//------------------------------//
// Chapter 2 - A Nightmare Revisited 
// Story: The Moon Has Two Faces 
// by Ether Echoes 
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Opening her eyes that morning, Light Breeze luxuriated in the grogginess that followed her awakening. Few pegasi would pass up a chance to laze in that pleasant haze for as long as they possibly could. Certainly, the other tribes might deride them for sloth, but few of them spent most of their lives careening far above the ground for hours at a time, and no surface could beat a nice, well-packed cloud for comfort.
Weirdly, though, it seemed as though her cloud had developed a few lumps. This impossibility didn’t quite tease her out of her doze, but it flipped a few warning switches that wormed electric threads of worry through her nerves. Another troubling sensation was the smell. With her window open at all times, the first thing she noticed each morning were the scent of the flowers that her mother coaxed from the tree growing in their little backyard carried on the morning breeze, but what assaulted her nose were instead a faint must of dust and faint damp, and a faint whiff of exhaust in what little air did stir her mane.
It was her attempt to shift to take pressure off her wings that cut through all her attempts to relax, though. She bent and squirmed, kicking her hooves, and found something that snapped her eyes open.
She couldn’t feel her wings.
Her back twitched spasmodically as her eyes shot open. Lifting her head in panic, she cast about a starkly familiar basement, but in her fear she noticed nothing but her own grotesquely severed wings resting against a wall, and screamed.
A few paces away, the curtains shot open, and Jaime and Aisha scrambled from their beds. Roused out of a deep sleep, their groggy steps traced an awkward path across the carpet as they made their way in night clothes and nightgown respectively to the couch. Light Breeze, hyperventilating, had pulled the quilt up around herself as alien sensations assaulted her.
“Owen?” Jaime asked, worry burning the sleep from his voice. “Owen! Jesus, man. It’s okay.”
He shared a look with his little sister. Aisha hurried to Light Breeze’s side and put her arms around her. “It’s okay. I… holy shit, I don’t know what they’re doing to you over there, but it’s okay. You’re safe.”
Light Breeze would have begged to differ, but she could scarcely speak. Understanding crept into her as she forced herself to breathe more regularly, remembering the training her mother had given her to help survive in the event of climbing too high for even pegasi to live comfortably. That banished the spots from her eyes and gave her some desperately needed clarity. The wings weren’t hers; they were obvious if lovingly crafted forgeries, the kind a wingless pony might wear to pretend to be an alicorn in a play.
The dream had come alive, and she was in it, occupying Owen’s body.
“We need to talk with Dad,” Jaime muttered from over the top of the couch. “This is effed.”
“I’m… I’m…” Saying she was okay would have been a lie, and she wouldn’t be living up to Harmony very well if she did. “I can breathe.”
She exhaled a long breath and leaned into Aisha’s embrace.
“That’s—that’s good!” Aisha said. Her arms stiffened slightly as she rested her head on her shoulder. “Uh, Owen. What happened? Did you like… have a nightmare, or something?”
“I…” Light Breeze, sensing the hesitance, pulled back and slid down the quilt. She didn’t like looking at her weird forelegs or thinking about the things that capped them, and so she focused on the siblings. She and they were just as she’d witnessed in her dream the previous night, like someone had taken the primates she’d seen in the Fillydelphia Zoo and sanded off the rough edges, giving them the light of deeper intelligence of dragons or equines behind their eyes. That thought comforted her, if faintly—at least she could recognize some commonalities. “I’m pretty sure I’ve been cursed.”
“You’ve been… cursed?” Jaime asked, raising his brows at his sister. “Well… I mean, we’re not exactly opposed to the idea. We don't have anything magical going on that we, uh, know of, but our dad’s family has a psychic or two dangling off the tree, and if you shake the branches a minister or two will fall off, and everyone knows Mom’s roots go deep enough into Louisiana that some educated guesses can be made about their activities, but we know enough to be, uh…”
Aisha stepped in while he stretched for a diplomatic word. “What my big brother means to say is that lots of people think they are cursed, haunted, or possessed and might just be regular old distressed. Our folks say it’s always best to rule out all the normal causes like physical and mental health before you go tearing through the phone book for the local witch or exorcist.”
“Not that we’ve ever seen a phonebook outside of a movie, admittedly, nor know where to find one,” Jaime added, “but I’m sure it applies just as well if you replace ‘tearing through the phone book’ with ‘frantically googling.’ Point is, just because we believe magic is real doesn’t mean we need to throw out all of modern learning to get there.”
