Elias lay down and, turning some, finally settled in a middling comfortable resting pose: largely on his left hand side, elbow between his jaw and the earth, his knees tucked up tightly to his chest. And there he was.
He soon passed from this midway state of dry, dusty breathing and sharp stone prickles on his skin into a dream.
He opened his eyes in an unfamiliar world. Smooth, long, green tables. The walls of the long, wide, tall, echoing room the same: Green-lit. Shiny. Hard.
Red vapours puffed periodically from recesses where the walls met the ceilings. And around him, huddling round the tables or otherwise busying themselves in uncertain occupations, unfamiliar figures. Tall. Broad. Corpulent. Bulbous red lips. Green and knobbly and pockmarked leathery skin. More like people than not. But not people. Not at all. They hissed and hawed and burbled. Startling lurid eyes and emanating gases.
Not liking this dream, and feeling the unfamiliar weight of his own body and mouth in this, not wishing to explore further, and frankly not seeing what he should be doing there at all, he closed his eyes and opened them again on the floor of his cave.
He clutched his legs with both hands and set about feeling them up and down in fine detail in the dark.
Hours later and in his own place, Ogrin woke angry from a stupid, unfathomable dream. His father had his mother’s voice, his mother had that of a dog, staring crowds and statues made of ice, air and crystal and eyes made of dripping fat. “Nonsense! Idiotic nonsense”
Fingers on fingertips.