“Good dream?” said Aelvyn. He was considerably more opaque than he had been before, which Anna was grateful for. She had been finding it hard to see him.
“What?” she said, confused and befuddled by sleep, her eyes still gummed together. And she knew - she just knew - that her hair was a complete and utter mess.
“You were smiling, as though you were dreaming something pleasant,” her teacher told her. “Were you?”
“Not exactly,” Anna responded, and proceeded to tell him everything that had happened in her dream. “So you see,” she said when she had finished, “I don’t know what to do. I think the angel - it must have been an angel - was telling me to let other people help me. But help me do what? And who is there that can help, anyway?” Her expression was puzzled, and Aelvyn found himself thinking of his own daughter, more than three hundred years ago, who had sat with that same look on her young, pretty face.
“Prophetic dreams are a hard thing to understand,” he said softly, sympathising with her. “I cannot pretend to tell you the meaning of this. All I will say is that the meaning will be clear to you, when the time comes. That is how these things work.”
Anna nodded. “I hope so. I really hope so.”
“Now, I believe I was going to teach you to fight?”