“What?” Light Breeze stared at them. “What are you talking about, believing magic is real? Of course it’s real. It’s literally the realest thing there is.” A quiet voice whispered within her that she ought not to assume that, a memory tickling at the back of her mind, but she pushed it down. “Everypony knows that.”
Belatedly, she recalled that some non-ponies out there objected to the Equestrian usage of the word in mixed company, and her fears were confirmed as their eyebrows shot up. “I’m sorry, what did you just say? Every-what?”
Light Breeze shrank back a little, pulling up her weird, hairless legs. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give offense. Every, uhm… person? Child of Harmony?”
Jaime’s minotaur-like hands settled on the back of the couch, and he stared at her and then at his sister. “My odds on ‘possession’ just ticked up another few points.”
“Owen, if you’re playing us, now is the time to come clean.” Aisha’s frown creased deeper.
“M-my name isn’t Owen.” Except it could be. “It’s Light Breeze. I’m… I’m not supposed to be this way. I… I’m sorry if I’m possessing your friend. I don’t mean to. I’m really scared right now, and I’m kind of freaking out, because this isn’t where I was when I went to sleep, and I feel like I’m in the wrong body, and I’m pretty sure that this is one of the dreams I’ve been having, but it feels so real that I’m really scared. I’m completely lucid, but it’s not dreamlike at all. I feel like you two are…”
She couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Like they were real, like she had glimmers of memory of them from her previous dreams, or even a familiarity that ran so much deeper.
"Look," she went on, pointing to the wings. "Those are what my wings look like, almost, except they're not in as good condition because my mom, River Wind, would never have let me walk out the door like that. They're also, uh, not dyed, that's close to my natural color. I'm a pegasus, not a… whatever you guys are. If I had to guess, I made—I mean Owen made those because of his dreams."
"Wait." Aisha took her arm. "You made them, or he made them?"
"I…" Her certainty faltered. She hadn't, she knew she hadn't, but she remembered doing it. "Owen did, not me."
"But you remember what he was dreaming about?"
"He was dreaming about me, and I was dreaming about him! Or I was him, or…" She groaned, overwhelmed, and held up her forelegs to her face. "I wish my dad was here…"
Jaime's conflicted face hurt. She didn't want him to think she was crazy. "We can call your dad, Owen."
"No! Not Owen's dad! My dad, Star Seeker. He's a unicorn. I know, it means my mom and I live on the ground, but we're pretty okay with it. And..." At their uncomprehending expressions, she trailed off again.
Aisha bit her lip. "Uh, do you mind if I have a quick discussion in private with my associate here?"
Hanging her head, she sighed. "Yeah, sure. I'm sorry. You guys look like you have just… no context, and you probably think I'm going discordant or something."
It took Aisha a moment to process that. "I think at the minimum you're distressed, maybe more, and we want to help you no matter what's going on. Right, Jaime?"
"Right." He reached over the couch to squeeze her withers, or the shoulders that were equivalent. "No judgement. If we're upset, it's only because we care and are worried. We're a very welcoming household."
Sniffling, with tears gathering in her eyes, Light Breeze bobbed her head. "I could tell from my last dream. You guys were so nice to… to Owen. Thank you."
Aisha squeezed her hand once, which was uncomfortable, before joining her brother at the curtains. "Just hang out for a moment."
While they closed the curtains and chatted back and forth quietly, Light Breeze hunched. Sitting normally felt uncomfortable, but more uncomfortable still was the sensation of having severed limbs. She could still feel them, like some ponies reported before they could get their limbs regrown, like some phantom of the original still lingered. Their spirit remembered; that's what her teacher had said.
Sitting still didn't feel right. Even trapped in this body, she was a pegasus, and they only had two modes: going or lazing, and discomfort made the latter impossible. She might have tried eavesdropping, but her ears were small and insensitive. Pushing off the bed, she wobbled on two legs, her other two legs—though, she supposed they were called arms in bipeds—held out for balance. There were other things going on with her body, things she didn't want to think about. She knew what colts and stallions had tucked away, but she was in no hurry to see one all that closely. Sex education had been terrifying enough. Along the way, she tumbled with a faint yelp, but her practice with her mother came into play once again as she tucked her body into a roll and just bruised herself before getting back up.
