13. dreams
Daimd conceived of himself simply as Daimd, and everyone knew that. But in the secret recesses of his mind, farthest from his conscious everyday thoughts, lurked the sole title he would sometimes attribute to himself: Daimd the Dreamless Sleeper.
Daimd considered his relationship with sleep a good one. He could stave it off as long as he liked, but when he chose to roll beneath its warm, dark blankets, time and time again sleep carried him off to peaceful, dreamless nights. He'd learned, therefore, to pay attention whenever he had dreams he could remember.
He'd had an older half-brother named Yoouk, who'd been a hunter. They'd never been close, as siblings go, and they were very different from one another from the start; Daimd had always favoured the sword, while Yoouk took to ranged weaponry; Daimd was intelligent and kept to himself, while Yoouk couldn't go half an hour without saying something stupid to someone. Daimd paid him no more mind than any other member of his tribe.
That is, until he dreamed about Yoouk.
He dreamed Yoouk's first successful kill, and he also dreamed Yoouk's death. He woke in the morning with a profoundly unsettled feeling, not certain if he should give these stranger thoughts any consideration. Yoouk had waved to him as he set off on his first official hunt that morning, and Daimd had returned the motion faithfully. Surely, they were just dreams?
It was when they carried Yoouk's trampled body back that he knew they weren't.
He never explained his lack of dreaming to anyone. He'd spent many long mornings considering how the supposedly depthless reaches of magic within him might be related to the colouring of his dreams with reality, and had come to the conclusion that his dreaming was rare enough that he could ignore the unknown aspects and simply take the dreams as foreknowledge when they came.
So when his blood elf travelling companion slunk into his dreams and settled there, he paid attention.
The dreams nearly all went the same way: they started off sitting around the campfire in darkness, silence between the two them. Daimd moved closer, and Daliquinn smiled in his direction. Daimd touched his hair, and suddenly they were skin-on-skin, all low heat that came from somewhere other than the fire. Daliquinn's mouth was hot, wet, and everywhere, and Daimd's hands were pulling, holding, flexing. They fucked violently, needfully, shamelessly. He heard himself whispering-
The fourth time he awoke from one of these dreams, groaning aloud and clutching at the air with half-fulfilled want, he rolled to one side and sat up, passing a hand over his face. He shook his head lightly and then took himself in hand, thinking reasonably-it had been a long time since he had been back in the tribe, and a long time since he'd had any partner. Certainly the close, constant presence of another person was pressing on him.
He refused to allow himself to look at Daliquinn until he brought himself release and the tension eased out of his shoulders. He was wide awake. He prodded the dying embers of the fire to life once more, casting light across the blood elf's face. He studied it; Daliquinn's expression remained displeased even in his heavy sleep, or so Daimd thought. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He stood suddenly, turned his back on camp, and stumped furiously off into the distance. No matter how deeply the blood elf slept, he had no right to touch him. Even that hair...
As he walked over the cool ground, relishing the damp tickling of dewy grass on his bare feet, he pondered. He found it difficult-he wasn't sure where to start. It would be a lie to say he wasn't already accustomed to Daliquinn's company, and a further lie to say that he wasn't fond of it. The shifts in mood hardly bothered him, and he enjoyed the banter they threw back and forth. But repeated dreams of that sort seemed to imply something stronger than a fondness. He... couldn't settle on a line of thought to have, even.
His mind drifted, and he found it lingering on Daliquinn. He found that he didn't mind.
He found himself slowly turning around, and he found himself smiling as he did. He found himself returning to camp with every intention of watching the blood elf for as long as he could get away with it. He found himself... deciding something.
He knew now what his dream self whispered, and he supposed that he had to agree. What else was there to say?
Daimd considered his relationship with sleep a good one. He could stave it off as long as he liked, but when he chose to roll beneath its warm, dark blankets, time and time again sleep carried him off to peaceful, dreamless nights. He'd learned, therefore, to pay attention whenever he had dreams he could remember.
He'd had an older half-brother named Yoouk, who'd been a hunter. They'd never been close, as siblings go, and they were very different from one another from the start; Daimd had always favoured the sword, while Yoouk took to ranged weaponry; Daimd was intelligent and kept to himself, while Yoouk couldn't go half an hour without saying something stupid to someone. Daimd paid him no more mind than any other member of his tribe.
That is, until he dreamed about Yoouk.
He dreamed Yoouk's first successful kill, and he also dreamed Yoouk's death. He woke in the morning with a profoundly unsettled feeling, not certain if he should give these stranger thoughts any consideration. Yoouk had waved to him as he set off on his first official hunt that morning, and Daimd had returned the motion faithfully. Surely, they were just dreams?
It was when they carried Yoouk's trampled body back that he knew they weren't.
He never explained his lack of dreaming to anyone. He'd spent many long mornings considering how the supposedly depthless reaches of magic within him might be related to the colouring of his dreams with reality, and had come to the conclusion that his dreaming was rare enough that he could ignore the unknown aspects and simply take the dreams as foreknowledge when they came.
So when his blood elf travelling companion slunk into his dreams and settled there, he paid attention.
The dreams nearly all went the same way: they started off sitting around the campfire in darkness, silence between the two them. Daimd moved closer, and Daliquinn smiled in his direction. Daimd touched his hair, and suddenly they were skin-on-skin, all low heat that came from somewhere other than the fire. Daliquinn's mouth was hot, wet, and everywhere, and Daimd's hands were pulling, holding, flexing. They fucked violently, needfully, shamelessly. He heard himself whispering-
The fourth time he awoke from one of these dreams, groaning aloud and clutching at the air with half-fulfilled want, he rolled to one side and sat up, passing a hand over his face. He shook his head lightly and then took himself in hand, thinking reasonably-it had been a long time since he had been back in the tribe, and a long time since he'd had any partner. Certainly the close, constant presence of another person was pressing on him.
He refused to allow himself to look at Daliquinn until he brought himself release and the tension eased out of his shoulders. He was wide awake. He prodded the dying embers of the fire to life once more, casting light across the blood elf's face. He studied it; Daliquinn's expression remained displeased even in his heavy sleep, or so Daimd thought. He wondered if his eyes were playing tricks on him.
He stood suddenly, turned his back on camp, and stumped furiously off into the distance. No matter how deeply the blood elf slept, he had no right to touch him. Even that hair...
As he walked over the cool ground, relishing the damp tickling of dewy grass on his bare feet, he pondered. He found it difficult-he wasn't sure where to start. It would be a lie to say he wasn't already accustomed to Daliquinn's company, and a further lie to say that he wasn't fond of it. The shifts in mood hardly bothered him, and he enjoyed the banter they threw back and forth. But repeated dreams of that sort seemed to imply something stronger than a fondness. He... couldn't settle on a line of thought to have, even.
His mind drifted, and he found it lingering on Daliquinn. He found that he didn't mind.
He found himself slowly turning around, and he found himself smiling as he did. He found himself returning to camp with every intention of watching the blood elf for as long as he could get away with it. He found himself... deciding something.
He knew now what his dream self whispered, and he supposed that he had to agree. What else was there to say?