Free Dreamwalkers by Kate Spofford

midday. The amber hues of the
scrub grass in the field are ablaze with the setting sunlight. The
melting snow glows. Against the orange sky, the elk’s antlers are
silhouetted and magnificent. The air feels warmer.
    I look around, and realize it’s just Remy and
I, and we’re human.
    He’s looking at me with undisguised awe on
his face. For a brief moment I look down to make sure I’m wearing
clothes, and I am. A floaty red dress that barely hits mid-thigh,
sure, but I’m fully covered.
    I’m also barefoot, but since this is a dream,
my feet aren’t cold.
    My moments of figuring out the situation are
cut short when my body moves on its own, whirling away from Remy
and leaping–serious, ballet-style leaping–into the grass. I bound
like a gazelle, and once the surprise of doing this so effortlessly
wears off, I really start to flying, testing the limits of the
dream abilities Remy has given me.
    Leap, fly, brief touch of my toe on the
ground, then launch into the air again. I’m dancing in the
color-rich air with a flurry of dust motes swirling around me.
    Too soon, I reach the cool shadows of the
trees and stop.
    When I turn to Remy, he is still standing
there with a squinty smile on his face. He waves, a little flick of
his wrist like a salute. His skin is a deep bronze.
    I smile and wave back.
    He moves toward me, slow motion, and I am
drawn forward as well.
    He is beautiful, and he wants me.
    Never before have I been inside a dream so
happy and wonderful. The feeling of joy lifts my feet from the
ground, making me lighter than air. I feel radiant, my hair a
streaming veil behind me.
    Such a contrast to earlier today, primal and
coated in blood.
    I could allow myself to be carried away with
this dream of Remy’s. He would sweep me into his arms and carry me
off, lay me down in a bed of field grass and have his way with me.
His way, although I’d probably enjoy it.
    Just before we meet in each other’s arms, I
stop, then he stops, and we look at each other.
    In that moment I realize that he can see me
as I see him. As something outside of this dream.
    I wake up.
     
    The next morning, no one is jumping out of
bed at the crack of dawn. I lay in my sleeping bag, eyes closed but
very much awake. I might have imagined that flash of recognition,
but somehow I don’t think I did. Remy’s intentions in the dream
were clear, but when I stopped the dream from continuing along the
hot and steamy romance path it was taking, he became aware of what
I was doing.
    That’s never happened to me before.
    The hunt yesterday has either exhausted Mom
and Aunt Jenny, or given them a much-needed sense of safety and
contentment. Mom is snoring in her sleeping bag, with one arm over
her eyes. Aunt Jenny is curled up in a little ball on the mattress.
Her deep, even breathing tell me she’s still asleep.
    I close my eyes and listen through the walls
for sounds from the living room, where Remy should be sleeping on
the couch. Sure enough, I sense his presence there, although I
don’t think he’s sleeping. He’s lying awake, like I am.
    Without a clock I have to rely on the sun to
tell me what time it is. Early spring sunlight streams through the
windows, barely filtered through the bedsheet-turned-curtains Aunt
Jenny put up.
    I throw a guess out there: it’s nine-fifteen.
I’m trying to remember where I put my cell phone so I can check the
time when
    (Close. 9:37.)
    pops into my head.
    Immediately I throw up my mental walls. Remy.
That tenuous bond we had while hunting can’t be responsible for
this, now can it? I bury my face in my pillow. I don’t want him in
my head, any more than I want my mom in there. But how? How?
    I know at this moment that I will not be able
to sleep.
    Silently I climb out of the sleeping bag, my
newfound skills keeping my mom and aunt asleep, then enter the
living room, where Remy is waiting for me.
    “Hi,” he says.
    “Hi.”
    I stand there, not knowing what to do or say.
Some part of me remembers