Sleep now, or forever hold your peace
Feb. 12th, 2011 07:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shelbyrouIt is currently Sat Feb 12 2010.
Cuddled under blankets like it's the middle of Siberia instead of the Pacific Northwest, Shelby slumbers blissfully. Her room lies closer to 'hotel neutral' than 'first apartment' on the decorating scale: there are framed prints of flowers on the wall, not posters. When the girl shifts in her sleep, the subtle glint of silver around her neck can just be glimpsed.
As is the way of dreams, it seems perfectly normal to Shelby that her bed is now at the center of a crossroads, of beaten earth. The area is familiar to her (and so is the bed, although not in that particular location).
The girl turns over in bed and sits up, as awake now as she was unconscious a moment ago, with no transition between the two. "Oh," she says, unsurprised, and gets out of bed. Rather than pajamas, she's fully dressed in the track suit she wore as a cub, and the bed -- for as long as it lasts -- is immediately well-made. Shelby turns in a circle, scanning the horizon. "Zosia?"
There is no sign of the Fang Elder. The scenery to one side looks remarkably like the lake they were at together, however. Opposite that, the path on that other side slopes towards forest. Far ahead rises a mountain, its peak lost in cloud. Behind is a heat haze and reddish light.
Shelby catches sight of what she's wearing and wrinkles her nose at it, lips pursing. After a moment, during which her clothes remain stubbornly exercise-related, she sighs and considers her options. "I think that's the lake," she tells herself, "and that was... a rock? Or something? Crap, I don't know. I wish Zosia were here. Um... desert, maybe? Mountain, forest." Turning to each as she names them, she gives a nod and heads off toward the trees.
The path heading towards the forest is warm, the air still and scented with leaf mold and earth. There is a feeling of steadiness, of security, and of permanence. Looking ahead beneath the trees, the path vanishes into warm green-brown dimness.
Shelby continues down the path, alternating between a fast walk and a jog.
The thick, heavy warmth and peaty earthiness of the air within the forest meets Shelby almost like a wall as she passes the treeline. There's movement in the green shadows, as of something very large, and a very soft, very deep snort or outbreath of air from the same direction.
Stopping at and turning toward the sound, Shelby tugs her zipper pull down a socially-acceptable inch or two. "I give you greeting," she calls toward the whuff, her attention fixed on that part of the unknown.
*Peace, child,* comes the reply, perfectly understandable to the Ragabash. The huge shape lumbers closer with stately patience. *You trample the small ones with your hasty feet.* Emerging from the undergrowth and shadows is a bear. A huge bear, with a brown pelt so dark that in the shadows beneath the trees it seems almost black. Yet, despite all its bulk and its almost comically rolling gait, its paws set down gently enough that the leaves and needles underfoot are barely disturbed.
"Sorry," the ragabash says, offering a quick flash of a smile - no teeth! - in addition to the apology. "I was looking out for the big things, not paying attention to the small ones. I'm Falcon's Gambit Accepted, also known as Falcon's Trick."
The bear moves closer, raising its low-carried head to sniff in Shelby's direction while it is still several yards away. *Why did you choose this path, small one?* it asks.
Shelby spreads her hands to display her lack of weaponry (and to enable the investigation), yet keeps them close enough so that should she need to move quickly, speed won't be lost. "Because I know forests, Bear. Or a forest, anyway. I remember the lake, sort of, and I think I screwed up there, so I probably couldn't go back. I hardly know mountains at all, and all I know of deserts is that they're hot, and Tim-rhya comes from one. Oh, and there are scorpions."
The bear gives another deep snort. It could be a 'hmm' or a laugh or simply a conversational note to show that it has heard. *This is not the forest you know,* it says in its slow and deliberate way. *But you may come to know it, if you are determined to do so.*
"No," Shelby agrees, glancing about before returning her attention to the Bear, "it isn't. I can... I know that. It's a dream, I think. I'm really not that good with dreams. Mostly mine involve actors and things. But if it's really important I'll do my best to remember, and then I'll tell Zosia when I wake up. I was sort of hoping she'd be here, but she isn't."
