Dusk is starting to get used to these dreams.It's no longer a muted surprise or dream to open his eyes to strange happenings before him, to find legendaries in the area nearby collecting a group together. To see kin in the area that he knows, no matter what happens, he will not remember - that they will all blur into a mass of color when he wakes. To start to travel with a group to an unknown place (although this time he has heard it been called the desert), the only familiar companion the unease that tends to follow him into these dreams because he cannot shake it once he wakes.
It's funny, how Dusk is starting to feel like an old hand at what should be such a novel thing.
Yet, this is how it is and so Dusk travels, only keeping a vague eye on the group, drifting through the travel as they once again go through the plains, before finally ending up at the fabled desert. He is not immune to the effects of this travel, he still feels the ache of it, the wear on him and his body. But it's still a detached experience to go through again, a jumble of moments more than an actual journey that one would take. Time stretches and shifts until finally, in the oppressive heat of the land, they end up at the final obelisk.
This one is different in color and Dusk circles it as the group spreads out, eyeing the stones in front of it suspiciously. He has little interest in the puzzle this time - he'll watch, because he always watches, because this is his role in this strange little arrangement - but he's aware that no matter what he does it'll end the same way. He's a ghost in these proceedings and he'll act appropriately, and accept his fate.
If he doesn't die in this heat first, anyways.
The group begins to work at the puzzle and he keeps watch, wondering what point it is for him to be here, if there is nothing he can do. He wants to leave, to be done with this - and yet he wants to stay, to keep to the duty he has been given. It's the conflict that keeps him where he is, only able to pace as the stones light and dim, shifting strange colors as a rotating group of kin (and at some point, canines) fuss at the stones, trying to figure out the pattern. He lets the finer details of it slip away from him, nothing he says will matter, none of his actions will have any effect. It isn't until the Obelisk lights up (as it always does) that he finally pays attention, drawn towards the smooth rock.
He thinks about not touching it, for once - Dusk has always followed its call, despite the unease that every Obelisk gives him. He knows, in the way one does after repeated attempts, that he's unlikely to have anything pleasant follow once he presses his nose against the smooth surface. But he is unsure what would happen if he didn't touch it, and that worries him more. Would he be trapped in the dream, unable to return? Would he just never wake? He doesn't want to know.
So Dusk steps forward, weary, and presses against the warm rock.
It's strange, coming to a place again that he knows but doesn't know all the same. There's nothing identifying he can place beyond the color, but there's a difference this time in the air. The scent is cloying, almost like rot, and it sets his teeth on edge. Enough that when Dusk gets his bearings, instead of walking, he breaks into a run. He's not sure how long he runs - there's no way to tell the time in this place, no surroundings that give him any idea of if he's making progress. But he pushes himself forward until he sees that distant toward once more and he tries his best to reach it but -
He's in the swamp again, yet something's wrong. He takes a step forward, two, three, before he realizes what exactly is wrong.
It's silent.
There is none of the ambient sound that governs the swamp, the rustle of undergrowth and trees as creatures scramble through, the hum of insects, the birdsong that he hears ever so often. It's quiet, except for the wind, and his breathing, and his steps.
And once Dusk seems to realize this, he suddenly hears the sound of something - someone behind him.
He breaks into a run, scrambling furiously through the swamp. He needs to leave, to go, to get away. He's not sure what's behind him and he doesn't dare to look back. Every instinct in his body is screaming that it's a predator and it's keeping even pace with him, so there's no time for him to waste if he wants to get away. All he can do is keep throwing himself forward at a frenetic pace, desperately trying to outrun whatever this is. He doesn't want to die, he can't die - not this soon.
He doesn't want to die before he's ever truly felt like he's lived.
But Dusk eventually has to stop and what gets him is a tree branch, tripping him to sprawl across the ground, winded as he feels the full body impact. But whatever was chasing him doesn't stop and he turns at the last minute to see what appears to be a kimeti before...
Dusk blinks awake, trembling, still shot through with frantic energy. He scrambles himself out of his bed and sprints until he can see the beach, see the ocean and the shuppies and the other of the Cres. He's not alone, he's not being hunted - there's still sound, not the unnerving silence of before except for what was following him.
He's safe. There's nothing there. It's just him, and the beach.
He still feels like he's being hunted.
WC: 1006