Running restless

[Tristan]

Some hours into their slumber, Tristan woke in the runner’s dream. He stood upon the edge of a high cliff overlooking a landscape hewn from the core of the world itself. The fjords stretched like a maiden’s hair floating inward from the ocean. The air itself whispered across the bare shoulder of his typical appearance in the dream. War paint drew black patterns around the muscles of his beastly frame. At his waist stretched leathers sewn up the side with strong cords. His hair was neatly braided in the dream when it was more frayed and frazzled in the Other world. His eyes gleamed gilded as the sun itself, and with a step, he knew he could jump the fjord in a single, monstrously legged-bound. This was his world, where he could run from horizon to horizon. The arc of the planet was his to run, leap and explore. The wolves were quiet, but their howls hummed echoes in his mind even as he inwardly stretched to speak to them all at once.