Private Try to find meaning in hazy blurred out dreams

could you help me push aside all that I have left behind?

A master of her craft, she shakes her head at him with a grin and begins to work. The ground trembles and splits and for a moment, a dark moment, he is transported to that day the South had fallen. The rumbling beneath his hooves that could be felt from every corner of Beqanna no matter where you were. Panic begins to set in, a triggered response, as his vision begins to tunnel but there is no ocean rising around them, the land doesn’t disappear. Instead, it forms and grows before him and with some deep breaths (remembering the few times he had seen his mother calm his father after his nightmares) he begins to come back to himself. Reminds himself that this isn’t real, this was his request coming to life through her art.

It is less difficult when he finds the concentration on her face, the brightness of her gaze as she works diligently on making his dreams come true. He breathes easier when he looks up at the volcano again, the plume of smoke that rises from its tip, and he finds himself suddenly laughing with delight when the lake appears… Quite certain he has NEVER seen that many ducks in his entire life. The sky glitters with a golden touch, the grass turns as blue as the sky had once been but keeps its green tinge at the ends of each and every blade. He starts to notice these touches of hers, pieces of herself and her own vision, and finds that to be more enjoyable than anything he could ever think of on a whim. The deer with their bright open eyes that look at them with curiosity, the kaleidoscope of flowers that she sends to spread across the ocean of grass she had created.

He kneels before the lake, watching the ducks as they splash and skim over the surface and finding a strange joy in their quaking and ruffled feathers, before finally looking back at her as it all begins to fade. “I can tell.” He says appreciatively as the last bits of gold fade from the sky and the ground beneath them returns to it’s brilliant lush green. “I liked the deer. That was a good touch.” He adds, coming back closer to her. “Are they the ones that gave you your antlers?” He asks genuinely, assuming perhaps they had been a gift of some sort. With a cheeky grin, he asks her teasingly, "Could you paint me some? I'd like to try them on."

--LINK