What's in a Dream?
Compass huffed, his spent breath misting in the ashen air. The forest trees stood tall, foreboding, like a monolith whose shadow oppressed any feelings of hopes or dreams in those beneath it. The beauty of the night sky was obscured by a thin layer of gray clouds, and the light of the moon failed the effectively pierce the veil.
All of this was apparently enough to unnerve a stallion of the age of twenty-four, but Compass pressed forward regardless. He could not leave his grandfather in such a cold. It would not bode well.
Compass suddenly entered a clearing and was surprised to see, well, his grandfather. Compass was relieved; he had been beginning to think the night was going to be a lot longer.
"Gramps?" Compass called, bu he received no response. Compass furrowed his brow and trotted into the clearing, his grandfather staring up at the misty sky all along.
"Grandpa, come on, it's late," Compass said.
Compass's grandpa lowered his head and got up off his haunches, thankfully obeying Compass's instructions.
"That sky," the old stallion said suddenly, "It doesn't like me. I'd like to burn it."
Compass ignored that sentence, but subconsciously took note of it.
The night grew colder and darker, but finally, Compass and his wandering grandfather were home. Compass locked his grandpa's room--he hated doing that--and retired to bed himself.
Burn the sky? . . .