Sleep or...

"More are falling ill, yet what am I doing?"

There was nobody to answer the question but himself as he looked up at the ceiling of his dorm room.

"Nothing, but trying to sleep."

The weather blew the wind with an uncomfortable warmth in their direction, making Martin feel even more agitated in the room, which had warmed up slightly, becoming slightly humid even as he continued looking at the ceiling, trying to sleep, trying to piece together the thoughts in his mind while fighting off that urge not to sleep, knowing full well one of Germaine's concoctions lay in store if he did not.

And his eyes closed.

They closed and—

Someone was calling his name.

His ear twitched, recognizing the bell-like sound of the voice, knowing it was drawing him in, making him want to remember something as he stood there in the puddling waters, the strange haze of the area overtaking him as his ears continued twitching, trying to listen for that voice. He lifted a paw, wanting to reach for the vote, yet—

The voice wasn't in front of him, which in turn perplexed him. " Why can 't I remember? Did I do something wrong? " He turned. He then repeated what he thought out loud. "Hey. Who are you? Why can't I remember what I can't seem to remember? Did I do something wrong?"

And it was then that he found himself staring into the cold dead eyes of a mousemaiden, her clothing falling off her as she continued looking at him, and he found himself taking a step backward, not because he was revolted by what he saw in that nightmare, but because of the guilt he felt for some reason—

"You have no idea who I am, do you?" the mousemaiden said, stepping forward, a rose in her hands. And he, the courageous warrior he was, wanted to run.

Because he didn't know who she was or why he felt so guilty for her being in the state that she was in. The digests of his paws opened and closed as another mouse, an older one, stepped forward. "You don't know who I am either, do you?"

There, in his head, was the urge to cry, the desire to remember, but the fear of what kind of pain remembering would bring him. " The guilt, right? "

"Why?" Another voice said, the broken squirrel, one eye-popping out of his dead body, walking forward. "Why don't you remember us?"

"I don't know," Martin said. "I don't know; I don't know."

"Brave warrior that you are," the squirrel said. "And you are afraid to remember? Cursed be you. Curse be on you, Martin, and you know it."

"You have no idea of who I am," the mousemaiden said, continuing forward, rose in hand, somehow seeming less threatening than the squirrel as a sudden urge to step close to her, to join her started up in his head, one that he couldn't explain.

It was then—

He saw the good creatures of Mossflower, except they were not well. Nor were they ill as they were, but dead, decaying.

"It's your fault, Martin. You sent them there, to the place you can't remember. The place of promises long forgotten. It's your fault, Martin."

To which he covered his ears, and he was screaming. Screaming for it all to stop, for the nightmares to go away. " Why? Why must this happen to me! Why! "

"Martin!"

He trembled in his dream.

"Martin!"

He tried looking up, trying to face the visions in his dreams as he would Greeneyes in battle, when he saw the dead mousemaiden in front of her, her dead hollow eyes and the rose.

"Martin, you need to wake up!"

It was then he sat up straight in the bed, sobbing. His entire body trembled, but Timballisto wasn't there this time to comfort him, yet there was the distinct realization in his mind that it hadn 't been Timballisto who'd been having the nightmares, but instead him. And Timballisto had been hiding this from him as a sob escaped. "T.B. What have you done?"

Martin clutched his ears, his body trembling, his fur standing on end from the dream as his blood went cold, realizing suddenly that Timballisto had been keeping the dreams away. Without his Dibbinhood friend, he couldn't stop the nightmares by himself without his brother.

"I don't blame T.B. I mean, he didn't mean to leave me like this, to make it, so I didn't know, but now I don't know what to do! And if anyone heard…"

"Martin?"

Martin's head shot up, realizing someone else was in the room, as wet tears fell down his face, soaking the fur around his eyes and muzzle. He stared, feeling at first as if he didn't recognize the good creature in front of him as he'd not recognized the good creature in front of him in the dream, making him suddenly fear, forgetting those around him who were alive. But then—

"Martin, are…"

"Bella," Martin said, sounding very much like a Dibbun, something he wasn't anymore. "I am so sorry!"

The Badger Mother stepped forward. "There's nothing to be sorry for, but it is no wonder that you're having nightmares, given what you've been through."

"But it's not about the fight with Tsarmina! Or anyone else I've fought!" Martin said, closing his eyes and clenching the sheets, feeling ever so pitiful.

"It's worse, isn't it?" Bella said.

To which he looked up at her, taking a deep breath.

"It's the ones who you've lost."

"But Boar wasn't among them!" Martin cried out, watching Bella's muzzle twist in curiosity. "It's—it's…"

"Who are they, Martin? The ones coming to you in your dreams?"

"I can't remember! I can't remember!" His eyes were closed. Sure that everyone else could hear, he was screaming, suddenly hating himself for being so weak. "I can't remember who they are!" The tears were coming, and grief for those he didn't remember overwhelmed him. "Why'd I have to be such an idiot and forget something so important! I'm no champion! No hero! I…"

"Stop."

The bark from Bella was sharp, culling the tears, culling the yelling. Martin flopped backward, taking a deep breath and then saying as he calmed himself. "Why? Why did T.B. hide from me? It was me having the nightmares and not him?"

"Because he couldn't protect you from these nightmares anymore than I can," Bella said. "Well, Germaine might be able to draw up some medicine so that you'll have sleepless nights if need be. But maybe feeling useful might help you out more?"

"I don't know. I'm feeling pretty useless right now as if the only thing I'm good at is being a warrior, and I'm not that good, right?"

"Because you lost loved ones?" Bella shook her head, laughing. "With the ones I've lost, I must be much of a failure, dear warrior. Let me fetch you some tea in my quarters, but you can sleep knowing I'm there. From what I observed, your nightmares didn't come when T.B. was with you, so that might be tied into what you've been feeling."

"Maybe. I'm such an embarrassment to you. And the Abbess."

"She'll chastise you if she hears that," Bella said firmly. "So don't say it."

"Yes, mam," Martin said, taking a deep breath.