I was trapped. I could not let another sylph take a dream of his, lest they notice what I had done. Or, worse still, lest he tell them as much.

I spoke with the friend who had woven his recent dreams in my place, to try and glean whether he had revealed anything. Mercifully, it seemed he had not.

“No, nothing particularly interesting. He seemed preoccupied with finding someone, but I couldn’t gather who. I’m more worried about you, though — you seem distracted these nights. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

I assured my friend that there was not. My friend’s parting words, however, made it clear how much of a lie that was: “Oh, and be careful, you — he’s lucid on occasion.”

The fear within me crept into the dark corners of the dream I wove for him that night. At first he was not lucid, and when I approached wearing an unfamiliar face he did not recognize me. I was relieved that he remained unaware, yet I confess that somewhere within me I was disappointed that I was a stranger to him.

Then, as cruel fate is apt to do, for dreamers and sylphs alike, my wish was granted. As soon as he looked into my eyes his waking self burst into the dream.

“Wait, I know you. This is a dream, isn’t it?”

I did not try to convince him otherwise. “Yes, it is a dream. And yes, you know me.”

“That went better than last time. So…”

I put my hand to his lips to silence him. “I cannot tell you anything about who I am. But,” here, I gave in to irresistible temptation, “you can spend time with me while you dream.”

He looked disappointed for a moment — I could not tell more specifically than that what he felt, for his waking mind was in control now, into which we have no insight. Then, however, he smiled warmly and shrugged. “Oh well, I’ll take what I can get. So, what do you want to do?”

I could not hide my pleasure. “Anything you can dream of.”

“How about… we get some ice cream.” He stared at a nearby path and made the most amusing face, I assume in an attempt to will an ice cream stand into being. I could not help but laugh.

“You will not make any with that face, and the harder you try the more likely you will pull yourself awake. Allow me.” I wove an ice cream seller vaguely remembered from his childhood into the dream. I decided that it would be better to explain to him the way of things than have him continue to struggle. “So you know, it takes more than gritting your teeth for you to make something happen here. You need to will it, truly, to believe it into existence.”

He frowned deeply. “That sounds like a lot of work for ice cream. Anyway, try one of these, they’re my favorite.” Its flavor was familiar and full of his nostalgia.

He looked at the place around us. “Hey, can you take me to that valley I’ve been trying to paint?”

“With greatest pleasure, my dreamer.”

We spent the remainder of the night, hand in hand, wandering through the most beautiful mist-brushed valley, a place at once familiar and exquisitely mysterious and exciting.