It was, for once, not a good thing that Fenn remembered he could voice himself in dreams.

A somewhat unholy shriek tore directly forth from his mind as he hurtled into the pulsing portal ripped out of the fabric of the dream. One of surprise, and of panic, as if to drown out the thrum of the nightmare they leapt out of… and the rainbow hell they descended through. Cool colors flared up around them, violent streaks and shades that hurt the fae’s sensitive insectoid eyes. It was loud; the thrum of the nightmare continued to echo as they plummeted, along with discordant whispers. Words and almost-words cut through the eyestrain. Perhaps, shades of sound seeping in from other sleeper’s dreams.

Fenn spared a fearful stare back through his wind-whipped hair. Dark cracks spidered the not-reality of sky they had left behind as his dream, in the absence of he himself, tore apart. Sharp teeth and thick smog reached out for them as they fell, only to be closed off as the portal twisted shut behind them.

The fae squeezed his eyes shut too and clung to the dreamwaker, still voicing his terror.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

Out in the physical world, Fenn’s frail form gave a frightful fit of shudders and rolled over. The black direwolf lying in the grass next to him snuffled his face in concern. After confirming that he was still breathing, she yawned, wrapped her tail around him, and dropped back to sleep at his side.

~ § ~ § ~ § ~

Luckily, the ground was not far from where the two were thrown into the next dream.

A rush of green and brown and purple was the first thing Fenn saw upon being spat out into the next dream. There wasn’t much time to process the colors before impact blinded him. Coughing and spitting dirt and leaves, he braced himself onto his feet, knees wobbling. There was still some residual terror in his system, from the fall and the nightmare-smog alike. Dew was wiped off of his face as he glanced about their new surroundings. Below them grew a springy carpet of mosses and delicate flowers with curled petals. Above them, about ten feet above, grew the same; a literal mirror reflection of the ground. The strange plane of plants stretched along as far as the tiny fae could see, out into a muddled brown mist. Amid the mists drifted small fireflies, glowing like lavender stars.

The dreamwalker-boy, the Morus child, was still struggling back to a standing position. Fenn held out a hand in offering of help. His hand was waved off with a couple prickly, skeptical motions from the dark-haired waif.

Well then! The puck puffed out his cheeks and sighed. His antennae and ears pulled back in a similarly disgruntled sense. If Morus didn’t like touch, that was fair, but he couldn’t help but be a little disappointed that in a plane of reality where his touch was not so offensively frigid to other creatures, he’d ended up with a companion of a frosty demeanor.

It was only after Morus glanced coolly over the fae’s shoulder that Fenn remembered there had to be a third entity in this dream — the dreamer themself. He followed the boy’s gaze.

A teenage girl in a stained dress kneeled in the dirt. One hand clutched a trowel. The other held a bag of shimmering seeds. Judging by her greenish skin, heavyset figure, and tusked jaw, she was an orc. She considered them with a tilt of her head and a serene smile. “Hello people,” she greeted the two them in broken common, not appearing surprised in the least. From her slightly vacant stare — glazed eyes, slack jaw — Fenn gathered that she was strongly under the mental fog of her dream. “Not expect see faeries today.”

Tentatively, Fenn waved back at her. The spoken words reminded him of something. Ah, yes! Were he and Morus not having a conversation before that nasty nightmare business? He hadn’t even introduced himself properly!

<Fennik,> the fae suddenly announced back to the dreamwalker waif. <It’s Fennik, by the way. Most call me Fenn. Sorry for the screaming.>