Chapter I the dream
Falling, falling. Always falling. Blood, blood on the ground and in the smoke and in her hair. Blood again, spilling over the edge of a cracked Gray glass. Senseless, hushed and hurried murmurs, broken laughter. Blood, her own this time, running thick and dark and slow. But always the falling.
She woke, breathing jagged, before she felt the end of the falling. She knew she wouldn't, even as she tumbled through the vast horror of the dream that came as it had many times before. She never had. She wished she would, she thought as she sat up in her bed, now messy from her restless sleep. Maybe that would bring an end to it.
She knew better than to wish after an end so easy, though—life wasn't that kind.
Her brooding was interrupted by a breath of hot air on her left arm. Her heart jumped, frayed nerves buzzing, even as she saw the familiar glowing blue eyes of her mabari. "Asgar," she breathed; out loud, as if to soothe her ragged mind. The towering war dog offered an almost inaudible whimper and licked her hand softly. This wasn't the first time he had seen her come out of sleep in such a state. Her father, in respect of her mother's disdain of animals as night guests in Highever, had ordered all mabari to sleep with the hounds in the kennels when she was years younger. At the time, she had resented Asgar being treated as just any mongrel; he was her closest companion since youth, besides being twice as intelligent as the high-born lords and ladies that constantly graced the Cousland halls. She had obeyed for the most part, though, until recently. After the attack, Asgar rarely left her side. Of all the castle's many inhabitants, the dog was the only one to know of the terrors it had left with her. She was grateful. He nuzzled against her outstretched hand. She hadn't noticed she had been shaking.
Frustrated, she threw off her blankets and strode to the window. Her fingers fumbled on the latch. She cursed herself under her breath as she managed to open it, flinging both panels out with slightly more force than necessary. The rush of cold night air hit her, jarring but welcome. It helped her pull her mind out of the dreams and back to reality. Asgar padded up softly to stand beside her. She placed a hand on his head without thinking as she looked out into the early morning air. The moon was out, in that awkward phase between a half moon and a full one. Incomplete, she thought it seemed.
A flash of silver on the underside of her right arm caught her eye. She flipped her arm over quickly, only to look away in disgust just as quickly. It was only a scar, slivery tissue reflecting the light of the incomplete moon. It had been there long enough. It shouldn't be surprising her now. There was another like it on her left arm, both aftermath of the attack. The dream crept back into her thoughts, her own blood this time, running thick and dark and slow…
She turned away from the window, her eyes closed against an enemy that had long since fled. If she wasn't going to sleep, she thought, she might as well be up doing something useful. With a final pat to Asgar's head, she strode to her dresser, sifting through the piles of cloth to remove a plain beige silken top and brown woolen pants. She shrugged out of her nightclothes and into her day's attire with a quick prayer to the Maker that the unrest of the night would remain in the room when she left. She picked two daggers with polished bone handles as she fled the dreams with her war dog on her heels and closed the door on the now frigid bedroom.