*There are many paths to walk here. Not all of them have a trail,* the bear says lugubriously. *To learn of this forest you must learn patience and determination.*
"Okay," the Ragabash nods, letting her hands fall and looking about again. "I can do that. After all," she sends another fast smile back to the bruin, "I survived being a cub, right? What do you want me to do?"
*Take one step at a time,* the bear replies, after a pause for consideration. *Or take no steps at all.*
After her own pause and a few did-I-hear-you-correctly blinks, Shelby nods. "Uh-huh. Well then, will you walk with me?" She sweeps an arm down the direction she was originally heading, just as politely as if she were inviting the bear on an after-movie jaunt. "I'm not very good at just sitting and waiting."
*Then you will learn nothing here. Stand still, child,* the bear says, swinging its head a little from side to side, as though comparing the Fang between different angles.
"So when you said 'one step at a time' you really meant 'don't move'," the girl points out with another flash of smile to take the sting out of her words. Still, she stands still as directed, turning back to the bear and opening her arms again.
the bear rears back onto its hind legs- and it really is HUGE, its head easily reaching higher than the lowest branches. It stoops so that its forelegs are almost touching its knees, its head poking forwards so that its muzzle is pointing towards the Fang. Then it opens its mouth...
...and it ROARS!
The blast of its hot breath strikes as strongly as a hurricane, threatening to lift the Garou right off her feet. She is deafened almost straight away. The roar continues as if it has no end, the force of the bear's breath battering at her without remittance.
As the bear looms Shelby takes an inadvertent step back - then promptly returns to where she was, face turned submissively away. She nearly says something when the bear leans forward, but doesn't manage to get anything out before the noise starts. And continues. Buffeted by sound and fury, the Ragabash grits her teeth and remains standing, even managing to turn her face into the wind.
It does not seem possible for the sound to increase, nor the force of the bear's roar, and yet it does so now. The forest seems to hunker down, tree-roots burrowing deeper into the earth and holding fast, gnarled branches resisting the storm as they have a hundred, a thousand times before. The very earth stands fast beneath the Fang's feet, solid as stone. The bear does not seem to need to draw breath, and the pounding monsoon of sound is unabating.
Shelby's world is no more now than a circle of earth and the shadow of trees, the gaping mouth of the vast, dark bear, and a roar that has taken on a presence of its own. The blast of it is threatening to push her backwards, her feet no longer sufficient alone to keep her in place, forcing her backwards and making it near-impossible to stand upright. The forest around her seems to stand steadfast, unchanging- not encouraging, but somehow in empathy.
In response Shelby, dwarfed by both bear and sound, ducks her head like a turtle - or like one of the trees surrounding them both - and shifts her feet to better stand fast. From a mere display of pride, the encounter between Garou and Bear seems to have taken on an air of stubborn defiance. Eyes squinted nearly closed, her lips have curled up into a tight non-smile.
Shelby's reserves seem all but depleted, and time has gained a curiously distorted feel- no beginning, no end, just an eternal present of defiant resistance. Then it is over, so abruptly it hurts. Shelby's ears are left ringing, and she feels so savaged by the wind, despite her tracksuit, that she is quite sure she will not need a shower for at least a few hours. The bear drops back onto all fours and huffs again- a sound of satisfaction this time. It turns without further comment- that Shelby can hear, anyway- and melts into the forest with extraordinary ease for something so vast. The path stretches on ahead once more, little patches of sunlight now dappling its route.
As the pummeling stops Shelby rocks back again before catching herself, straightening with justifiable satisfaction. "Thank you, Bear," she calls, louder than necessary, but her hearing isn't quite at par. Tapping at one ear - and wincing at what she discovers - she turns to follow her own path - and here it is again. With yet another smile the ragabash strikes down it, slower this time and using her eyes to keep track of what's happening about her.
The forest stretches ahead, and behind. There is no sign of the crossroads, or the edge of the trees now. The path seems to stretch straight and without the tracks of other feet, and yet as it goes on, and on, and on, there is something like deja-vu, as though Shelby has somehow walked in a circle; or as if she is walking the same stretch of path over and over again, or as if the terrain around her is not changing at all.
