscle. I marveled at how any man could win such a fight against these monsters.



I was shocked by that terrible death cry that even far below, with my feet firmly planted, sent a wild and frightening shudder up my spine. No matter how many times I heard that sound, no matter that it had been my lullaby so often it still had that affect on me. It was so much louder here atop the ebony feathersof the tarn, deafening to the point I was afraid I would feel the warm trickle of blood seep from shattered eardrums. I fought another drought of air into my lungs having been scarcely aware that they were empty. I would swear I heard him behind me laughing but the force of the wind made the sound fleeting, an illusory whisper. I wasn’t strong enough to even rotate my skull against these forces and I thought if I tried my neck would snap from the force, I was likely right. I became thankful now that he was such a warm-blooded man, he had always possessed a heat, a phoenix's flame that emanated from his core even under the hard carapace of Tarnsmans’ leather. Now I had a clearer appreciation for it, it was the only thing keeping me warm in the velocity and chill of the altitude.



There was a dance of tugging straps, rapid and skilled and the bird seemed to stop  and simply hang in the air as if some phantom hand was holding it aloft. I was able to finally breath but this whisper of peace barely lasted a moment before I felt once again the shifting of pectorals against my back and the animal shot straight up cutting through the night sky like a blade. The heavens seemed to fall away around us until I finally thought if I could lift my hands I would be able to reach up and trail the length of gloved digits over the faces of the tri-moons as they glowed so brilliantly before us. It was exhilarating and I finally knew why it was always so hard for him to let go of. Why whenever I came to watch the return he always seemed to bare a sadness that mingled with the joy of being home. I began to feel the tightness of my chest as my lungs craved the air that I had no choice but to deny them then a sense of dread roiled over me and the tarn dipped its beak and again dove straight for the blood bathed mouth of the mountain below.



Suddenly I was aware of a lack of presence I tried to lean against him again but he was gone, I was alone with this terrifying beast I knew that I could never control. I attempted to scream but the rush of air halted the sound before it was given birth to. The straps fluttered madly around me as if they were searching for the hands that only moments ago held them so tightly, safely controlling the creature to which they were attached.  Everything seemed to slow as if time had inched to a crawl, the tarn continued to drive straight for the snowy peaks, a lone sable feather floated past my cheek and I shut my eyes tightly bracing for the impact I was sure was coming and that was when I had awakened. I was sweating and as I turned to set my feet on the floor, there it was, that single streak of darkness against the creamy tile benign and foreboding in its innocence, that feather.