Author Topic: T4B - Of Dreams and Nightmares - 800 Words  (Read 515 times)

Offline marcus redgrave

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T4B - Of Dreams and Nightmares - 800 Words
« on: August 12, 2010, 04:29:51 PM »

Thanks again for finding time to read my posts.

Like before, here's another scene up for review.... Eventhough Dwendel (Protag) is dreaming in this part of the chapter, I want to know from you if I was able put good visualization into Dwendel's dream. Will you act the same way as the protag even though you know that you are just dreaming?


Dwendel slouched in the shade and began sinking his teeth into the luscious green pulp.  He bore a hole at one end of the fruit like a dog gnawing away at a huge bone.  Within minutes, he had eaten all the fruits that he had filched from the tree.

   It did not take long before Dwendel’s mind began to swim and his vision started to blur. Then a long yawn escaped his mouth.  In a few moments, he dozed off under the tree, oblivious to the drifting sounds of the world around him.

   He has a vivid image of the same dream from a few days back.  As he walked barefoot on a rocky path, the sun is up high in the clear sky.  No birds or other flying creatures hover above him.  The only sign of life form are the trees and plants that have grown to different sizes, surrounding him like an army of green townsfolk, guarding something that is very important within the grounds.

   Dotted along the rocky paths are small patches of grass.  Farther down the stony trail is a hill.  He tromps uphill until the sight of the mystical tree comes before his eyes.  Like in the previous dream, he sees the same old scripts adorning the tree’s wide bark.  The tree has a ridged surface that reminds Dwendel of a deceased cow’s creasy brown skin that he had seen in his neighbor’s yard once.  It had been a long drought six years ago and a few farm animals had died of thirst.  Although those lives were long departed, he knew well enough that this tree was very much alive.

   The thought streams into his mind of the white unicorn bursting out of this ancient trunk.  It must be the same nameless unicorn that he is supposed to find.  Only by the Name Giver uttering the unicorn’s true name will the curse be broken and the mystical creature freed.  Dwendel waits for the unicorn to come out but nothing happens.  He sits beside the ancient tree, unblinkingly gazing at the creased trunk but no matter how long he waits, there is no unicorn.

   Momentarily, a steady fog rolls in his direction, obscuring everything in sight with a thin mist.  Within a few moments, the air becomes moderately cold.  The hairs on his arms stand up but the only occurrence that he can see is the fog slowly swallowing up all things within its path.

   Dwendel still waits for the unicorn despite his worsening vision.  He hangs around this long only to see the magical creature appear before his eyes.

   Suddenly, there are shadows moving in the midst of the thin fog and he cannot make out who or what is scudding about in the area.  It cannot be the unicorn for his eyes have not left the tree once and no hoofbeat broke the eerie silence.  A sense of danger from behind is bothering him gravely. Dwendel grabs the pommel of his dagger and he screams, “Who’s there?” but nothing audible blurts out of his mouth.

   He tries to muster his magical powers by thinking of a distressing moment like the slaying of his loving neighbor, Miss Woolfe, but they will not come—not in this dream, at least.  But to Dwendel, this mystical world seems so real.  In a final attempt to call up his powers to transform to a stronger being, he thinks about the time that he lost his father in the Sheldor River.  Anger and sadness always battle each other when he brings this to mind.  He thinks that he feels the mysticism beginning to take hole but only tears escape his eyes.  His mind would not function in a body that was unconscious.  So he prepares for battle nonetheless.

   One. . .

   Dwendel pulls his dagger out of its sheath.

   Two . . .

   He breaths deeply as he prepares to turn and face his enemy.

   Three. . .

   Dwendel speaks his wishes silently that should he die in this fight, in a dream or reality, his intentions would always be for the survival of his fox and the resolution of the Men and Bludgen conflict.

   Four. . . .

   He turns and rowdily smotes his dagger in the direction of the shadow.  As he is about to muster a downward slash through the mist, his hand freezes in the air as something from behind closes a hand on his arm just below his elbow.  The grip is tightening, pulling his arm roughly.  A soundless scream tear through his mouth.  He twists around to see who his attacker is but a blinding light flashes before his face, dissolving everything in sight.

   Dwendel woke up suddenly with sweat dribbling down his forehead.  Although everything that he saw in his dream was not real, his vision of the magical tree, the fog and shadows were beyond actuality.  He could have sworn that he could still feel the hand on his arm, tugging him down.

   Turning to see why this weight persisted, he spat a scream of shock at the sight of a slender hand clenching his arm!