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He wasn’t sure when the villagers moved him. It had to be them, because his brother would never do this. He woke up lost, and thought he may die in the dusty, stale pitch black before he could reach adulthood. For an endless, unknown amount of time, he wandered the cave’s uneven terrain before eventually deciding to just crawl.
Nightmare tried to open his eyes as wide as possible. The darkness continued to be impenetrable, no matter what his efforts. It had been so long in the cave that he wasn’t sure what up or down was, whether or not he was still moving or standing or crawling-just that it felt rough about his hands and that he was terrified. By the time that he managed to find his way out the mouth of the caverns and onto the grass, he cried so hard that his quiet, trembling voice no longer worked.
It was still hard to see outside, but the rhythmic crying of the summer cicadas was welcome. He still couldn’t see in front of him in that impenetrable night. Not even his pale hands would appear before his wide, open eyes.
Yet, the boy was far too happy to care. He could feel the grass under his fingertips and hear the leaves rustling. The sound of trickling water was close now. He had used it to find the exit, along with the sound of a breeze whistling through the cracks between rocks. His post by the Tree allowed him to listen to the stream, so if he could wade through and find an incline, he would be able to return to his home.
Determined, his pale hands grasped onto dandelions and clover patches. He dragged his weak, shivering body forward, belly down against protruding gravel and itchy greenery, scraping over twigs or thorns. Random debris snagged against his tunic and tore more holes into the worn threads. Nightmare scarcely found the space to care. All he had on his mind was the golden sunlight dancing on the stream, and the sound of his brother’s laughter.
How relieved Dream would be when he returned! And how relieved Nightmare would be to hear his voice again, for all he’s complained about his snoring. He could weep more for the memory of his brother’s chattering, wanted nothing more than to see the bright yellow of his big, round eyes and the cheerful curl of his grin. The fit of their short fingers, the clumsy knocking of their knobby knees when sitting down, the brush of his sharp elbow against his arm… Nightmare wanted to feel his brother again, to know he was no longer so terribly alone in the dark.
He hoped that his terror and longing would reach Dream, would find him wherever he was and send his brother running to his rescue. He knew Dream would not be able to come, never was able to, separated always by a crowd and a long walk away. So, he crawled forward, knowing that if he were to stop and rest-he’d never move again.
His palm splashed into the stream as he cautiously patted the space before him. Nightmare was sure there weren’t any monsters dwelling in the waters, and besides, they would most likely turn away out of revulsion if they saw him.
Dragging his body through the stream would end very poorly. He had to stand and wade, or find a way around the stream-he could cross using the stepping stones that he often jumped across with Dream, but he had no idea where they could be. The longer he took to find a way past the water, the longer he was away from his brother. It was unbearable the more he thought of it.
The crying of the cicadas was growing louder in his head now, annoying and high pitched.
He pressed his mouth into a wobbly line. Nightmare tried to push himself up on his trembling arms, but his strength gave out. His chest flattened against the rocks, and his chin smacked against them hard. His teeth jolted and snapped around his tongue, ripping a yelp of pain out of his throat. Tears beaded in his eyes, but they wouldn’t fall. It tasted of shiny, metallic, sour apples in his mouth.
If only Dream were here, he thought miserably, and laid on the ground. If only his brother would carry him across the stream, if only his brother could see him, if only Dream would comfort him now. He imagined his brother standing on the other side of the riverbank, bright and beautiful and aglow in the way he is when the sun halos him. Nightmare saw nothing in the dark but him, waiting far off for him to reach.
Slowly, he extended his hand out to that visage of Dream. Nightmare wasn’t sure if his hand had actually moved or not, even though he thought that he had. His shivering was down to the pit of his belly. His ankle pulsated painfully. He had caught it in some deep crack at some point in the caves. He would have to walk anyway.
The boy tried to remember the last time Dream encouraged him. “Just another step Night, and we’ll be home!” His arm around Night’s waist, still strong even though his older brother was bleeding from his head. His concerned eyes, his unwavering smile when Nightmare awoke.
Dream would be so happy to see him, right? And then he could fix everything, like his hurt ankle. Nightmare thought of his sunny smile and the way his eyes squinted shut from the force of his grins, and the hot tears finally slipped down his dirty cheeks. There was a croaking, dry noise from his throat as he sobbed like the child he was, all gangly limbs and his tiny, shivering shoulders, and couldn’t bear the thought of standing.
But his little brother would miss him, and the thought of Dream crying like he was made him feel terribly guilty.
From that, he found the strength to rise onto his trembling, skinny knees. Slowly, painfully, he dragged his heavy leg forward and clumsily rose to one foot. If he tipped forward, he’d fall face first into the stream, and be swept away down to the lake. Nightmare knew he was too weak to swim now. It would be death.
He hesitated before the running water. His mouth trembled, and again, Nightmare wished that Dream would come and save him.
The boy grabbed a fistful of the grass and fearfully stuck his good ankle into the running water. It wasn’t a strong current, but his bones were light. Just one leg was being pushed very easily, and if he wasn’t careful, couldn’t resist enough…
His hands felt numb and cold from the night air, but they grew freezing from his apprehension. His boots were missing when he woke up, so his bare feet brushed the smooth rocks on the bottom of the stream.
A silvery thread of relief wound through him to know that he wasn’t too short for the water.
He dragged the other leg into the stream and did not let go of the grass until he was confident enough to stand. Then, he slid his white-knuckled grip through the blades of grass until he was hugging a rock and used it as an anchor to move through the water. The surface was slick and hard to find purchase on. His fingers crept around it. A slight crevice would have to do as his hold. Faithfully, the rock prevented him from being swept away.
Until he found that he couldn’t feel anything to hold onto around him. Nightmare’s breathing quickened. He quivered, drenched to the bone and blind and exhausted to tears.
But Dream was waiting for him at home, and who knows what the villagers may do to his younger brother on his own. Nightmare’s flare of protective rage, no matter how weak and small, motivated him to take the next step forward-untethered to the rock. He used his good foot first, tried to dig his stubby toes into the gravel, and waded forward onto his bad ankle. It stung terribly.
It was an eternity, shorter than that of the cave, but he survived the crossing. Nightmare croaked out an exclamation of relief, hauling himself onto the riverbank, and laying there with his feet dipping into the water. His body was growing freezing by now, and the night air was doing him no favors to dry off. His joints were stiff, his limbs screaming and heavy from exertion. It was fine to lay down, surely Dream would come and find him in the morning.
Oh, Dream, and his chest constricted. His breathing was wet and throat raw. He coughed a few times, a ribcage rattling fit that shook him all over.
Nightmare pressed his forehead to the grass. His circlet dug into his skull, that heavy, accursed thing.
He dragged himself forward on his belly. One hand at a time, fists clenched in the grass, tearing out clovers and dandelions. It was lucky that his self-pitying mind was silent for this, that he could no longer hear himself wondering why he was hated for being alive, why everyone was shunning him, to hear that mantra of how monstrous and unloved and disgusting he was.
If he could reach home, if he could reach Dream… everything would be okay. He wasn’t sure how, but if he at least had his brother, things would be bearable. He could take any treatment, as long as Dream came home to him. That was all he needed, even if Dream didn’t need him anymore, didn’t care for him, didn’t play or talk with him anymore.
Nightmare’s fingers felt rubbed raw by gravel and dirt. It stung to hold onto anything at all, but still, he tightened his grasp. It would hurt more to let go. Deep inside of him, where he shivered hard from the cold, he felt his pit of despair begin to smolder into rage.