[Mkguild] MK- "Dreams" (1/7)

[Hallan Mirayas]

Author's Note: This is by far the longest story I have yet written.  If any parts don't go through, please let me know.

Hallan

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Dreams
  By Hallan Mirayas

  Drift Edward Snow wandered in darkened halls.  "Who are you?" he yelled into the shadows.  Mocking laughter echoed back, distant and from all directions, but only one voice.  "I know you're out there!"  He turned a corner, but the hall looked the same, lifeless and full of shadows.  "Answer me!" Drift demanded.  More laughter.  "Who are you?"

  "You'll never find me," a voice whispered at his shoulder, sneering, just before his world exploded in agony as a lutin swordpoint stabbed through his chest.

  Drift bolted awake with a yell, hands clutching his chest as he gasped for air.  When his hands found no blood, no sword through his chest, the samoyed sighed with relief.  Just a dream.

  Clinking sounds like metal on stone stepped up to the bed, and a cold metal nose bumped Drift's arm in the darkness.  "You okay, Uncle Drift?"

  "Madog?  How did-"  The samoyed drew a long breath, then let it out in a sigh as he laid a trembling hand over the metal fox's neck.  It didn't really matter how Madog got in, just that he was here now.  "Yes, Madog, I'm okay.  It was just a bad dream.  Just...  just stay here for a while, would you?" he asked, lying back in bed once more.

  Madog edged forward and rested his head on Drift's arm.  "I stay here, Uncle.  You no worry.  I stay here."

  Drift lay awake, gently stroking the automaton's neck.  He never understood how the metal creature could be warm to the touch, but it was comforting after such a nasty nightmare.  If only he could see the voice's face, then things could be different.

  He dreamed that dream often, the voice of his father's killer taunting and teasing him.  Sometimes, it just slipped away into nothingness, laughing.  Sometimes, like tonight, it took a more menacing turn.  He laid his hand on his chest again, just to be sure.  The nastiest dreams were the ones where he woke up to find a sword actually there, only to wake up again, but those were thankfully rare.

  After about an hour, by the sound of the bells of the wall watch, Drift gave Madog a pat of thanks.  "There's some new scrap in the bucket if you'd like it, Madog.  Thanks for sticking around."

  Madog nuzzled Drift's hand.  "Uncle Drift safe," he said before trotting out to the forge.

  Drift listened to the clinking footfalls, made sure they were well into the forge, and then rolled out of bed and rose to his feet, turning so he could shift to taurform without bumping his bed.  Given his preferences in nightclothes, or lack of them, he didn't even need to pause to disrobe.

  He stretched, popping his long spine a few times, and fumbled on a vest by touch alone.  He'd done this often enough that the darkness wasn't an inconvenience.  "Enjoy your scrap snack, Madog?" he asked as he navigated through the doorway by touch, the light of a wall lantern seeping under the bottom of the forge door.

  "Yes, Uncle.  Yummy."

  "Now, I need the rest of the metal in here, so how about you go watch over Papa for a while, okay?  I need to go have my morning run."

  "Aww," Madog said, and Drift grinned in the darkness because he could -hear- the pout.

  "Okay, you may have -one- small bar from the stock pile.  But only one."

  "Okay, Uncle.  I no eat your tools today."

  "Thank you, Madog.  You're a good boy."


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