![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
then a voice whispered within their hearts
May. 1st, 2016 06:40 pmDorian spoke with Blue. Dorian spoke with Adam. And Dorian spoke with Noah. He had not spoken with Ronan.
But he knew where to go to do so.
There wasn't much lyrium left in Dorian's possession, but he knew that it was worth using some of it now, and so he dipped into his stores and took some of it it, rubbing it into his gums and under his tongue before sleep. It was the best way to ensure that he got where he wanted to go through the Fade. Dorian would dream his way to Cabeswater that night. His dreams were always lucid, he always remembered every moment, every step, upon waking, with perfect clarity. As if he'd not been dreaming at all. That was how it was for every mage of his world. In that respect, Dorian was no different. It was one of many things which set a mage apart from a normal being.
When his eyes fluttered open again, when he woke into the dream, he was there, in the place Ronan and his friends called Cabeswater. Dorian pulled himself up from a soft bed of moss and fiddleheads that he lay in, leaf litter sticking to his brown cheek.
The forest loomed around him for a moment, sepulchral, reminding Dorian unequivocally that he was a guest there, that he was being permitted, and no more. Once he'd made certain to bow his head and pick his way through the strange landscape with care, the darkness lifted again, replaced with roaming banks of fog and the distant croak of birds.
Dorian searched for Ronan. He searched for the white flash of Verity's flank.
But he knew where to go to do so.
There wasn't much lyrium left in Dorian's possession, but he knew that it was worth using some of it now, and so he dipped into his stores and took some of it it, rubbing it into his gums and under his tongue before sleep. It was the best way to ensure that he got where he wanted to go through the Fade. Dorian would dream his way to Cabeswater that night. His dreams were always lucid, he always remembered every moment, every step, upon waking, with perfect clarity. As if he'd not been dreaming at all. That was how it was for every mage of his world. In that respect, Dorian was no different. It was one of many things which set a mage apart from a normal being.
When his eyes fluttered open again, when he woke into the dream, he was there, in the place Ronan and his friends called Cabeswater. Dorian pulled himself up from a soft bed of moss and fiddleheads that he lay in, leaf litter sticking to his brown cheek.
The forest loomed around him for a moment, sepulchral, reminding Dorian unequivocally that he was a guest there, that he was being permitted, and no more. Once he'd made certain to bow his head and pick his way through the strange landscape with care, the darkness lifted again, replaced with roaming banks of fog and the distant croak of birds.
Dorian searched for Ronan. He searched for the white flash of Verity's flank.