The first time Shelby notices something amiss she stops a few paces on and backtracks to give that tantalizingly-familiar shrubbery another looking over. The second time she stops and goes back it's to brush the tree's bark with light fingertips and turn in a slow circle, searching for other reminders. "One step and no steps," she mutters to herself before folding her arms to wait.
The scent of damp earth rises to envelop the Fang. The air is still, dank, ancient. Nothing changes.
Shelby sniffs at the air, then, with a slight furrowing of brow, shifts. Or tries to shift, rather, for the now-familiar rearranging of bones and skin fails to happen. That worries the Fang, if her expression is anything to go by, and she likely tries again over the next few moments. Eventually, however, and with a shake of her head, she kneels beside the tree to study it as best she can with blunted human senses.
The tree is ancient. Ancient as the land. It has seen a hundred years, a thousand, perhaps more. Older even than the tree is the forest; trees like this have stood through the millennia. The trees change, eventually, though swift Garou lives pass so quickly they cannot see it; but the forest itself is unchanged, anchored by the rocks beneath. The rocks have seen a million years, a billion, perhaps more. Older even than the rocks is the Earth; rocks like this have stood through the eras. The rocks change, eventually, though swift forests pass so quickly they cannot see it; but the Earth itself remains.
Perhaps it's a billion years that Shelby waits beside the tree, but it probably only feels that way to the Ragabash. As time passes she stops checking the environment as frequently but settles with eyes half-closed, trusting to her surroundings to tell her if anything changes.
Perhaps it is a billion years, there in the forest, eternal, unchanging. Eventually through half-closed lids Shelby sees that the path ahead is no longer one path, but two. Neither path is darker; but one, to the right, seems to be tinged with slightly greenish light, and the other, to the left, with pale blue-gold.
Shelby huhs to herself and returns to her feet with the unthinking ease of youth. "Always choices," she says and checks with the tree to see if it has any opinion on the matter before heading down the left-hand path.
The path that way is faint and overgrown. Brambles catch and scratch.
Shelby mutters under her breath at the hard going, stopping frequently to free a leg or a sleeve. She throws more than one considering look off toward the other path - or where the other path would be were this reality - but doesn't strike off through the forest to find it. Instead she continues down her chosen route, moving slowly but steadily.
The going continues to be long and difficult. A fallen log, almost as ancient as the forest itself, blocks the way, its sides slippery with moss.
"Of course," the girl mutters, eyeing the log sourly as she brushes bits of twig and bramble from her arms. "Can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go over it." Not that it stops her from looking for helpful badger tunnels or a path leading off as she approaches, of course. Otherwise, one hand on the wet bark, she looks for rocks or broken branches or some other method of assistance.
The trunk is lumpy and bumpy under the moss.
Finding nothing that looks helpful, Shelby scowls to herself and wipes her palms off on her legs - not that they'll stay dry for long. "Either I screwed up or this is another stupid test," she tells the tree and, with another glance up and down its length, backs up a few paces to get a run at and jump for the uppermost curve of the trunk.
Once started the physical difficulty of the task remains unchanged, but it somehow seems easier, now it has begun, to stick with it. It is. All the same, a hard climb, and the moss is damp and inclined to pull away.
There's probably a constant litany of 'ew ew ew' running through the Ragabash's head, but the outside remains quiet. Shelby concentrates instead on getting up and over, drawing on Chandini's lessons of scaling boulders and trees to help her find footholds and use the tiniest ledges to continue the climb.
Persistance pays off. Eventually the top is reached, a broad and gently curving green platform that increases in slope and drops away down the far side of the trunk. The path beyond looks much the same- a little sunnier, perhaps, the air a little cooler.
Shelby pauses at the top to clear her mind and brush her hands off again - also to get an idea of the lay of the land and catch her breath. That done, she scooches as far down the tree's side as she can before the footing becomes utterly unworkable, then jumps off the final few feet.
The trail is still faint, barely visible through the brush and briar. The footing gets rockier as well, threatening to turn an unwary ankle if any step is made incautiously.
"The path is a lie," the girl mutters a few feet down this old-and-similar track. She continues on, alert to what's underfoot after the first near-mishap and moving as slowly as conditions warrant.
