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Of course, the problem with the outcome of his talk with Blake was, Alain still hadn't learned anything. Settling down after close-up with a mug of foxglove tea, he felt as ill at ease as ever. The moment he slipped into sleep, he'd find himself trapped in those strange dreams again.

... Come to think of it, hadn't Blake had strange dreams before he went on that expedition to Whisper Forest? That gave Alain an idea. He had brewed a special tea for sleep for Blake the night before the baker left. He would have to modify the recipe a little, since what worked for humans and what worked for him wasn't always the same.

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Nevertheless, many of the ingredients were similar, and he kept an extensive stock of herbs for strange occasions such as these. He slipped a few of those into his mug and poured more hot water on it, then left it to steep.

When it was ready, he downed it all in one gulp. The taste was pleasant, at least to him--- he knew that Blake hated it, but their tastes were different too. The part that came after was what he wasn't looking forward to. Sleep was supposed to be a natural thing, but this concoction would force it, and trap the drinker there. Alain usually administered it to people with insomnia, who couldn't achieve sleep or sustain it on their own.

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However, in Alain, it prompted something that more closely resembled human sleep than his own normal catnap slumber. He had also added a few plants to the mix to inspire awareness, in hopes that he might be able to make more sense of what he was seeing in his sleep.

The drowsiness was already overtaking him, so he hurried to his room and lay down on the bed. Under his covers, he had only to wait until unconsciousness claimed him.

At first, he did not dream at all. Then, slowly, his usual shapes and colors began to drift across his consciousness. Alain, more aware of the process than he usually was, had begun to worry that he had picked the wrong night to try this when he finally noticed a slight disturbance in the lazy current of thoughts and sensations.

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It was almost as if someone was pulling at them, lazily and irregularly. Then, slowly, elements of the foreign dreams asserted themselves. They were all in fragments, with no proper context: the feel of something encircling his wrists; the smell of an old and lush forest in the summer; emotions that came and went. He knew that these things were not his own, and yet some part of him stirred at them all the same. A few of the fragments felt like his, and many of the emotions did too. As to what he ought to make of that, he had no idea.

He decided to wait it out, to see if things would get any clearer. Fortunately they did--- the fragments coalesced into more coherent memories, ones that lasted longer than a split second and existed across more than one or two senses at a time.

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He saw a great deal of irrelevant things. There were some of a man, handsome with a head of brown curls and sharp gold eyes--- some recollections pleasant, some not. Another young man, much less beautiful but with a pleasant aspect about his face, smiled beatifically at Alain in another fragment. He wondered if this had something to do with the ghost, and made a half-hearted attempt to remember these so he could ask Blake about it later.

But then something else flashed across his vision: a great forest, filled with golden lights. Only I could ever see those, he thought. He caught himself with a start. Was that one of his thoughts, dredged up from some half-remembered place? Was it merely a part of the dream-fragment?

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Now more than ever, he wasn't sure anymore. It felt too close to home, but the context of it made him doubt himself. He yearned to see the forest again, but it was gone; it had faded away while he was distracted. Forgetting himself, he cried out. "Wait! What---"

He could feel himself running, running through the dreamspace. Voices called out to him, distorted and far away. Somewhere in the distance, someone was laughing. His surroundings were still that pastel mirage which should have been his own, but now it felt like a stranger.

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What was more, it seemed to be actively working against him. The harder he ran, the more it pulled at his steps, the ground shifting beneath his feet. The very air seemed to grow thick and syrupy, until he was finally forced to stop. Letting out another strangled cry, he fell where he stood.

Another fragment: something bound his wrists again. In a dark space, shadows and voices loomed over him. A pendant flashed through his vision. There was a flash--- he didn't know whether it was light or pain; he couldn't tell.

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It was all gone in a moment, just like the last. A baby was wailing, and he had to get to it, he had to get there, if he didn't--- He was dancing and smiling, and his body was grace itself, his steps flowing with the music. It was such a beautiful song. The voices of his people rose and filled the glade with their airs...

