Now I seemed to be walking through a snow-covered forest. I could see skeletal trees limp with fresh snow all around. The very air around me seemed alive with glitter as flurries swirled with the wind. The wind itself seemed to bite at my bones . Only faintly in the distance could a stream be heard staunchly refusing to stop in this bitter cold. It appeared that this forest was dead, it was more than the trees; it was the sense of the place. The trees themselves sparse however, the ones that were close enough to be seen were scarred by something. My focus was not on these details though. It seemed to be on something ahead, forever forward. The path I was taking started an incline and the silent sentinels of the forest even less, replaced by rocks and boulders instead.

The sound of what I thought was a stream was getting louder but then came other sounds. It could have been they were always there but, I was slow at noticing them. I was hearing other feet in the snow, crunching through the crust of an older layer that had mixed with a melt. I could not tell how many others were with me. The sound, once noticed, now seemed to be deafening. I was not turning my head towards the others. Instead facing forward, now my gaze was casting up towards an impossible mountainside, the end of this path. I felt my hands mold into fists when looking at the imposing mountain that seemed to be one with the heavens. Two moons hung overhead; waning, and waxing, facing each other seeming to frame the mountain. For some reason this sight brought such rage boiling inside me.

Obviously this does not exist on Earth and yet here in this dream I was totally accepting of the reality of it. Things like this never seemed to make sense to me in a dream once I woke up. The strange part of this whole dream was not the sights I had seen so far. The sight of people torn to bloody messes on the floor, exploded buildings, or even two moons isn’t what is odd with this dream. What is truly weird with this dream is the sense that I am not the one in control, not the one moving this body. It is like I am in someone else’s body the whole time, along for the ride. I can feel what they feel, get a sense of their thoughts but not truly touch their mind. Then there is the fact I am able to be the observer, have my own thoughts like this. So odd, it is a dream after all, just a really weird dream.

Before starting the trek again to the mountain top I can feel the determination to defeat something rise and again that sense of rage. I felt my arm raise and seen before me an armored hand. The hand was covered with a metal glove, jointed at the knuckles, cover for the fingertips that came to points. I knew for some reason that the underside of the glove had straps that secured it to the hand yet allowed for tight grip on any weapon. The points were designed to be used as weapon as were the blades that were unseen but secured to the side of the glove leading up the elbow. Searching my memory I recalled this being referred to as a gauntlet. The hand was pointing onward to the top of the mountain and it quickly made a motion to continue onward.

No one seemed to speak. It was silent but the stream and movement of bodies through the dead forest. I neared the stream with its crystal clear waters and frozen snow covered banks. I felt tired and thirsty as if it had been hours since resting. It was then that I squatted at the stream but it wasn’t me that I seen in the stream. My hunch had been right all along, I was not in control of this body. I was just an observer. For it was not my eyes that stared back at me in the crystal flowing waters. It was not my red flowing hair that I was feeling tickling my ear, it wasn’t even my ears. It was a man, with silver eyes, jet black hair, what seemed to be a prominent jaw line in need of a shave and horns on his head of all things. But those eyes, it was like he knew that I was there, like he knew I was in his head too. For some reason that thought chilled me more than the air there did that body of his. Then it hit me, he not only knew it now but had something to say about it. I wasn’t sure if I was going to like it judging from the cold look he had.

I felt like a voyeur, a dirty little pervert. I have no clue why. It’s not like I seen him do anything inappropriate but the feeling was there. Maybe I felt dirty for spying on him or maybe ashamed because I was caught. It could have also been because I was a little attracted to him when I had seen his reflection at first. That is until I noticed he knew I was there. As these thoughts crossed my mind his reflection in water smirked. The smirk caught me off guard a bit. . The smirk did tell a few things however, one of which was that he knew I was there. The second telling fact I could have done without and was not fair to me at this point. While his thoughts remained mystery to me, mine were on display and that was uncomfortable. I looked up at his eyes through his sight I watched the silver swirling like mercury and the scene changed on me again. This transition while spared the swirl of colors made my stomach turn in knots with dread at what was to come. This was unlike any dream I had ever had in my life even more so now. I wonder what Freud would say about this one?