Here be dragons

Not much time for dreams lately, RL is kicking my ass a bit. Here's a dream about horses, because why not?

I'm in a messy house with a lot of clutters and white walls. My mother is bringing something back from somewhere. She parks the care and there's a trailer linked to it. She brought in two horses; a grey one with a spanish built, a lipizzan maybe, with a wavy mane and tail; and a alezan one, with a roughter built, more quarter-horse. The second one is a bit bovine, and do nothing more that grazing a bit. The grey one is something else. As soon as we have him in his pasture, he find a patch of bare dirt and rolls around in it, overing himself with the bright orange soil. I pick up a brush and call him. He trot up to me, head held high, and stop in front of me. I start to brush out the dirt, the sky turning dark but the light not changing. It's a long process but it's not tedious; it's almost meditative, and both the exercise and the body warm of the horse warn off the cold of the night. I lean against it's back to take a breather, tucking my arms under my chin and looking out to the pasture. The smell of horse is strong but pleasant, and his skin is slighting shaking each time my breath touch it, as if it was a fly. I can barely see the other horse; the light around us seem to stop a few paces away.

I'm on the road in front of my house, but it looks different; there's a old tree without any leaves with its branches sweeping low over the road like crochety hands. I climb up along one until I reach the level right about the powers lines and jump into a fly. I loose control and go head over heels, landing in a heap in the middle of a grand library.
It's beautiful. The shelves are carved like gentles waves, and the room is two floors high with a balcony running all around it. The room is lit by gaslights of copper and gold with frosted glass covering the flames, the warm almost buttery light gleaming of the polished wood of the shelves and floors. The glimpses of wall I can see are covered with dark green silk, matching the couch and armchairs placed around. At the far side of the library is a big fireplace, currently lit. The room smells sweet, of old books and beewax. There's an open door on a side, with moonlight peaking in.
I walk to it and step into a covered terrace, all old stones. It opens into a very carefully lanscaped garden under a very bright, very big full moon. At the center of it there's a table dressed and ready, with crystal glasses, vermeil cutlery and candelabra. There are people already seated, dressed in finery of all period and fashion, having hushed conversations and eyeing the rest of the small crownd. I don't feel like joining them but come closer to the table to admire the carving on the cutlery. The guests whisper amoung themselves, making a point of not looking at me. I'm a little annoyed and start to walk around the table to go to the other side of the terrace, so I can access the garden. As I'm going I catch a glimpse of blond hair and turn my head; the silvery man is here, very smartly dressed, his hair brushed to fall on one of his shoulder while letting the line of his jaw free of distraction on the other side. It's slighty distracting, and he knows it. Noticing my presence, he change his course and come to me, easily taking my arm and pulling me to the end of the terrace, inside a small, narrow alley I didn't see earlier. There's ivy on the wall, up to a small alvove with what seem to be an old pedestal on the ground. He pulls me in, leaning against the wall with a impish smile. I cross my arms in front of me, too amused to be annoyed... and wake up.

It was a very interesting night, as in it was almost stereotypical of my sleeping pattern. I woke up the first time after three hours of sleep, felt back asleep for one hour and a half, woke up with a dream, felt back asleep for one hour, woke up with another, more vivid dream. I would probably could have induced a lucid if I didn't have to get up for uni.

Dream one: I'm with my sister in a beast of a car, more of a SUV really, with heavily tinted windows. My sister is the one driving, and she has a rather sportive approach to it. It's sunny outside, and it's pretty warm inside the car. The trafic we're in is pretty heavy, and she's trying to go into a parking lot on a hill, that looks like the one of my older university. It has the same tree that shadows the grass just enough for flowers to bloom. My sister pulls up next to another black, enourmous car. I take a quick look to the other car and notice that the driver is still sitting in it. I recognize the hadsome man I've see before and get out of the car to softly rap on his side window. My sister is annoyed at me but he looks up and smiles. I walk a little away so he can get out of his car as my sister starts going up the hill. We go behind her in a friendly silence.

Dream two: I'm in a house with other girls. It's more of a wooden cabin, with wooden furniture and a gigantic, open chimney, with a roaring fire and a roasting apparatus. Looking out from the windows I can see snow, and open fence, and the fiery orange of dusk. We're trapped in. There's spiders crawling on the walls, big, shiny, sickly things glittering in the fire light. There's a big oak table in front of the fire, with a empty metal plate and a big carving knife waiting. The corner of the room are shadowing, but not enough to hide the bones laying there.
I suddently understand that I'm in a witch hunt. And she's hungry.
A tall, hunched over hag enters the cabin. She's not much taller than me, but here proportion are off somehow, with longs, gnarly arms and a big hunch. She's wrapped in dirty rags and a long dress, her skin looks like bark and her hair like white lichen. All the girls cower and try to hide from the witch. I see her grab her knife and a girl's arm. She starts to drag her to the fire, but the girl struggles and manage to escape the hag graps for a second. It throws the witch off balance, and I jump in to push her into the fire. She let out a shrill scream as the flames engulfe her, her skin blistering and smoking.

