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Dream is perched outside the house, all his paws atop the next door’s shingles. Below him, the young mother cat walks with purpose and power. Her mind is engorged with the Hope she paid for. She does not see him, but that is well. He is not here for her.
Truefully, Dream does not need to come here. He already gave the mother what she needed. Her dream will guide her and protect her from grief. That, and nothing more. Yet Dream finds himself encumbered with compulsion to see the humans that harmed her. It’s a kindred sympathy shared only between parents who suffered the loss of child.
The moment she disappears from view, Dream wills himself into the house and the Dreaming of a human man. He’s still a wild cat when he arrives, a form older than any ‘breed’ alive today.
It takes barely an instant for Dream to know all there is to know about the man before him. His name, his life, his love, his wealth, and his cat. Everything lays bare in the Dreaming. He is sitting at a pub, with a stiff drink in his hand. Music plays, and people laugh and sing. An after-work happy hour, the Dreaming supplies his understanding. A cozy place for rest. Not for long.
Every mortal form belongs to the Dreaming. Every subconscious belongs to Dream. To Men, he is Man. To Others, he is Other. And in this form, he is a predator.
A low pitched growl escapes his snout. The man turns around with wide eyes.
“Whoa— the fuck is that?”
He stumbles for a broom.
“Get! Shoo!”
“Do you have any idea what you have done?”
The man’s eyes grow large, clearly not expecting a verbose feline.
“So easily do those hands wrought pain and suffering. Does it bring you satisfaction?” Dream lowers his haunches. He stalks.
The man jerks back a step, then two. “Pain? I’ve never caused pain! Why would I want to hurt anyone?”
“Embarrassment. Disgust. Indifference to those unlike yourself. You hurt.”
There’s barely a meter between them now. The bar has fallen away. It’s quiet now, in the open air, with only moonshine to illuminate the wilderness. Lake water sloshes against stones and woodfloat.
The man looks around, recognizing the scene. “No— the mutts, I didn’t—”
“Silence.”
His jaw snapped shut. Dream breathes in the scent of guilt, but the man before him still does not understand.
“You have no right to own them. You have no right to take them from their mother. And you still believe your actions to be just, for the sake of your own inconvenience.”
“It was quick! They didn’t feel anything, I swear!”
“Do you? Do you swear your Oath to me? Does your word guarantee the truth?”
The man falters, but does not repeal his claim. The lake water laps at his heels all the same, for he has spoken.
“That is good. For if they felt nothing in their last moments, then you will feel the same nothing as well. Let it be known that Truth does not bend.”
The sand along the lake’s bank shimmers and seizes. It claws up the man’s form, waiving into a thick canvas bag. The man screams and stumbles, falling. The lake swallows him whole. He sinks.
A moment later, the lake is once more an unperturbed mirror.
Dream pulls back to the Waking. The fire smolders on. Shadows dance upon the man’s face as he stiffens and stirs. Soon he will wake up from the nightmare. Perhaps he will mourn the cat he drove away. Perhaps he will buy a new one. Perhaps he will be too afraid.
Dream turns to the woman beside him, still undisturbed. Her Dreaming is their house on a warm summer evening. She’s at the table reading an unintelligible book, while her husband cooks their dinner.
Dream leaps onto the table. The woman startles and drops the book.
“Do you know what he’s done?”
Fear sets in quicker to her than the man. She swallows, shaken.
“What who has done? I—who are you?”
“The man you love. He has killed innocents. And you stood by, did nothing.”
Tears bloom in her eyes and she looks away to wipe them. “I couldn’t stop him. I wanted to. I— I—”
“Words and actions can only be equal in intent. It is not enough. It will never be enough.”
“I’m so sorry,” she sobs
Dream edges closer to her, close enough that her gaze permanently fixed to his own. With every step, his claws gouge the table’s varnish.
“I accept your apology, but the one with power to forgive you is not here. She will never return. You will remember this day for the rest of your existence. You will never forget what he did. You will never allow him to forget. It is the only action I allow you.”
And then he leaves. Returning to the shingles, he turns away from the house. He has no need to see them awake.
“They were well met,” comes a voice to his left. His sister needs not say any more.
“Of course. They had you.” Dream blinks his eyes at Death, who wears the body of a black skinned sphinx. She rubs against him and drags a tongue through his coat. Dream begrudgingly allows the grooming.
“The kits got a life no more or less than any other. Why did you come here?” Death asks.
Dream is silent for a moment, then speaks, “It is not often that a mortal finds my palace. Briefly, we were connected. I felt… strongly about these humans.”
Death huffs, “So much heart.” Dream bats her, but the gesture is playful. “And claws to match!”
They batter around, enjoying one another, before Dream settles down.
“The Drowning Nightmare will not stay with him forever, just so long as the mother grieves.”
“She has a long lifetime left.”
“That is pleasant to hear.”
Death laughs brighter than the moon. “Oh, I missed you brother.”
Dream missed her too. He doesn’t say as much but he knows she can tell without his words.