Slow and steady makes progress, albeit slow progress. The sense of repeating the same steps over and over is no longer strong. The nature of the path is changing slowly too, increasingly rocky and starting to climb. It makes for tiring travel.
At least Shelby's dressed for it? Her zipper pull gets a lot of play whenever the Ragabash pauses for more than a second or two, moving over and over the same inch or two of teeth before she resettles to the job. Once she turns back to study what's behind her, pushing her hair from her face and taking a moment to just breathe. "My next dream better involve Alex O'Loughlin," she warns the universe, so it can start making plans.
The road grows ever steeper and ever harder. Shelby's (dream) muscles burn, her lungs shriek at her, her ears are still complaining from their treatment earlier. She cracked a nail on the tree-trunk, which wasn't obvious at first but becomes so. Her eyes sting from the sweat that trickles into them. Progress seems to get slower and slower, until every step is a momentous effort.
With breathless suddenness, Shelby finds she has reached the edge of the forest, and her vision widens from close trees and shade to a vast, breathtaking, panoramic vista. The soaring mountain stands before her, closer than before, towering magnificently ahead. The sky has never been so blue, the clouds never so fragile and white. The air has never been so clean and pure, and Shelby has never felt she could see so far before, smell so keenly, hear so far.
Head down and stubbornly continuing on because there's no choice of going back, it takes the Fang a moment to realize the trees have ended. "...Mountain," she notes once she's gotten her breath back, a hand lifted to shade her eyes against the light. Once her eyes have adjusted she drinks in the vista, steadfastly ignoring the climb yet to come rather like one ignores the elephant in one's living room.
The vision is too good to last. The world goes black- and warm, and comfortable, and Shelby is once more lying curled up in bed. When she opens her eyes, the bed is back in its usual place, and the world is back to normal.
Unlike the dream, it takes Shelby a few moments to adjust to this version of reality by yawning, stretching, and rolling out of bed (which does not make itself behind her). Nor is she in her track suit, but in a cute pair of satin PJs. "--Shower first, then coffee," she decides, but even the shower must wait for the bedclothes to be straightened.
Cuddled under blankets like it's the middle of Siberia instead of the Pacific Northwest, Shelby slumbers blissfully. Her room lies closer to 'hotel neutral' than 'first apartment' on the decorating scale: there are framed prints of flowers on the wall, not posters. When the girl shifts in her sleep, the subtle glint of silver around her neck can just be glimpsed.
As is the way of dreams, it seems perfectly normal to Shelby that her bed is now at the center of a crossroads, of beaten earth. The area is familiar to her (and so is the bed, although not in that particular location).
The girl turns over in bed and sits up, as awake now as she was unconscious a moment ago, with no transition between the two. "Oh," she says, unsurprised, and gets out of bed. Rather than pajamas, she's fully dressed in the track suit she wore as a cub, and the bed -- for as long as it lasts -- is immediately well-made. Shelby turns in a circle, scanning the horizon. "Zosia?"
There is no sign of the Fang Elder. The scenery to one side looks remarkably like the lake they were at together, however. Opposite that, the path on that other side slopes towards forest. Far ahead rises a mountain, its peak lost in cloud. Behind is a heat haze and reddish light.
Shelby catches sight of what she's wearing and wrinkles her nose at it, lips pursing. After a moment, during which her clothes remain stubbornly exercise-related, she sighs and considers her options. "I think that's the lake," she tells herself, "and that was... a rock? Or something? Crap, I don't know. I wish Zosia were here. Um... desert, maybe? Mountain, forest." Turning to each as she names them, she gives a nod and heads off toward the trees.
The path heading towards the forest is warm, the air still and scented with leaf mold and earth. There is a feeling of steadiness, of security, and of permanence. Looking ahead beneath the trees, the path vanishes into warm green-brown dimness.
Shelby continues down the path, alternating between a fast walk and a jog.
The thick, heavy warmth and peaty earthiness of the air within the forest meets Shelby almost like a wall as she passes the treeline. There's movement in the green shadows, as of something very large, and a very soft, very deep snort or outbreath of air from the same direction.
