Dreamer

 The Dreamland's road was dusty and empty as always. Avétk gripped his axe tighter and watched the horizon. His dreams never ended well, no matter how quiet they seemed at first.

A ball of dust formed on the horizon and drew closer – someone approaching. He licked his lips, spat on the ground. It was Jeliar, the whore he’d killed last week.

‘I never meant to kill you!’ he shouted, but her headless form dragged its footless leg ever forward, ever bent on revenge. Crap.

When Avétk awoke, blood stained his hands anew, and nail marks and scratches decorated his face.

-- Author's Note --

This drabble fits in with the Stormchild Trilogy. Dreams are real, curses are real; an alternate world and history unlike any you've read about before. Check it out on my profile :D