“Evening, Savior,” they greet her as she makes her rounds. They stand at attention, nod, some even salute and try to show that they are just fine, but Adele feels their fear just as palpably as the dream that gripped her heart a short time ago. The dream that woke her up with a defiant cry on her lips and her body and hair soaked in sweat, her heart racing, and her right hand reaching out towards her bedside to grab Enserric.
Just a dream, she told herself, and lighted a candle, splashed water on her face and threw clothes on.
Just a dream, she repeated as she padded down to the side chapel The Seer set up for her use, holding her boots on her hands, and nodding to the white-clad acolytes still holding a prayer vigil by Eilistraee’s altar in the main nave.
Just a dream, she sighed into the cold air, as she kneeled on her rug and made the sign of Torm over her heart.
Just a dream, she murmured