Stopping at and turning toward the sound, Shelby tugs her zipper pull down a socially-acceptable inch or two. "I give you greeting," she calls toward the whuff, her attention fixed on that part of the unknown.
*Peace, child,* comes the reply, perfectly understandable to the Ragabash. The huge shape lumbers closer with stately patience. *You trample the small ones with your hasty feet.* Emerging from the undergrowth and shadows is a bear. A huge bear, with a brown pelt so dark that in the shadows beneath the trees it seems almost black. Yet, despite all its bulk and its almost comically rolling gait, its paws set down gently enough that the leaves and needles underfoot are barely disturbed.
"Sorry," the ragabash says, offering a quick flash of a smile - no teeth! - in addition to the apology. "I was looking out for the big things, not paying attention to the small ones. I'm Falcon's Gambit Accepted, also known as Falcon's Trick."
The bear moves closer, raising its low-carried head to sniff in Shelby's direction while it is still several yards away. *Why did you choose this path, small one?* it asks.
Shelby spreads her hands to display her lack of weaponry (and to enable the investigation), yet keeps them close enough so that should she need to move quickly, speed won't be lost. "Because I know forests, Bear. Or a forest, anyway. I remember the lake, sort of, and I think I screwed up there, so I probably couldn't go back. I hardly know mountains at all, and all I know of deserts is that they're hot, and Tim-rhya comes from one. Oh, and there are scorpions."
The bear gives another deep snort. It could be a 'hmm' or a laugh or simply a conversational note to show that it has heard. *This is not the forest you know,* it says in its slow and deliberate way. *But you may come to know it, if you are determined to do so.*
"No," Shelby agrees, glancing about before returning her attention to the Bear, "it isn't. I can... I know that. It's a dream, I think. I'm really not that good with dreams. Mostly mine involve actors and things. But if it's really important I'll do my best to remember, and then I'll tell Zosia when I wake up. I was sort of hoping she'd be here, but she isn't."
*There are many paths to walk here. Not all of them have a trail,* the bear says lugubriously. *To learn of this forest you must learn patience and determination.*
"Okay," the Ragabash nods, letting her hands fall and looking about again. "I can do that. After all," she sends another fast smile back to the bruin, "I survived being a cub, right? What do you want me to do?"
*Take one step at a time,* the bear replies, after a pause for consideration. *Or take no steps at all.*
After her own pause and a few did-I-hear-you-correctly blinks, Shelby nods. "Uh-huh. Well then, will you walk with me?" She sweeps an arm down the direction she was originally heading, just as politely as if she were inviting the bear on an after-movie jaunt. "I'm not very good at just sitting and waiting."
*Then you will learn nothing here. Stand still, child,* the bear says, swinging its head a little from side to side, as though comparing the Fang between different angles.
"So when you said 'one step at a time' you really meant 'don't move'," the girl points out with another flash of smile to take the sting out of her words. Still, she stands still as directed, turning back to the bear and opening her arms again.
the bear rears back onto its hind legs- and it really is HUGE, its head easily reaching higher than the lowest branches. It stoops so that its forelegs are almost touching its knees, its head poking forwards so that its muzzle is pointing towards the Fang. Then it opens its mouth...
...and it ROARS!
The blast of its hot breath strikes as strongly as a hurricane, threatening to lift the Garou right off her feet. She is deafened almost straight away. The roar continues as if it has no end, the force of the bear's breath battering at her without remittance.
As the bear looms Shelby takes an inadvertent step back - then promptly returns to where she was, face turned submissively away. She nearly says something when the bear leans forward, but doesn't manage to get anything out before the noise starts. And continues. Buffeted by sound and fury, the Ragabash grits her teeth and remains standing, even managing to turn her face into the wind.
It does not seem possible for the sound to increase, nor the force of the bear's roar, and yet it does so now. The forest seems to hunker down, tree-roots burrowing deeper into the earth and holding fast, gnarled branches resisting the storm as they have a hundred, a thousand times before. The very earth stands fast beneath the Fang's feet, solid as stone. The bear does not seem to need to draw breath, and the pounding monsoon of sound is unabating.
