Theobald dreams he is a monster

Theobald looked up. He knew this place.

The canopy of evergreen branches far overhead was as dense as a roof, and only rarely could he see the sky as he walked, and then only a tiny patch, exposing perhaps a single star.

Here the trunks of the ancient pines were bare for a distance far taller than a man. There was nothing to grab if one wished to climb, he thought, but he knew he could easily reach the treetops if he would – although he could not say how.

Theobald looked down. He knew whom he would see a short space ahead.

The little elf girl, Iylaine, walked ahead of him. Theobald followed, stepping carefully from tree to tree, though he knew the girl could not see him yet.

It was always this way.

She walked slowly, staring up at the trees as if she met and recognized a friend in each. She said nothing. Her steps were as quiet as only an elf’s knew how to be. Indeed there was no sound at all – the thicket of branches overhead muffled even the wind that blew on high.

It was always this way.

Her pace infuriated him. He would have liked to have chased her, but she could not see him yet. He was helpless – he was not even real.

But she drew closer to the clearing, as she always did. He only had to wait until she reached the clearing, until she left the shelter of her friends, the trees.

She walked slowly… slowly…

He could have screamed in frustration if he had had a voice. He could have stomped on the earth and pounded a tree trunk with his fists if he had had feet and fists.

He could only follow after her, with less substance than a shadow, follow her to the clearing… the clearing…

She reached the clearing. He could have had her at once, but he wanted her to reach the center. He wanted her to be too far away from the circle of trees to flee to safety again. He waited, hatred and hunger churning in his belly.

She was as far from the trees as she could be. She stopped and looked up at the wide, star-​​spread, unsheltering sky.

Theobald ran.

She turned to him – she screamed.

It was always this way.

Theobald opened his mouth wide and devoured her.

Now her body was in his. Now he had substance. Now he was real.

He sat up in his bed.

It was a dream. It was that dream again. He had had this dream perhaps four or five times since the summer. It was the only one of those dreams that he had had recently.

He had not told Sigefrith – he had not told anyone. How could he explain that he was dreaming of eating Egelric’s daughter? Clearly, in his dreams, he was the monster now. They needed nor talking skeletons nor grinning demons to set the mood.

But he was beginning to regret that decision. If he was to keep dreaming this dream, it must mean something, but he did not see how he could tell Sigefrith now. Sigefrith had demons of his own to face.

Nor did he wish to worry Githa. He had already been terrified that the shock of their daughter’s death might have injured her unborn baby – and he would not be quite confident on that matter until he held the little one in his arms. He certainly would not trouble her now by telling of how he dreamt of eating another man’s child.

Theobald lay down again and closed his eyes. For now, he would continue to face this demon on his own.