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A ghostly hand rested on Drake's shoulder and he stood motionless, staring into the burning village. The screams of his cousins, friends, and what he thought were enemies could be heard from behind thick pillars of smoke. Those poor kids were never really enemies. The enemies were the ones laughing - the ones he must get away from. Yet he stood there staring, being held in place by the slightly bent arm of the same tall, pale figure that was always there. It was the same figure that would then slowly lead him into the smoke, every night, every time.
And as it happened every night the dream ended there. Sometimes it was from the shaking of someone waking him for watch. Other times it was from the chill of the wind evaporating the sweat from his head. Even when the dream ended because of the watch yelling and jumping into battle, it was a welcomed disturbance. This time he was awakened by Emjad, who was getting everyone ready for the assault on the drow. Little did Drake know that he would not be sleeping again for a while. Somehow, though, the ghostly figure would patiently wait until he did again |