Shelby's world is no more now than a circle of earth and the shadow of trees, the gaping mouth of the vast, dark bear, and a roar that has taken on a presence of its own. The blast of it is threatening to push her backwards, her feet no longer sufficient alone to keep her in place, forcing her backwards and making it near-impossible to stand upright. The forest around her seems to stand steadfast, unchanging- not encouraging, but somehow in empathy.
In response Shelby, dwarfed by both bear and sound, ducks her head like a turtle - or like one of the trees surrounding them both - and shifts her feet to better stand fast. From a mere display of pride, the encounter between Garou and Bear seems to have taken on an air of stubborn defiance. Eyes squinted nearly closed, her lips have curled up into a tight non-smile.
Shelby's reserves seem all but depleted, and time has gained a curiously distorted feel- no beginning, no end, just an eternal present of defiant resistance. Then it is over, so abruptly it hurts. Shelby's ears are left ringing, and she feels so savaged by the wind, despite her tracksuit, that she is quite sure she will not need a shower for at least a few hours. The bear drops back onto all fours and huffs again- a sound of satisfaction this time. It turns without further comment- that Shelby can hear, anyway- and melts into the forest with extraordinary ease for something so vast. The path stretches on ahead once more, little patches of sunlight now dappling its route.
As the pummeling stops Shelby rocks back again before catching herself, straightening with justifiable satisfaction. "Thank you, Bear," she calls, louder than necessary, but her hearing isn't quite at par. Tapping at one ear - and wincing at what she discovers - she turns to follow her own path - and here it is again. With yet another smile the ragabash strikes down it, slower this time and using her eyes to keep track of what's happening about her.
The forest stretches ahead, and behind. There is no sign of the crossroads, or the edge of the trees now. The path seems to stretch straight and without the tracks of other feet, and yet as it goes on, and on, and on, there is something like deja-vu, as though Shelby has somehow walked in a circle; or as if she is walking the same stretch of path over and over again, or as if the terrain around her is not changing at all.
The first time Shelby notices something amiss she stops a few paces on and backtracks to give that tantalizingly-familiar shrubbery another looking over. The second time she stops and goes back it's to brush the tree's bark with light fingertips and turn in a slow circle, searching for other reminders. "One step and no steps," she mutters to herself before folding her arms to wait.
The scent of damp earth rises to envelop the Fang. The air is still, dank, ancient. Nothing changes.
Shelby sniffs at the air, then, with a slight furrowing of brow, shifts. Or tries to shift, rather, for the now-familiar rearranging of bones and skin fails to happen. That worries the Fang, if her expression is anything to go by, and she likely tries again over the next few moments. Eventually, however, and with a shake of her head, she kneels beside the tree to study it as best she can with blunted human senses.
The tree is ancient. Ancient as the land. It has seen a hundred years, a thousand, perhaps more. Older even than the tree is the forest; trees like this have stood through the millennia. The trees change, eventually, though swift Garou lives pass so quickly they cannot see it; but the forest itself is unchanged, anchored by the rocks beneath. The rocks have seen a million years, a billion, perhaps more. Older even than the rocks is the Earth; rocks like this have stood through the eras. The rocks change, eventually, though swift forests pass so quickly they cannot see it; but the Earth itself remains.
Perhaps it's a billion years that Shelby waits beside the tree, but it probably only feels that way to the Ragabash. As time passes she stops checking the environment as frequently but settles with eyes half-closed, trusting to her surroundings to tell her if anything changes.
Perhaps it is a billion years, there in the forest, eternal, unchanging. Eventually through half-closed lids Shelby sees that the path ahead is no longer one path, but two. Neither path is darker; but one, to the right, seems to be tinged with slightly greenish light, and the other, to the left, with pale blue-gold.
Shelby huhs to herself and returns to her feet with the unthinking ease of youth. "Always choices," she says and checks with the tree to see if it has any opinion on the matter before heading down the left-hand path.
The path that way is faint and overgrown. Brambles catch and scratch.
Shelby mutters under her breath at the hard going, stopping frequently to free a leg or a sleeve. She throws more than one considering look off toward the other path - or where the other path would be were this reality - but doesn't strike off through the forest to find it. Instead she continues down her chosen route, moving slowly but steadily.
