Snow peppers my cheek as I open my eyes to the dream. 

I expect a desert landscape but instead, I am greeted with a forest deep in the clutches of winter. The hollow wind blows in and presses an icy kiss to my cheek, then whirls away to echo among the valley walls beyond. Pine trees poke through the thick blanket of snow and stretch skyward in sharp midnight spikes, their needle-filled boughs heavy with ice. Thick grey clouds choke the sky and behind them, the sun is a pale shadow of light.

I am shivering when I notice the flowers. The pale white blossoms poke out of the frost in a thin trail, leading through the trees and into the shadows. They are somehow brighter than the snow around them, as if they are made of light and the snow is tinted grey. Their luminescent trail beckons for me to follow and after a moment of hesitation, I step forward into the trees.

The forest gets darker the further I walk. I am unsettled as the trees press closer, but the flowers light the way. As I trek upwards, the grey sun comes back once more, and as the underbrush thins, I find myself in a circular clearing spotted with crocus and snowdrops, the first signs of color in this monochrome wilderness. In the backdrop looms a mountain, its peak hidden from view, its gargantuan mass black and ominous against the choked sky.

A figure stands with their back to me at the opposite edge of the clearing. Draped across their shoulders is a cloak of raven feathers and black silk, collared with silver wolf fur that shimmers in the dim light. The figure turns, revealing a bleached antelope skull mask that hides their features. Glossy black antlers stretch out from the skull and curve backwards. Draped along them are near-invisible silver threads that glitter and spark as the figure faces me. Under the mask, I can make out the edge of their jaw and a hint of pale hair, but the rest of their face is obscured in shadow. 

"Who are you?" I ask. "What are you doing here?" A branch snaps in the woods and my gaze darts to the forest.

"You ask as if you are not the trespasser," a voice rumbles. The trees tremble at the low, throaty sound as the nightmare horse steps out of the woods. It stands taller than the forest around it, its black antlers twisting higher than the peaks of the evergreens, the twin tips piercing the mist. Pitch bubbles up and stains the snow where its massive ebony hooves tread. It turns its head to focus one milky-white eye on me. 

Over the weeks, we have gotten used to staring at each other from afar, the creature gazing over flower-covered, ebony dunes while I stood and waited for the dream to end. I have never seen it at this size, and never accompanying a person. It hasn't spoken to me since our first interaction, and I shiver at the sound of its voice humming through my bones. Unease swims through my gut as I regard the monster and the figure by its feet, their skull masks twinned, their colors a mimic of each other's.

"I don't want to be here," I protest. If I could, I'd never dream of its nightmarish face again. I am sick of vacuuming up sand and flower petals. The horse tosses its head and snorts, the skin along its ribs rippling. 

"Just look at what you've done to this place," it grumbles, ignoring my comment.

"What have I done?" I ask, bewildered.

"This." the creature growls and lifts its foreleg. Its hoof smashes down on a yellow crocus. Tar bubbles around its foot, turning the snow around it to slush. "It's disgusting. And both of you are to blame."

"Both?" I echo. "What do you mean 'both'?" 

"You are Dreamers, aren't you?" It says this as if it is an answer, but it only brings more questions. It sees the bafflement on my face and exhales, smoke trailing from its mouth. "This should have ended weeks ago," it says, its voice rolling over the clearing, "That irascible fox has already shown its hand, but I play a much slower game."

Around us, the trees quiver and the ground trembles. A roar grows in the distance, coupled with the sound of snapping twigs and churning rock. My gaze lifts upwards to the surging wave of white that barrels down the mountain, an unstoppable tsunami of snow. The avalanche is far larger than the monstrous creature that stands across from me.

The nightmare horse watches me with dead eyes. "Goodbye, Dreamer."

The avalanche explodes through the trees, slamming into my chest and pulling me into its churning mass. My body turns numb as I am turned end over end in the snow until I have lost all sense of up and down. I am frozen and helpless and buried beneath, lost to the darkness and depths of the ice.

~*~

I pull on my beanie and fumble with the lock to my dorm, reminding myself for the umpteenth time to call maintenance to fix it. Beth yawns as she passes me; her dorm is across the hall and one over from mine. 

"Morning walk?" she asks, her shower things in hand. I give a nod and follow her gaze to a figure standing at the other end of the hall. She arches an eyebrow at me. Beth knows I go on morning walks, but Finn is a new addition to the routine. She says, "Spending a lot of time with Finn, aren't you?"

"We're assignment partners," I reply. Beth's eyebrow hitches higher. "We're friends," I say.

"Uh huh." Beth lets out another yawn and continues down the hall. "Well, have fun."

"Thanks." I jog down the hall and greet Finn with a wave. He nods, and we head out to the woods.

The sun mingles with clouds and paints the day in both gold and gray. I've grown familiar with the trails over the weeks, so I lead us on one of the well-worn paths that follow the side of the mountain. Finn walks beside me, his hands in his pockets, pockets of sunlight coloring his pale hair and skin gold. 

The trail heads to viewpoint that sits on top of a steep hill before it begins a series of switchbacks. We stand at the point and gaze over the valley in silence, watching as the mist mingles with the dark green forest. The slope below us is covered with ferns and soft moss, a quilt of green and black in the patchwork sun.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," I mumble, kicking a pinecone down the hill, "I didn't mean to dump all of that on you."

