Night fell, as it often does. As the light gradually dimmed towards darkness, he noticed that the mist had thinned a little bit. The music he had so enjoyed recently, which sent his spirit soaring, had diminished into just an echo – faint, but present.
Night fell, and he laid down on a damp patch of grass to rest, tired from his travels through this damned mist. He soon drifted off on the cool sward into a soft slumber.
He dreamt. He dreamt of the music. He dreamt of the bright blue sky just out of his reach, of the open road before him. Happiness. Vision. Contentment.
He dreamt of warmth. It wasn’t that he was cold – though the bedding he rested on did have a bit of a chill to it – but he wasn’t warm. He dreamt of the source of the warmth – a companion of many faces he recognized, yet faceless, with arms outstretched. Then with arms wrapped around him, enveloping him in it’s embrace. Nurturing. Protective. Encouraging. He dreamt of the transfer and sharing of energy, the warmth freely given and taken between the two, in a wonderful symbiotic relationship.
He dreamt he was full, overflowing. He felt he was beaming and radiant. Powerful, unstoppable. More than he could ever be on his own.
The cool breeze stirred him from the dream, waking him slowly from his slumber. As he woke, he noticed he didn’t feel warm anymore.
But he didn’t feel cold.