Nyctophilia

I stood in the dirt-floored traces of a wooden barn. There are stables all around me and a high ceiling which may surely be infested with bats amass. I stood in simple dark clothing, as I remember. There were chains around me, binding my arms and holding my wrists to my chest. My feet were weighed down with shackles, the rattling of the chains was incredibly loud.

Behind me was a large brown horse, one whom I am familiar with in real life. One belonging to a dear friend. Yet, behold, in front of me there was a powerful white horse, one whom I have never met. There is steam pouring from the nostrils of the hoofed beast, and there is the presence of another friend whom I know in the waking world. I am given the concept that he has trained this horse to fight and it intends to kill the horse behind me and will stop at nothing to complete this. Even if that includes tearing me apart.

The horse storms forward and I struggle in place. However, just in the instant before death, I rip the chains from me like paper, miraculously. The horse rouses on its hindlegs and I deliver a strong blow with my fist to its underbelly, knocking it down. I look back to observe the brown damsel-of-a-horse which I have saved from the snow-furred fury. To heartbreak, I find no one behind me. Not even tracks in the dirt below; only the still doors of empty stables.