Her first destination was the corner of the room that held Owen's imitation wings and his backpack. The former she bypassed for the latter, opening it up and pawing at his things. Some pang of memory ate at her as she looked at a notebook stuffed with ideas, including the designs for the wings in various iterations. If indeed it wasn't a dream, the notes independently confirmed that he had been actively dreaming of her and trying to copy her wings, just as she had been of him.
It also told her that they had the exact same hoofwriting; a chilling realization.
All the glimmers and flashes from Owen, of being Owen, wormed doubt into her heart. If she was discordant, the stories said that it was likely she could only tell in faint flashes of clarity, and the possibility that something really was wrong with her mind or spirit had a numbing quality. It could be a curse, but it might not have been. Her memories of home were clear and consistent, as far as she could tell, and she occupied herself with remembering as much as she could of her real life until the others returned.
One terrible possibility bucked on the door of her consciousness.
Sitting on the couch with serious expressions, the sibs invited her to perch in the big chair to the side. "So," Aisha said as she settled in. She paused to stare a little at how Light Breeze sat, with her legs pulled up, and shook her head. "Jaime and I… we're agreed that we're keeping our options open. Neither of us know a thing about psychic stuff or ghosts or magic or whatever except what we've read, but, uh…"
"You got us spooked." Jaime gestured to her. "There are only three possibilities: you're lying and therefore a fantastic child actor—in which case, bravo, go sign a big contract—or you're currently suffering a mental breakdown due to abuse and a lack of sleep and telling the truth as you see it, or…"
"Or you're telling the truth, the real truth." Aisha propped her head on her hand. "We saw you try to walk, that barrel roll. You talk… kind of the same, kind of different, and you don't hitch on weird turns of phrase. You went from zero to sixty in terms of otherness in the span of one dream. On the other hand… you aren't that different from Owen. You're speaking English. You've got a similar personality."
Light Breeze held up her doofy ape-hand. "I want to be totally honest with you guys. Ah, first, pet peeve, a barrel roll is a full rotation of your lateral and longitudinal axes, which I know is such a pegasus thing to say. What I did doesn't have a formal name, it's just a way to distribute force more evenly when you fall so it doesn't cause as much harm. Second, I'm… not so sure I'm not Owen. Or, at least, I am kind of getting his memories, but I also have my own memories. I just…"
Slowly, Light Breeze sucked in a breath. The fear of what her parents—of what Owen's parents—would do to her if she was out too long dug knives into her spine. "I remember, vaguely, dreaming about him all my life. Last night was the first time I remembered everything he got up to that day. And… I think maybe there's a possibility that I'm just Owen remembering everything I did. I mean, that Light Breeze did."
As he said the words, Owen's haze faded a little more. His legs unfolded, and he slumped in place. Aisha and Jaime were riveted by the display. "I can tell you everything she did, except the stuff she doesn't remember. When and what she ate and where. What she got up to throughout the day. The names of the friends she visited, her family's. I remember what she was thinking about the day before, and the thoughts and fears she had going to bed because she knew she was going to dream of me."
He buried his face in his hands, a frustrated cry pulled from him. "What's wrong with me?"
Jaime got up at once. It didn't matter that they were two boys, he pulled him in tight all the same and looked over his shoulder at his sister. "You can't sit there and tell me that you saw all that and don't think there's something going on here."
"I don't know what to think." Aisha huffed and pushed up. "I think that, if Owen is sick, we would be doing the wrong thing to just not challenge it. At the same time… yeah, I gotta admit I'm kind of buying it. We gotta talk to Mom and Dad, either way."
"Agreed."
"Wait! Wait." Owen pulled back. The thought of pressing into a boy—especially a boy like Jaime—for comfort while he cried hadn't felt embarrassing at the time, but as he pulled back he imagined the looks his family gave him whenever he acted weird or was too affectionate. The words they whispered about her father's gay cousin when they thought no one was looking burned in his ears. "Maybe I am just… distressed. I agree with you that I should talk to someone, but if that happens my parents will find out, and then I'll get humiliated, and if I'm not distressed now, I sure will be when that happens." He swallowed, drying his tears. "Maybe this was just a momentary thing, and I'll go back to normal."
"I mean, if you're really suffering from something serious…" Jaime sighed. "I guess, but we gotta set a time limit. Like a week or something."
