Dream Thieves

The rolling fields of Ewan's mind where lush, green, and seemed to go on forever. They met an ice blue, crystiline sky and in every direction beautiful flowers of unorthadox colour and shape bloomed.

This was a wild place, a place of magic, a place were the imagination could birth wonderful things and anything was possibile. This was Ewan's sanctuary.

He sat cross legged on a granite table at the centre of an ancient henge of standing stones. This was where he came when his worries became too much, when his life  needed perspective. He had escaped to this very spot since his early teens and since then the world of his subconcious had grown and flourished.

He knew that from the rolling sea and harbour to the east, to the valleys and sleepy hamlets of the south all manner of adventures awaited him. There was no danger here, just voyages of exploration and quests of learning. For now, however, he was content to sit on the spot where it all began and simply enjoy the breath taking view. 

He had called his world Elandria. A world that was always safe and peacefull, a place where fear and struggle where simply words, meaningless words.

Mist rolled in to the north and Ewan frowned. He could see it settling on the meadows in the distance. Grey, miserable clouds where forming, rolling in heavy banks across an otherwise untainted sky. His heart told him something was wrong This was not something born from his living dream, not something of his world.

Dropping to his feet he moved to investigate the strange occurence. As he walked, he could feel the usual, ever present, sweet breeze growing colder. Rubbing his arms to escape the rising chill he glanced to the ground to see the usual lush grass was yellowing and fading. The mist that he had seen on the horizon was getting thicker and more oppresive with every step until whithout warning it surrounded him.

Everything here was dark and dead. The little copses of trees that scattered the meadows where lifeless husks in this unfamiliar and unfriendly place. He looked on in horror as he felt the cracked earth beneath his boots shifting.

Though his journey to this point may have taken hours or mere moments, time was something that did not exist on Elandria, what happened next took scant seconds. The ground before him crumbled and dissappeard into a seeminly bottomless rift. The wound rent the world of his imaginings, slicing away through the fog.

He felt powerless here. No expression of his will could close this rift. He felt helpless, and worse, he did not feel as if he was alone. Eyes where watching him from the thick clouds on the other side of the chasm. He was certain he could make out three hooded figures standing there. They were outsiders, invaders in his utopia.

He called out to them but they turned silently, vanishing into the heavy mists.

Ewan felt disorientated and alone, for the first time in his world of wonders he felt afraid. Panic began to well within him as he realised he was lost. Taking a deep breath he pondered his next move.

The End

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