Morgan's November CDC - Printable Version

Well, here it is. I'm about a week late now, but I'm sure I'll catch up soon enough. Probably.

Prompts:

Quote:Day 2: Love
Day 3: Fire
Day 6: where does y/c go in their dreams? is it somewhere familiar or alien? who do they see? what do they see?

The whispers of salt in the air... the softness of the cool, sandy floor... and the gentle, calm waves that rolled over the water's surface. Morgan could feel each of those things every night as he lied down in the cave he called home. For as long as he could remember, he had been able to feel the elements, but it was only once he joined Tanglewood that he grew closer to them. He could focus on the water in the air, and he could nearly smell, touch, and taste the energy given off by the earth. Beyond it all, his eyes revealed endless light - the flames of being that fueled every sentient creature he'd ever sensed, living or dead. It was an incomprehensible light, and without the ability to shift his focus, the samoyed would surely lose his mind.

The elements, being such a large part of the dog's life, were what made up many of his dreams. Brilliant displays of fire would be overtaken by rough tidal waves, crashing into a rocky shore and being lifted into a heavy windstorm. All elements converged and diverged, forming strange shapes and textures. For a moment, all Morgan saw appeared to be a kind of stained glass; the next moment, watery mist clouded his bright, fire-filled vision. The auras he could passively sense in the world around him dug their way into his mind, his focus blurred and imperfect without consciousness. Dancing lights of all different colors, shapes, and sizes floated and flew about at random to accompany the elemental overload; some of the lights took the forms of those the General had lost, while others called out to him as if to beg to be made real. He had no answers, no thoughts, and no actions. The all-encompassing light filled him with such shock that he was unable to speak or think properly.

The passion of the world which inhabited his dreams gave Morgan a unique and sometimes horrifying experience nearly every time. He dreamed of those whom his passions were directed toward -- those who made up his life as he knew it. Some characters came and some went, but their importance was never understated. They all grounded the General enough for him to ride through his bad dreams, and he wished he could thank their real-life selves without seeming mad.

Maybe,

he thought,

I'll be able to thank them when the time is right.

Throughout his dreams, the samoyed could see the Tanglers who had stuck with him the longest -- those who he truly considered his family of families. On his left, a pristine, fully-legged Delilah joined him with wide eyes, the smiling, relaxed Renegadeanthem taking his right. The trio floated through the junkyard, searching for diamonds in the rough of the electronic wasteland; the melodies they heard reminded them all of a time they had never experienced. Their march brought them to the town square, a crowd of Tanglers awaiting the announcement of their group's continued greatness in the grand scheme of their world. Morgan sensed passion blooming in the metallic reaches, guiding his comrades toward it.

Beside the samoyed was a laughing, joyful Leroy, sporting the beginnings of his own family; excerpts of beautifully familiar vocals and music played through the mouth of the ethereal Ophelia who lied atop him. They had returned only recently from a successful hunt, compounding upon the supply of food they were working on themselves. On the farm they had built their own residence, their four happy children harvesting the plants growing along the windmill's bricks. The roses, pink and black, found a flame to share, and the canine wept at the beauty of the heart; its consistent warmth offset the sky's erratic lights.

Not a trace of guilt or pain could be sensed in Axle's flame, the proud and heroic canine marching dutifully alongside his General. Without a tie in the world, he was free; the right hand of Tanglewood led his hunting group to glory, earning more than enough to supply their comrades. Next to the heeler was a calm Arrow, the group's friendly but stern left hand with a solitary flame. Being a particularly helpful Tangler, she led a second raid, her sheer force bringing captured souls the freedom they deserved. The destructive, powerful duo returned to town with the hauls of a lifetime, slaves freed and quarry stockpiled. Morgan still felt strange; he could sense too much.

Still, his Vigenere was always there to guide him through the light. Morgan, above all, felt lost among his own senses. There was so much information held by the world; parsing it was impossible. Yet, a yellow, spotted feline, scarred and battered as he was, brought his love to a quiet place. As Morgan stared into the inky black eyes, the endless disorienting flames faded. Their blinding light disappeared in the darkness, leaving a soothing sensation all over his weathered body. The savannah brought with him a distinct sense of comfort; the samoyed let himself collapse into his partner, dazed. At the water's edge he let himself go limp as Vigenere mounted him for warmth. The Captain whispered something indistinct, and he hugged the canine tight. Vigenere's smell compounded upon the pleasure Morgan felt as his love purred into his ear; they brought him memories of a comfort he could not quite place. Taking one last breath of salty night air, he whispered,

"I love you, my Vigenere,"

before letting his eager yet tired body take over for his relaxed mind.

(Word count: 916)