Innerworks

64. Once again we continue

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Drip...

Drip...

...

Remy's brows furrowed, the soft sound disrupting the foggy layer of unconsciousness he was under.

Drip...

Drip...

It wasn't a completely invasive sound, not really. He couldn't describe it but the dripping didn't sound like liquid, but it most definitely wasn't solid...The best explanation his still asleep mind could muster was that it sounded like the equivalent of sand falling in an hour glass.

Speaking of, the Dream Keeper tried to focus on the location of his Sand. His mind felt foggy and his body felt practically non-existent, though oddly enough, his eyes were extremely heavy and he had yet to gain the strength to open them. In summation, he was left in an odd sensory fugue and was simply floating blindly.

He was surprisingly comfortable and calm. Which in of itself was suspicious. He reached out again for his Sand, the mental connection he was formed with had yet to fail him; an always, ever present, constant of its semi- sentience...as redundant as that sounded.

The Sand reached back with a soothing croon.

Odd.

But not. It always did that.

Yet, for some reason he was expecting words.

Why? His Sand never spoke, not in words at least.

The Dream Sand crooned again, soft, gentle and reassuring.

Was he hurt? Could it be that his Sand was trying to protect him from feeling the pain of whatever injury he sustained? If so...what was he hurt by?

The Sand was surprisingly quick to assure him that he was in fact, not injured at all.

Confused, the Aspect found himself wondering just what exactly was going on-

The Sand purred, chuffing and humming gently, though obviously amused.

Sleeping? He was just sleeping? That's it?

The Sand chirruped, pleased at the correct conclusion.

Ok, so he was asleep, fine, how was he supposed to wake up?

If he could see his Sand rather than feel it, he would swear it was pouting...well the sandy equivalent to pouting that is.

Apparently displeased, the Dream Sand suddenly hissed and Remy found the pitch-black darkness of his floating consciousness suddenly bombarded with pink. Sleep blinked; the rose-tinted vision really wasn't doing it for him but he tried his best to make sense of what he was seeing-

A cliff?

A battle, no a cheap shot that was blocked-

A panicked Anxiety, with his shadows dancing around the forest area, encompassing the five of them like flames.

It flashes then to Thomas, who was terrified and crying over Creativity, both halves each unconscious, dirtied and battle bruised.

Then there was him, kneeling on the ground shaking, not far off from them, but surrounded by disintegrating ink-blacked sand. In seconds there was nothing left in that area but him. A sandless Sandman; a target.

Worried, being that only Anxiety was left to protect them all, he looked back at his Host.

Thomas was indeed still terrified but his eyes had taken on a pinkish glow-