One after another, sometimes overlapping, sometimes several at once, fragments of something flashed through his mind. He thought, at first, that they must have been memories, but they descended into madness almost as soon as he had that thought. The faces grew bloated, and colors wandered across the landscape like sluggish creatures dreamt up by a drunken mind.

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"No more," Alain said. Whatever this was, it was hurting him, and he wanted--- he needed for it to stop. "Please, no more." His voice had gone ragged, and he clutched at his head, even knowing that it would be no help. It was just a dream. He was trapped in a dream. He knew there would be no escape until morning, but he hadn't even the comfort of being able to count the hours until dawn. There was no time here, in this place. It's just a dream.

He could close his eyes all he wanted, but he couldn't shut out the visions. He couldn't choose not to hear. The voices continued, and in them he heard an insidious whisper. He couldn't make out the words, but all the same, the sound of it made him writhe in aversion.

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Eventually, all the unpleasantness melded into one long horrendous thing. He no longer knew where he ended and the dream began, nor where one sense transitioned into another. Everything had overlapped so thoroughly; the whispering had become a sensation, a wretched taste in his mouth. He may have been saying something--- begging, praying--- he didn't know.

When he woke, he almost didn't believe it. The relief was so sudden and so acute that he felt for a moment that it must have been a trick. But then he recognized the walls of his room, and released the breath that he had been holding in one long, shaky sigh.

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He wasn't going to be trying that again anytime soon. He lay in bed for several moments, trying to get his bearings and calm himself. His breathing was still uneven, and if he closed his eyes, he could still feel himself in the dream. He even went as far as to test his fingers and toes, his limbs, to make sure that the weight of the covers on him was all that he felt. Here, the silence in his room proved no help; he had to reach out and rap his knuckles against his own headboard to ensure his hearing was still intact too. Only after all that did he dare to rise from the bed and exit his room.

If he had known that things would be like that, he wouldn't have given Blake the sleeping draught after all. He had never heard of it causing such problems before, but all the same, that wasn't an experience that he would wish upon anyone.

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He found Blake already at work in his kitchen, and the smell of baking bread did a great deal to soothe his agitated nerves. Blake looked up as he approached, and smiled at him. Alain found himself smiling back, though evidently Blake read something of his disturbance in his face. The baker's forehead creased and he frowned. "Did soemthing happen?"

"You could say that," Alain said. "Blake, when I gave you that... tea, the night before you left for the forest, did you... did you have any nightmares?" Blake's expression only grew more concerned.

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"What kind of dream did you have, Alain?" he asked, pausing over the batter that he had been mixing by hand.

"I hardly know how to describe it. I'm still not sure if they were someone else's memories, or just a psychidelic nightmare... Or maybe they were my own memories. Some of them felt familiar, and I---" He tried to recall the nightmare, and found that he remembered it too well. Overcome with a sudden wave of nausea, he found himself very grateful for the support of the doorframe. Blake was at his side in an instant, steadying hands around his shoulders. Alain made a vague sound of thanks and waved him off. Blake let him go with reluctance, and only stepped back once he was sure that Alain was able to stand again.

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"I did have unhappy dreams, but they weren't anything like that," Blake said, shaking his head. He lingered where he stood a moment longer, but then the timer went off, and he had to unload another batch of muffins from the oven. Absent-mindedly, Alain grabbed one of the scones from the cooling rack and bit into it. "The... the ghost... She communicates through dreams," Blake said. He must have been trying for a conversational tone, but there was too much weight in it. "That was what I saw. She talked to me, and told me where to find her. I just needed to stay asleep long enough for her to be able to get to me, so your tea was a help. I thought you knew."

"I guessed," Alain said. "I didn't know the specifics."

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Blake only nodded, caught up in the flow of his baking again. Alain watched him a while longer, partially to see if he would have anything else to say, and partially because he just liked to watch Blake. But he knew it was morning, and that he would have to attend to his own work, and Blake was content to be silent. With some reluctance, he moved to the door to switch the sign, then walked back to his accustomed place in front of the counter. There was a mug in his hands, being polished with more enthusiasm than usual, when the first customer walked in.

By closing time, Alain felt more or less like himself again, as if that nightmare had never happened. If he didn't think about it, then it really did feel as if it never had.