I've been sleeping rather more than usual these last few turns. There seems no particular cause or problem, just a period of time my body feels it needs extra rest, I suppose. I sleep soundly, and some of the time without dreams though that's not always the case.

I sometimes wonder about dreams, those little stories that play out before our sleeping eyes while we rest. Often they appear to be a re-run of recent events, as though the mind is sorting through memories and deciding which to keep and which to reject. Other times it's as though the sleeping mind is mulling over whatever we were thinking about when we drifted off to rest, continuing the stream of thought.

The memories in dreams might differ from actual events, as though the mind takes an opportunity to look at things from a different angle - or perhaps gives us a view of what could or should have been rather than what is or was.

Perhaps they're a picture of our hopes and aspirations. And sometimes, perhaps, they give us a premonition of what will be.

I heard a voice, a voice familiar though hidden beneath the distortion of anger and anguish ...

My own voice raised in a shout - or maybe a scream - of defiance and disgust as I raised my blades and ran at the Sylvan, trying with every fibre of my being to land a killing blow ...

Not my Sylvan, no. Ellyana was sleeping beneath the spreading boughs of a tree in the meadow, and didn't have to once more face the twisted and distorted form of her demonic imitation. But I'd answered a call from the Crier, and hurried with others to contain a massive raid on the halls of the Nocturnal Hand.

Tendrils sprang up, blocking my way and tangling me in their grip. Hindered as I was there was little chance to defend myself as corrupted knights appeared. Again and again I woke at the monument, pounding my fists in frustration as I waited to be free of its grip, fuming at the delay in my return to battle. And so many others despatched by our foes with the same contemptuous ease appeared beside me. One by one we made our way back to the fray and threw ourselves into combat. All the time I was keeping track of that vile apparition, trying to fight my way to it. And each time I edged nearer to my target I was again sent reeling back to the monument.
And at last I returned from yet another delay at the monument to find the hall cleared, all the raiders killed. I was glad to see the matter ended, though also there was anger that I'd not even laid a blade on that vile creature.

That raid on the hall of the Hand was not the turn when I could put an end to that shrivelled and withered demon. But that turn will come.