The air was cold, and each breath Askier took was a difficult task, as his veins tried to pump his warm blood to his frigid sinew and organs.Â
Each step was long and labored as he plowed through the snow, his foot prints leaving deep impressions behind him as he gazed around with his golden eyes. Rows and rows of tombstones stood around him under a ceiling of dark grey clouds.  Tombstones rolled out in rows for what seemed an eternity, each stone with a name inscribed upon its stone surface.
Through this solem eternity Askier walked, his steps uneven and taking him to a destination he did not know where but seemed unable to escape. His path was set, it seemed, and he either did not want to, or was unable to, deviate from the almost supernatural force compelling him to walk.
After an uncalculable time of walking through the neat, narrow rows, Askier stopped.Â
Before him rested a headstone with an inscribed name that he knew all to well. But, where the earth had been level before the stones for ever other grave marker he had passed, this ground was torn and tilled, with a large hole open before the Garlean.
Askier felt the hair on his back rise as he swallowed. And then he turned.
Standing there was a figure dressed in a black robe, a black cowl draped over the head and face. Two, ghastly pale hands clutched a thin, silver rapier in their spidery fingers and the figure was leaning on the blade as if it were a cane.
Askier's lips curled in disgust as he stared at the figure. He didn't need to see the face to know what this enitiy before him was.
"Get back in that hole." Askier ordered in a harsh whisper.
The hood lifted just enough for a chin and thin pair of lips to be seen as the head beneath the cowl moved. The lips pulled back into a half smile and a set of yellow, pointed teeth flashed.
The figure then dashed forward and shoved Askier. The snow caught Askier and he slipped backwards. The Garlean tumbled into the hole before the grave, which suddenly had no bottom. Askier continued to fall into deeper and deeper blackness.
And then there was light.
Askier's eyes flew open and he jerked up, sweat covering his brow. He took a few panic breaths before he looked around and realized where he was. In his room, at the vineyard, still very much alive.
The Garlean had been fighting a fever these past few days, but with that dream just now, it seemed the fever had passed.Â
Askier rubbed his right hand over his face and heaved a sighed of relief.
"It was just a dream." Askier replied, looking over at the window and the rain that was falling outside. "Just a dream."
Each step was long and labored as he plowed through the snow, his foot prints leaving deep impressions behind him as he gazed around with his golden eyes. Rows and rows of tombstones stood around him under a ceiling of dark grey clouds.  Tombstones rolled out in rows for what seemed an eternity, each stone with a name inscribed upon its stone surface.
Through this solem eternity Askier walked, his steps uneven and taking him to a destination he did not know where but seemed unable to escape. His path was set, it seemed, and he either did not want to, or was unable to, deviate from the almost supernatural force compelling him to walk.
After an uncalculable time of walking through the neat, narrow rows, Askier stopped.Â
Before him rested a headstone with an inscribed name that he knew all to well. But, where the earth had been level before the stones for ever other grave marker he had passed, this ground was torn and tilled, with a large hole open before the Garlean.
Askier felt the hair on his back rise as he swallowed. And then he turned.
Standing there was a figure dressed in a black robe, a black cowl draped over the head and face. Two, ghastly pale hands clutched a thin, silver rapier in their spidery fingers and the figure was leaning on the blade as if it were a cane.
Askier's lips curled in disgust as he stared at the figure. He didn't need to see the face to know what this enitiy before him was.
"Get back in that hole." Askier ordered in a harsh whisper.
The hood lifted just enough for a chin and thin pair of lips to be seen as the head beneath the cowl moved. The lips pulled back into a half smile and a set of yellow, pointed teeth flashed.
The figure then dashed forward and shoved Askier. The snow caught Askier and he slipped backwards. The Garlean tumbled into the hole before the grave, which suddenly had no bottom. Askier continued to fall into deeper and deeper blackness.
And then there was light.
Askier's eyes flew open and he jerked up, sweat covering his brow. He took a few panic breaths before he looked around and realized where he was. In his room, at the vineyard, still very much alive.
The Garlean had been fighting a fever these past few days, but with that dream just now, it seemed the fever had passed.Â
Askier rubbed his right hand over his face and heaved a sighed of relief.
"It was just a dream." Askier replied, looking over at the window and the rain that was falling outside. "Just a dream."