"Yeah." Aisha nodded vigorously. "Maybe it was just some weird Samhain alignment thing. Full moon on Halloween, gotta be something extra potent, right?"
"I'd think the new moon would be more frightening. Darker night."
Ignoring their rambling occult argument, Owen grabbed one of his notebooks and quickly wrote down everything he'd seen, heard, or felt as Light Breeze, before and after waking up. "I'm going to keep a dream journal and take down everything I can, like you suggested. I'll be able to come visit at the end of the week to review, and you guys will see me in school so you can tell if I'm acting weird. That sound good?"
He didn't wait to hear their agreement, not wanting to miss a thing, and wrote long after they had gone off to get ready for the morning. He was still writing when they returned at breakfast, and the two of them watched with astonishment as he finally stopped, the last fragments faded. He pushed the notebook forward and ate ravenously of the cereal. He'd gone vegetarian a couple months ago in exactly the same way that Equestrians were, still eating eggs and milk, but he tried not to let that bother him.
Over their own bacon and eggs, they flipped through, marveling at the detailed accounts, the pictures of a city that looked so much like theirs but cleaner, less built up and modern. Owen had a pretty decent line and knew how to shade, and so his sketches were on point if not always technically accurate.
When he'd run out of things she'd done, he'd tried to capture things she knew, and that was a whole other set of pages, with remembered study on flight with her mother, aphorisms from her father, notes about the land and the people.
"Jesus H. C." Jaime lifted the last page, hoping for more. "Is that all?"
"For now. I think there's a few more things I could write about, but I was starving. I feel like running, and like I need to be carb loaded."
In truth, he felt like trying to practice gliding and wing-assisted jumps to strengthen his second set of shoulder muscles, but that thought only made his back twitch harder.
"What you need is to get your ass home." Aisha packed up his things. "Dad promised to drop you off. I let him know your parents are, uh, not kosher, so he's going to leave you at the corner and make sure you get back safe from a distance."
Owen frowned, looking up from his food. "I'm worried one of my dad's buddies from his time in the force will see and tell, but I guess it's getting late, huh?"
"You gotta get yourself a phone." Jaime patted his back pocket. "In fact, one sec."
Returning to his side of the basement, he rooted through a drawer and got out a box. It had a somewhat beat up, old model smartphone. "Grandma got us all new phones for our combined birthdays, but I felt bad tossing my old one because it still worked fine. It doesn't have any service, but if you got some spare change you can get a prepaid plan for minutes, or you can use Wi-Fi. Better for keeping in touch, right?"
"Sentimentalist." Aisha rolled her eyes, dipping hot sauce on her eggs. "I guess it worked out, though. Let us know the minute something happens, okay?"
The extended phone revived Owen's fiery blush, nearly forgotten before. He accepted it with a faint tremble and nodded. "Thank you… you guys… I don't—"
"Shush." Aisha pointed a fork at him. "You utter one word about not deserving it, and I'm going to find out what pegasus blood tastes like. We're doing this because we're your friends, got it?"
He flinched, and a helpless smile spread across his face as he cried freely. His brothers would have called him a pussy if they saw, but even if they'd been there yelling at him, he wouldn't have cared in the strength of that moment. Clutching the phone to his chest, he nodded. "Okay."





As Owen had figured, his parents didn't even wake up until well after noon on Sunday, and he'd confined himself to his room as per usual, playing video games on his laptop. Outside, the sky was cloudy and gray, but a light breeze was blowing through his window and stirring his shaggy hair. He couldn't focus on the screen, and soon gave up, heading over to duck his head through the window. Beyond his fire escape, the trees had almost finished shedding their burdens, and a powerful longing kicked up in him at the sight of the red and orange flowing through the street.
He found his mother where she normally sat, propped up on the easy chair with her fingers flying across her laptop. Her job had never quite gone back to the office after the Year Which Should Not Be Named, and it suited her just fine. The fact that she was on her work laptop suggested that she hadn't finished her assigned tasks on Friday and, like Owen - and Light Breeze - with his homework, was furiously trying to finish it in time for Monday despite her red eyes.
"Hey, Mom. I'm heading outside," he said, hoping that if he made it sound like he was taking initiative instead of asking for permission it would make it easier. He didn't even bother with his jacket, hanging over a chair at the table, as he bypassed it for his shoes at the door, the idea that it might be too cold barely registering.
