Noctivagant

[Patricus I]

The wobbly Philip caught his feet but only because stable arms kept him upright. The bloom in his head receded, and a touch to his brow found only water when he was sure that the fingers would come away red. The waterfall mist slathered him top to bottom and no amount of concentration seemed to chase it away. “I feel like a drowned rat, which I almost was. Twice,” he said with as much sour spittle as he felt. As soon as he wiped the mist from his eyes, more pooled on his lashes.

It wasn’t lost to him that Nimeda had been his rescuer. After all his warnings about safety, he did not like finding himself the recipient of his own sagely advice. The owl of Minerva wasn’t feeling so wisdomous at the moment. Shaken was more like it. He retreated from the waterfall (and its mist) with cautious movements given the slippery walking surface.
“Why can’t I wake up?” he asked after the irritation subsided somewhat. She may assume his question implied he desired to retreat from the dream completely. It was only partially true. He wanted to get away from the cave pool, the girl and her strange cats. He was away, but now questions kept him moored to the dream as firmly as that supernatural girl.

To his namesake, Philip was quite intrigued by the rules of this place. He had to understand what held him here.