Anamnesis

[Thalia]

When she did not particularly wish to be disturbed, it was the bottom of the riverbed Nimeda dwelt. Few dreamers were so natural to this world that they understood how one could simply disregard the necessity for breathing. Or would even think to try. Cross-legged in the cold current and silt, Nimeda studied the open palm of her hand. The burned symbol there faded along with the warning. Hair tangled lethargically around her face, tickling a playful distraction she did not heed.

The pull was gentle, and easy to ignore had she been inclined. It reverberated with all the uncertainty of a mistake, which didn’t usually concern her; she went where she willed whether she was welcome or not. But Noctua’s sting had still not ceased pulling her into little shallows of melancholy, and she knew something of the caller in this dream. Enough to suspect she would be less disappointed if she remained alone at the bottom of the river.

Yet when the second call came, she did not ignore it. Curiosity or loneliness or ancient kinship. Nimeda didn’t question the motivation. She did not think she had ever seen the Watcher wear a normal face. If he did, he never came to the places Nimeda regularly dwelt, and she had long since stopped trying to win his attention when his presence was like itchy eyes all over the skin. A shift closed the distance, for she had been nowhere close, and she rose sleek as a seal to rest her arms on the bank and peer up from the water.

“No one has called me that for a long time,” she said conversationally, which happened to be true, though the thought popped and burst into nothing she could have explained in only the next moment.