Somewhere in that area... that grayness between sleep and wake... he started seeming images. At first it was just colors, swirling, mingling, with no real form. Then shapes. Trees, rocks, a lake?
The trees of aspen, the soft grass, the night sounds. This was not just a lake, this was the lake. This was the place where his life took a turn, a turn for the wonderful. The place they shared, where they first made love. A place he'd not been back to since she had disappeared. The peacefulness of it all soon gave way to feelings of uneasiness, sorrow. Just as he had done with so many of the things they shared, he had fought to keep this place from his conscious mind because of the pains it brought with it.
In doing so.. he was also able to keep these thoughts from his unconscious mind as well, but here.. something was different. He could feel himself standing at the waters edge, gazing over the still surface, almost as if searching for something, yet not really seeing anything.
The sound of a breaking twig kicked in his reflexes, and he spun about, ears twitching, nostrils flaring, eyes searching. Nothing. It was nothing. Then he heard another sound... off to the side... a laugh... a fey laugh. Facing the direction from which the sound came.. his eyes searched the darkness for a glimpse of the source. His ears strained to pick up any further sounds.
After a few moments that seemed to stretch into eternity, he saw movement... shadows shifting ever so slightly... slowly taking form... Then he heard the voice... almost sweet and musical in it's tone... "Taziar, love..."
He "wakes" with a start, splashing water out of the tub, his hands gripping the edges. Forcing himself to blink a few times before becoming aware that he was fully conscious again. Slowly rising, he steps out of the tub, not even bothering to grab a towel as he steps back to the main room, towards the window. Pausing near the window he stands, staring into the darkness and the forest bordering the Inn. No motion, no sound, barely even daring to breath. After what could be moments, or hours, he couldn't say which, a single word, spoken softly, barely a whisper, escapes his lips.