Mockery was never something Morus enjoyed, at least not when it came at his expense. Sarcasm flowed freely from his mouth like wine from a bottle, but a slight against him rustled some deep-dwelling pride within. The dreamwalker took himself deathly seriously; it was hard to blame someone who’d borne witness to so much horror for that idea. But the years had passed to lessen the sting of it all, and no one was interested in another sob story on Althanas, a world with a thousand tales of murder and woe. Even for a diviner and traveler of dreams, who unwillingly conspired with demons to gain power, the boy had to admit there was some levity to the vision he had found himself in.

Had to. But wouldn’t.

Instead he found himself picking those lavender bugs off his clothing, as they softly floated around him as their point of interest. He groaned now and then about the indignity of it, muffled words beneath his breath that still managed to just be audible enough to be overheard. After gently brushing what seemed like swarms of the things away, he took to flicking at them harshly with wearied fingers, adamant he could hear tiny cries of pain with each one.

He looked over at the orc girl and Fennik, tittering to themselves at his expense, but noticed the strange way in which the fae forcefully manipulated dream. He gathered up some strength to walk over to them, kneeling down in the grass and playfully stroking the plant Fennik had conjured up moments before. The fae boy seemed fascinated by it, and it took every ounce of self control Morus had not to rip the damn thing from the ground and throw it before him. But that, too, was forceful and endangered the dreamer’s world just as much as an outsider insisting upon it. Instead, he smiled at the orc girl.

“Liver soup sounds lovely. Did you say it was over there?” The boy pointed somewhere vague in the distance, causing the orc to look around her with glazed over eyes. Dreamer’s were easy to manipulate so long as they were unaware of the dream. Suggestions could form shape, and confusing words could make perfect sense as each mismatched beat of conversation still felt right. As the girl searched around, Morus quickly grabbed at Fennik’s harm with some roughness, though whispered quietly to him.

“Do not force your will upon another’s dream, at least not for those that haven’t mastered it actively. You can shatter the illusion for them, and force us both back out into the stream of dreaming, falling without purpose. And frankly given its current state, I don’t think I can take another bout of that just yet.” He let loose his grip of the fae’s arm, realizing he may have snatched it too tightly from the wince on his face. The waif looked away in embarrassment for just a moment, perhaps being too harsh with his new companion, and watched the confused orc girl turn back around.

“What were we talking about again?” He asked her with the feigned sincerity only a kid his age could.