There was this man, fitted in a old-fashioned tuxedo, with a very white face, white gloves, and slicked back black hair. The lower half of his body is a giant spider, the chitin as slick and shiny as the silk of his waistcoat.
He's on a hardwood scene, under a very bright spotlight that glitter off the joints of his spinnery legs. He's dancing, his four eyes closed as he listens to music I can't hear. It's eerie, graceful, the tips of his legs ticking on the wooden floor like rain on a roof.

I'm in a group, a ragtag bunch of misfits; All of them can shapeshift into various animals. We're squatting a old cinema, but a shadowing, bad organisation attack. We flee on the roof, a wonderful creation of braided green glass, very instable but lovely. We climb down and jump in a car, driving away at top speed. We go through a snowy, very picturesque lanscape. I can't really enjoy it, as I'm the one driving. We reach a industrial dictrict and try to hide in a warehouse, but we're tracked down by a snake woman, tall and covered in golden, shimering scales. Only part of the group manage to flee, and we hole up in the back of a warehouse. A man enters, small in stature, wearing glasses, balding with a small, neat beard. He carries wih him a incredebly heavy atmosphere of dread and evil, and we cower, unable to stand up against him, until one of us, a shy bird shifter, suddnetly snaps and grab a piece of lumber, clubbing the man to get him to flee. He tells him, "do you think you can conquer us, bitch?!" while wailing on him. The evil man flees, vowing to return.

I'm in a house. It's vry modern, with white walls and honey colored wood flooring, shining. I'm standing at the foot of the staircase, and I can see outside from a long, low window that goes all the way across the wall. to my right there's an open kitchen, in grey, slightly textured resin and shiny chrome, with a black marble counter top and thin, spinnery furniture made out of a gray, dull metal. The kitchen open in the living room, but I can only see part of it; it seem that the house is shaped like an L around a garden. I can make out the corner of a table with a frosted glass top, and part of a white woolly rug. Light is everywhere, spot cleverly hidden along the walls, sun coming from the widows in the wall and in the roof. I need to get out, but Where there should be a front door, the wall is whole. I turn around and start climbing the stairs. There are slowing curling on themself, and lined with potted plants. The ceiling is getting lower and lower, and there's no wall on my left, until I reach the top of the stairs. There's a lot of potted plants here, in the bring sun, and the stairs end in a sort of floorless gazebo.

I can climb out of it, and after a short walk on a wooden beam, I enter an attic with greenhouse walls and a low wooden bench running along them. There's someone here, laying down under a nest of blankets. It's warm but no stuffy in the attic, and the sun and shadows are ideal, making it incredibly relaxing. I tiptoes in, trying no to disturb the sleeper, but he slowly raise on his elbows. He's slim and dark haired, and looks almost cartoony sleepy. I get closer and he shapeshifts, his hair lightening to a silvery blond, his bland face filling with intent. He moves, getting the shadows on his face. I recognize him and stop just shy of reaching the nest of blankets. He smiles and sit up, letting the blankets falls off his laps and showing me that he's naked underneath.

Spoiler for more nudity after the cut...:

And more and more happy to see me. The whole situation makes me laugh and his smile gets larger and larger, like the Chester Cat. I never saw his penis before, and I'm suprised that he's uncut. as I think it the foreskin disappears. As he's longing here, barely moving and smiling, he make me think of a big cat, relaxed and sated, at least for now. I get a little closer to him and sit on the blankets, slightly weirded out but more or less trusting him not to jump me. He stretchs out and take my hand to warp it around his shaft. I pull away, staring at him with disbelief. He laughs, completly silent, and runs his hand on my arms as if to soothes me. I roll my eyes and he suddently grabs me, pulling me in so I'm sitting in his lap. His skin is colder that the room, but not by much; I can feel his sex under my clothes. I push away as he switches his hold from my waist to my wrists and I'm sitting on his thighs. He's still smiling and tilts his head to the side, obviously questioning my reaction. I stop struggling and let him pulls me closer again. I put my hands on his shoulders and he looks almost wondering. After a couple of seconds his face turn predatory, with a strange, playful edge, and his hold my waist with one arm before slipping the other under my dress, pulling my panties aside and helping himself inside me. It's very intense but not overhelming, and after a few seconds it's almost confortable, mostly because neiher of us is moving. He settles himself back on the blankets without letting go my waist, and when I start to thnk I will simply get up and leave, he uses his hand to get me off until overstimulation hits me and I struggle away from him, flailing and unable to stand up. He's laughing again, and I can see my own wetness on his still erect penis. He can't help himself it seem.

But in a way, I get it. He's like a green man, a embodiment of sexual energy. I could call him Eros, but I think I can go without gining him a name; he doesn't need one.