Summary: Lofty dreams.

Disclaimer: Terry Pratchett owns the characters and the world they live on. I am grateful for all the brilliant books and make no claims of ownership in any way.

Dreams of Crackling Flame

No.

You were drifting gently through quiet slumber.

No. Not this dream.

Dark mass menacing on the edge of sight. You struggle against its coming, powerless as flickering at the edges the scene fades in.

A tiny bundle in your arms. So fragile. You shift position to make it safe.
Her eyes open. You are the first thing she has ever seen.
The warmth of pride flowering in your chest. You smile, a tender smile you didn't know you had in you.
A moment of peace, eyes linked, in your own separate world.

Crackling, distracting noise. Shrieks in the far distance.

Something is burning.

No sensation of heat as flickering flames play over your skin, dancing on the arms that cradle her so gently.
She is so beautiful, swaddled in fire.

A sense of danger. Cool breeze. Your eyes flick up to the opened door.

No.
Not now.

You clasp her to your chest, pleading to anyone who might hear that this time it might be different.

Please.

The flames grow higher, a defensive wall surrounding you. They Will Not get through.
But strong arms reach in; unaware of the fire you call up to destroy.

What power is this?

The flames bursting out of control now. Burning, spreading as the screams grow louder, a clamouring against your ears. Who screams?

You know your mouth is open, crying out for her, but no sound emerges.

Who is it that screams in such pain?

Clawing and kicking, you rage against the restraining hold, a futile act as your small frame is powerless against their overwhelming strength.

Everything is burning now, the whole world wreathed in flame.

You reach out for her in fire. Desperately searching, grasping at the last tendrils of her as they carry her away.

Then she is gone, and no matter how widely you seek, you cannot feel her.

When you wake, drenched and shivering, only the fire burns on.