Room 330 | Thursday Morning
Ronan was face down, head pressed into his pillow. Chainsaw was pecking silently at something on his nightstand. She was patiently waiting for him to wake up but it didn't look like Ronan was going to be doing that anytime soon. He was dreaming.
It was always jarring to wake up in a place that wasn't Cabeswater. It felt wrong to him. The lack of trees meant the sun beat down on his skin and he had to wipe perspiration from his forehead.
The beach again. The waves were lapping at his feet, water licking at his ankles like a child wanting to be picked up. Ronan didn't know why he was here. Usually, his dreams had a point. Someone had to show him something, communicate but now?
He shook his head and walked. Up ahead, a pedestal of granite stood with something perched atop it. The waves weren't reaching the pedestal, a fact which made Ronan tilt his head. Off in the distance, something screeched. Goosebumps popped up along his arms and Ronan told himself it was because he was cold.
The sand stuck between his toes, bare feet chilly in the cold sand. When he reached the pedestal and looked down, he saw a book. No, wait, that wasn't the right word. A journal. A battered journal, bound together with papers spilling out of the sides.
He picked it up and opened it up.
It took Ronan several long seconds to realize what he was seeing. This was Gansey's. This was like his firstborn child, the kid he would see off to some fancy Ivy League school. This was his journal with scribblings about Glendower. There were maps and landmarks, pictures and drawings, and everything. Every single thought that Gansey had ever had about ley lines was in this book.
Why was it here? Why had Ronan dreamed it?
When his eyes opened, his hand was clutched around something. The journal. He'd just pulled Gansey's journal from his dream. And he'd done it without a nightmare following him back.
"What the hell, man?" he mumbled, tossing the journal onto the nightstand, drawing a squeal of protest from Chainsaw. Ronan ignored her for the moment.
[Closed door, open post. NFB on anything in italics due to dreaming.]
It was always jarring to wake up in a place that wasn't Cabeswater. It felt wrong to him. The lack of trees meant the sun beat down on his skin and he had to wipe perspiration from his forehead.
The beach again. The waves were lapping at his feet, water licking at his ankles like a child wanting to be picked up. Ronan didn't know why he was here. Usually, his dreams had a point. Someone had to show him something, communicate but now?
He shook his head and walked. Up ahead, a pedestal of granite stood with something perched atop it. The waves weren't reaching the pedestal, a fact which made Ronan tilt his head. Off in the distance, something screeched. Goosebumps popped up along his arms and Ronan told himself it was because he was cold.
The sand stuck between his toes, bare feet chilly in the cold sand. When he reached the pedestal and looked down, he saw a book. No, wait, that wasn't the right word. A journal. A battered journal, bound together with papers spilling out of the sides.
He picked it up and opened it up.
It took Ronan several long seconds to realize what he was seeing. This was Gansey's. This was like his firstborn child, the kid he would see off to some fancy Ivy League school. This was his journal with scribblings about Glendower. There were maps and landmarks, pictures and drawings, and everything. Every single thought that Gansey had ever had about ley lines was in this book.
Why was it here? Why had Ronan dreamed it?
When his eyes opened, his hand was clutched around something. The journal. He'd just pulled Gansey's journal from his dream. And he'd done it without a nightmare following him back.
"What the hell, man?" he mumbled, tossing the journal onto the nightstand, drawing a squeal of protest from Chainsaw. Ronan ignored her for the moment.
[Closed door, open post. NFB on anything in italics due to dreaming.]