Blue Forest Banshee Part 42
He's screaming, having a nightmare.
I am out of my bed and into his room in an instant.
He's in the corner, huddled impossibly small, arms wrapped over his head, and howling.
I pull him into my arms, hard against my chest.
For a few seconds, he is rigid, a sculpture of pale marble chiseled by a vindictive artist in this posture of pain, fear and abandonment.
Then he melts, flowing around me and into me, boneless and weak.
His eyes are closed; maybe asleep, maybe afraid yet of the dream.
I murmur all the useless words, stroke his burnished hair, and promise him that I can fix it; whatever it is.
Useless words; false promises.
I can fix nothing; he won't let me try.
Gradually, the shudders fade. His aching body uncoils from my embrace.
His head comes up and his eyes flutter open.
And he smiles a rainbow of renewal.
He lets me lift him in my arms to lay him on the bed. I spread the blanket over him, brushing his hair away from his face.
"Do I?" he whispers, still afraid to hear my answer.
Still touched by the dream.
"Yes," I answer, touching the long fingers of his hand.
"You do exist."
TBC...
This and the previous part do not necessarily fall at any particular point in the story. The numbering is for my convenience only. The Dragon is easily confused, once again.
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