"Hang on, there, Mister." His mother fixed him with a look, her face lean. She had been beautiful once - still was, in many ways - but Owen didn't blame her for the ways the world had wrung her out. He might only be able to access Twitter on his computer, but he knew what he was in for when he grew up.
He did blame her for the way she looked at him, though. It was like he was some intruder who had trespassed and would soon pay dearly. He couldn't remember the last time she'd gazed at him with more than passing affection instead of exasperation.
"Adam said you didn't come home last night."
Owen froze up. A lie, that Jeremiah had been with him and he had just gotten back late, died in his throat. Leaving aside that he didn't know when or how Adam had said he'd noticed, the thought of lying for something like this stuck in his craw. He just couldn't. "Yeah," he managed lamely. "I was staying at a friend's house."
"Who?" His mother sat up. "Tim?"
He didn't want to lie, and while lying by omission felt almost as bad, he remained silent long enough that she drew her own conclusions.
"That little weasel. I dunno why you hang out with him," she muttered, opening her laptop.
Owen didn't either, sometimes, but he silently questioned the implications of calling someone named Timothy Cohen a weasel. He didn't dare speak up against the offense, though, and quietly put on his shoes in the hopes that she'd forgotten about him.
"Hold it." Her voice reached him as he gripped the door handle. "Did you finish your homework?"
Cursing himself silently, he counted to three before turning. "No, just math. I was going to—"
She snapped her fingers and pointed back to his room. "Get in there and finish up. I want to see it before you go anywhere. I want to know where you're going and what time you'll be back. I haven't forgotten that you snuck out without telling me."
In truth, it wasn't all that different from what Light Breeze might have expected from her own parents, only they would have given their reasons, not been so peremptory, would have used a kinder tone, and she didn't even get homework because apparently Equestria was like Finland in key respects.
"Oh, and don't think I won't tell your father when he gets home."
That was the other way in which his whole situation was unlike hers. His limbs tingled with nausea. "Please, Mom. Don't tell Dad. I'm sorry."
"You should have thought of that sooner. Now you're just sorry because you were caught."
He was, but for damned good reason. Hurrying to the chair, he pressed his hands against the armrest like he was propping up on hooves. "Mom, please! I'll do anything. Just don't tell Dad."
She eyed him, and jerked her head to the kitchen. "Clean up the kitchen, and I mean the whole kitchen. I want it spic and span. If you finish to my satisfaction before he gets home, I will think about not telling him."
Owen leapt off to do just that. It took him several tries and over an hour, well before his dad would return, during which time the golden leaves of autumn's last breath blew mockingly by the windows. Every time he thought he'd finished, his mother announced that he'd missed something or not gotten the right shine, and made him do the task again. She said she wouldn't tell, but he had no way of knowing if she'd keep her word. It depended entirely on her mood when the time came.
By the time he returned to his room, he was exhausted. Not from the labor, but from having his nerves stretched out like cat guts getting made into violin strings. The wind still stirred his hair, but he shut the window. Either the dreams had attenuated to the point where he didn't feel the urge anymore, or the cold had turned too bitter against his bare fingers for it to be fun. He just put his nose to the grindstone and worked, opening his laptop and finishing mind-numbing math problems. At the least, that portion of the day was finished quickly. He recalled that Light Breeze had already done something similar almost a year ago, only it had been explained more clearly and with greater enthusiasm, and so he blazed through math just as the wind finally died.
That night, around dinner, the family ate in silence. They never fully understood his recent commitment to vegetarianism, but throwing up the last time they got him a hamburger had been enough to ensure he always had some vegetables to throw a main course together with. Adam spent most of it texting his girlfriend, and Jeremiah stabbed at his potatoes in frustration at having his own phone taken by their mother for having been out drinking, though their father hadn't really minded and so it would likely be back before the night was out. Owen, naturally, didn't dare show his, which was charging behind his bed.
"Oh, Frank?" His mother looked up from her food. "Guess where Owen was last night."
Owen's appetite constricted as firmly as his stomach did, and a wave of nausea swept over him. His dad frowned over at his wife while still chewing, his eyes still bloodshot. "What?"
"He was out all night with that Tim boy."
His father shrugged, and the tension faded a bit. "So what? Boys will be boys, May. You gotta just let these things go sometimes."
Hiding a relieved sigh, Owen finished his plate and rested his hands on either side. "May I be excused?"