Finn lets out a fogged breath. "It's okay." In his voice, I can hear his willingness to listen, that my breaking down was not a burden, and gratitude surges in my heart.

Standing here in the silence allows my thoughts wander. My fingers pick at lint in my pockets as I think of my family in Massachusetts, of the dream and its cryptic answers. I think of yesterday, of Finn's hand on my back, and slow music murmuring in my ear. I think of silver hair in the moonlight and Finn, quiet and contemplative, sharing a portion of his soul. 

"You have a question on your face," Finn says, lips tipped up in a smile. My pulse stutters and I speak what's on my mind without thinking.

"You said your mother hated parties," I say, recalling the conversation from that night. "And — I don't know if you remember this, but the day after your birthday, you mentioned that your mother called. You didn't look happy." 

I glance at Finn and his face has gone strangely blank, his grey eyes pale in the morning light. "Never mind," I say hastily, "Forget I said anything."

"No, it's fine. I just didn't expect that." Finn closes his eyes and sighs. "It wasn't supposed to be a secret," he mumbles, "But I suppose I haven't really talked about it with anyone." 

His gaze flits to mine before turning away. "You ... you, I trust." There's a strange quality to his voice as he speaks, as if he's not sure if his response is a question or an answer. There is a drawn-out moment of silence before he speaks.

"My mum's very strict," Finn explains, "She's always set high expectations for me, in both school and extracurricular activities. It was impressed on me since I was young that I was going to become a doctor, or an engineer, or a lawyer, and that I needed to have a high-paying, respectable job." Finn stares out at the valley, his gaze on some invisible past I can't see. "So I aimed for top marks in school and in piano, and was scolded if my results weren't high. Video games were forbidden and I rarely watched movies. I read a lot, but I remember that she thought I read too much, sometimes, so she confiscated my books and would only give them back once I finished my homework." 

"It got worse in high school." Finn traces lines into the forest floor with his the toe of his shoe. "My life centered around my classes and studies. Anything less than perfect was unacceptable, and I spent all my time studying. If I was invited to a social event, I refused. If I was sick, I went to school regardless. Eventually, I quit piano because I couldn't juggle both piano and schoolwork."

"That sounds awful," I murmur, aghast. Finn scuffs his boot across the ground, erasing his drawing.

"It was just how I lived," he says, "By grade twelve, I had my future planned out: apply to Ivy Leagues for engineering, finish my degree quickly, then work for thirty years and retire rich."

There is a question here, laid out perfectly for me to ask, and I do. "Then how did you get to be in Everwood?" I ask.

Finn gives a wry, defeated smile. "I snapped." I can hear it in his voice then, a kernel of cold anger that frosts his words. "I was sick of learning so I just — didn't. I stopped studying. My grades dropped. I made the impulsive decision to apply to Everwood, and I picked Art because I liked drawing and wanted to follow a path that I chose for myself. For the rest of the school year, I kept it hidden that I'd changed my post-secondary plans from attending Stanford to Everwood." 

Finn swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. "When Mum found out, she was livid. She tried everything possible to get me 'back on track', but by then it was too late. So she decided that for as long as I'm here, working on a worthless degree in a no-name school, she won't fund any of my expenses. If I change my mind and decide to switch back to Stanford, or any other highly reputed school, then she'll help out." 

"What about your finances now?" I ask quietly.

Finn's mouth forms a thin line. "I have scholarship money and Dad's helping out on the sly. So I'm okay for a while." 

He doesn't sound okay. Though his voice is even and his gaze is clear and straightforward, his breathing hitches almost imperceptibly at the ends. He holds himself very still, as if he expects a rebuke and he is afraid of it, or as if he has dammed up a war of emotions and is holding them back. Perhaps it's both. 

"I'm sorry, Finn," I say, "That really sucks." I don't know how to express how appalling it sounds. How could a parent strip away all the fun and innocence of childhood like that? "Everwood's as good of a school as any, and the Art program is —"

"I know," Finn cuts me off, his expression crumpled and tired. "But it isn't me that needs convincing."

"I'm sorry," I say again. We gaze at the scenery, listening to songbirds greeting the dawn and wind echoing through the valley. 

"I was looking into it this morning," Finn says, breaking the silence, "And there's a bowling alley downtown that has discounts for students on Saturdays, after six. It'd be a good way to celebrate finishing midterms." He turns his pale eyes to me, an eyebrow raised.

A smile grows on my face. "What about the assignment?" I ask.

"We'll have all of Saturday morning and Sunday to work on it," Finn replies. He tilts his head. "Or do you not want to go?"

"No! I mean — yes. I want to go." I grin at him and he smiles.

"Then it's all set." Finn glances at his phone for the time. 

"Hey, Finn?" His gaze meets mine. "Thanks for telling me. And — I'm glad you're here."

Finn rubs the back of his neck. "It's fine," he mumbles, his cheeks dusty rose as he looks away. "We should head back." Finn says. As if on cue, the sky rumbles and begins to spit at us. 

"Right." I jam my beanie on tighter and Finn pulls on the hood of his sweater. We race down the hill as the rain rushes to catch us. Our smiles are brighter than the sun, and there are no clouds that can snuff them out.

~*~

We have some cryptic answers and some backstory! What do you think of Sean's dream? Of Finn's past?

Thanks for reading!! Stay tuned for the next chapter!

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