The going continues to be long and difficult. A fallen log, almost as ancient as the forest itself, blocks the way, its sides slippery with moss.
"Of course," the girl mutters, eyeing the log sourly as she brushes bits of twig and bramble from her arms. "Can't go under it, can't go around it, gotta go over it." Not that it stops her from looking for helpful badger tunnels or a path leading off as she approaches, of course. Otherwise, one hand on the wet bark, she looks for rocks or broken branches or some other method of assistance.
The trunk is lumpy and bumpy under the moss.
Finding nothing that looks helpful, Shelby scowls to herself and wipes her palms off on her legs - not that they'll stay dry for long. "Either I screwed up or this is another stupid test," she tells the tree and, with another glance up and down its length, backs up a few paces to get a run at and jump for the uppermost curve of the trunk.
Once started the physical difficulty of the task remains unchanged, but it somehow seems easier, now it has begun, to stick with it. It is. All the same, a hard climb, and the moss is damp and inclined to pull away.
There's probably a constant litany of 'ew ew ew' running through the Ragabash's head, but the outside remains quiet. Shelby concentrates instead on getting up and over, drawing on Chandini's lessons of scaling boulders and trees to help her find footholds and use the tiniest ledges to continue the climb.
Persistance pays off. Eventually the top is reached, a broad and gently curving green platform that increases in slope and drops away down the far side of the trunk. The path beyond looks much the same- a little sunnier, perhaps, the air a little cooler.
Shelby pauses at the top to clear her mind and brush her hands off again - also to get an idea of the lay of the land and catch her breath. That done, she scooches as far down the tree's side as she can before the footing becomes utterly unworkable, then jumps off the final few feet.
The trail is still faint, barely visible through the brush and briar. The footing gets rockier as well, threatening to turn an unwary ankle if any step is made incautiously.
"The path is a lie," the girl mutters a few feet down this old-and-similar track. She continues on, alert to what's underfoot after the first near-mishap and moving as slowly as conditions warrant.
Slow and steady makes progress, albeit slow progress. The sense of repeating the same steps over and over is no longer strong. The nature of the path is changing slowly too, increasingly rocky and starting to climb. It makes for tiring travel.
At least Shelby's dressed for it? Her zipper pull gets a lot of play whenever the Ragabash pauses for more than a second or two, moving over and over the same inch or two of teeth before she resettles to the job. Once she turns back to study what's behind her, pushing her hair from her face and taking a moment to just breathe. "My next dream better involve Alex O'Loughlin," she warns the universe, so it can start making plans.
The road grows ever steeper and ever harder. Shelby's (dream) muscles burn, her lungs shriek at her, her ears are still complaining from their treatment earlier. She cracked a nail on the tree-trunk, which wasn't obvious at first but becomes so. Her eyes sting from the sweat that trickles into them. Progress seems to get slower and slower, until every step is a momentous effort.
With breathless suddenness, Shelby finds she has reached the edge of the forest, and her vision widens from close trees and shade to a vast, breathtaking, panoramic vista. The soaring mountain stands before her, closer than before, towering magnificently ahead. The sky has never been so blue, the clouds never so fragile and white. The air has never been so clean and pure, and Shelby has never felt she could see so far before, smell so keenly, hear so far.
Head down and stubbornly continuing on because there's no choice of going back, it takes the Fang a moment to realize the trees have ended. "...Mountain," she notes once she's gotten her breath back, a hand lifted to shade her eyes against the light. Once her eyes have adjusted she drinks in the vista, steadfastly ignoring the climb yet to come rather like one ignores the elephant in one's living room.
The vision is too good to last. The world goes black- and warm, and comfortable, and Shelby is once more lying curled up in bed. When she opens her eyes, the bed is back in its usual place, and the world is back to normal.
Unlike the dream, it takes Shelby a few moments to adjust to this version of reality by yawning, stretching, and rolling out of bed (which does not make itself behind her). Nor is she in her track suit, but in a cute pair of satin PJs. "--Shower first, then coffee," she decides, but even the shower must wait for the bedclothes to be straightened.