Though annoyed, his mother nodded him along. "Wash your plate first."
While he took his dishes to the kitchen, Jeremiah cleared his throat.
"Actually, Dad? I saw that little rat boy come around for treats in the neighborhood I was in. Last I saw, Owen had gone off with those Gaines kids into their house."
Petrified from root to branch, it was all Owen could do to turn his head and witness the furious looks on his parents' faces. He put down the plates on the counter and braced for what was to come.





Groaning and clutching at his stomach, Owen roused to the chirping of birds in the pre-dawn light. It was strange, though, for as he did, he found no pain waiting for him, no tense and bruised muscles, just the memory of them.
A stirring at his side confirmed his suspicions, and a long, low sigh pulled itself free. Far from exasperation, though, it was one of relief.
He wouldn't have to wake up in real pain, not for a while yet. He had a stay of execution.
It was a little awkward managing wings, and he was as uncomfortable on all fours as she'd been on two, but a horizontal body with four legs was more stable than a vertical one with two, so he was able to hop off the bed and take to the bathroom without much trouble. Of course, deep down he knew the feeling of being Owen would fade as his feelings of being Light Breeze had, but it was strange and kind of fascinating to prop his hooves up on the sink and gaze into the mirror.
A filly’s face, with white speckles dusted like freckles over teal features and turquoise eyes, greeted her there. Owen stuck out her tongue and rubbed it along her flat teeth, finding a slight gap behind the last molars. Working the wings took a little doing, but she slowly spread one and then the other, admiring the hue of her plumage. Feathers stuck out at random in places, the casualties of wear and tear and sleep, but if she thought a little more she knew what to do. There were some feathers that felt like they needed to come out, so she pulled them with her own teeth, and wrapped her hock in the straps of the special brushes hung on the wall to arrange and smooth them with a little oily stuff in a bottle. It felt wonderful to get them just right, and the shine was everything she'd wanted in her make-believe Halloween costume.
Part of Owen knew she should be scared and worried, but Equestria was far from where she had just been, and there was nothing about Light Breeze’s experiences that felt dangerous. It was a relief to be away from her family more than anything else.
It was probably best to stop clinging, though.
Facing the mirror again, she cleared her throat. “My name is Light Breeze. I’m almost twelve years old. I’m a pegasus filly living in Fillydelphia with my mom, River Wind, my dad, Star Seeker, and my dumb older brother, Arc Light.”
“What are you badmouthing me this early for?” Arc Light, a half-grown, blue unicorn colt with long, slender legs and her speckles, peered at her through the half-open door. A bright, tight arc of electrical fire marked his sides. “Is there a reason you’re practicing your own name?”
“It’s…” Light Breeze hesitated. If it was a curse, she’d want her family to know, but she didn’t know what to think about it yet. She’d been panicking when she’d told Jaime and Aisha and made them worry, something she didn't want to put on her family without cause, but she figured they had the right idea in their solution. “It’s a long story. I need to think about it more before I feel ready to talk about it. Can I borrow one of your journals? I want to write down my dreams.”
“Really? Guess you gotta have a unicorn side in there somewhere.” He shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Knock yourself out.” He gestured with his horn, and a sharp white light grabbed one from his room and dragged it out to hover beside her. “So long as you get out of there and let me use the restroom already, dweeb.”
Snatching it out of the air with her teeth, she mumbled her thanks and darted back into her room at a gallop. Finding her desk, she set the notebook down and grabbed a stylus to start writing.
“I’m so sorry, Owen,” she whispered. “It’s not right. I wish I could help.”
Talking like that felt weird, though. She didn’t have to tell Owen things anymore than she had to tell herself things. So, she wrote down everything she could remember of what Owen had been up to and what his thoughts had been. It was easy, in a way. She thought that Owen would be easy to banish, but she could bring up his thoughts and feelings as if they were her own long after waking. Eventually, after she’d nearly run out of ink, she did run out of things to put down, and she blew on the last things she’d wrote to dry faster before shutting it. The remaining pages would have to wait until the next dream, but, truth be told, she wasn’t looking forward to it. Not after what had happened last time.
"Light Breeze!" her dad called. "You haven't eaten breakfast yet. You're going to be late to school if you don't hurry up!"
"Coming!" She grabbed her saddlebags. Her thoughts still weighed heavily on her mind as she galloped down the stairs.