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Earth. Earth which Dream breathed in and out, and felt in the space between his lungs and his lips. Earth which was tangible and real and true in the way it felt under his feet. Earth which was as keenly aware of him as he was of it, slinking through the trees like a thin-bodied fox. It was the most beautiful thing Dream had ever seen.
And it was his. Well, no, that wasn’t quite right. Here, in this clearing — this was Dream’s. This little haven would not be stolen from him, no matter who decided to challenge his ownership.
Earth, though, belonged to another. This was Wilbur’s Earth that hummed like enchantments above and around and below Dream. Wilbur had given it life, and oh how it had blossomed into something more than he could have imagined.
And it did bloom. Cities sprouted up from the dust like the thin, arching branches of stone trees. Cobbled rooves rose under the watchful eyes of nobles, only to be split and scattered at the command of warmongers. This was the way of Earth: build, and be broken. Break, and be cut down. Cut down, and repair.
It was a vicious cycle, one that Dream knew too well after only a few months of citizenship. He had seen so much death, and all of it had been swept away by new promises forged in blood and in gold.
He was tired. So, so tired. In the arms of the Earth, Dream let himself be cradled, but he did not sleep. No, there was no time for sleep, because he was here for a reason.
As if on cue, Dream felt the Earth stir, and his clearing sucked in a sharp, shuddering breath. The branches rustled to his left, leaves shaking on an unseen wind. And then that reason cut through the foliage with the clumsy sweep of an iron blade.
George nearly tripped as the bushes gave way, arms pinwheeling as he fought for his balance. Dream nearly stood to catch him before remembering his purpose. Instead, he kept himself pressed up against the trunk of the squat maple he had chosen, and feigned an icy coolness that didn’t quite meet the eyes behind his mask.
“Looks like you found me,” Dream called out, lifting his chin as George turned to face him. “I guess your tracking skills are still as sharp as ever.”
“Oh, shut up,” George replied, rolling his eyes far back into his head and letting the sword go loose in his grip. “I’m not here to banter. Just tell me what was so important–” he gestured with his free hand. “So that I can get on with my day. Some of us still have contracts that need to be fulfilled.”
Dream wasn’t sure how much of it was meant to hurt him, but it stung nonetheless. He bit back the retort that sprung unbidden to his lips ( one which he would have said, months ago, mask pushed up over his head, laughter fading and fire crackling– ). George was right, they weren’t here to banter. But he expected that his contract wouldn’t matter much in the next few minutes.
He pushed himself off of the maple, hands tucked casually in his pockets, and strode forward. His movements were confident and sure. He watched a new nervousness dance in George’s eyes. Something in Dream was satisfied.
“I have a proposal.” Behind his mask, Dream grinned. “A new contract, if you will.”
George didn’t look impressed. “Very funny. You’ve tried that one before.”
“No, I don’t mean–” Dream couldn’t help the strangled laughter that interrupted his explanation. “Just listen. How much are they paying you to work for them? What is this job worth to you?”
“Business Bay?” George scratched at his arm. “A warm meal every morning and night, a place to sleep, and 500-some-odd emeralds for completion of my service.”
Perfect. “And are you loyal to them? To Business Bay ? Would you die for them, if they asked you to?” Dream was face-to-face with George now, leaning in so that he could count the scars tracing his gaunt cheeks. “Do you love these kings?”
The answer was easy. “No.”
“No!” Dream repeated, throwing his arms out. He spun, opening himself up to the clearing which seemed to be leaning in, watching, waiting, hanging on to his every word. “No one loves a king, because that’s what a kingdom is. That’s what we are, George. They are unloving and we are unlovable, by the very nature of this Earth.”
Dream let his head fall back to drink in the golden sunlight streaming through the tangled canopy. It was warm, even through the porcelain, and it tasted like honey. He let the silence hand in the air for a moment before slowly lowering his head.
Across from him, George had gone deathly still. He wore an expression that Dream didn’t completely know the emotion behind. He imagined there was a storm brewing behind those eyes.
“George, I want to build a nation.” He paused. “Not a kingdom. Not an empire. A nation. A country . Something real and human, not this twisted game we’ve all been playing.
“I want to make a place for people who want to be free, not for pets and their masters. There will be no weapons, no fighting.” Dream laughed once more, but this time it bubbled up out of him, easy and careless. “No armor, even! Imagine that!”
“Dream.” George’s gaze searched the white expanse where he knew eyes should have been. Dream’s breath caught in his chest, and it was suspended there like a bird frozen in flight as he watched the decision play across his friend’s face.
“Will you join me?”
“A country. I think you’ve lost it.” But George was smiling, even as he tried to swallow the excitement that rounded the sharp corners that had once been a familiar face.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”