His hands sprung to life, gripping her arms. With sudden force the man reversed their positions, slamming her down against the ground, his carcass pressing her to the cobblestone street. Half of his face was nothing more than a gory pulp that dripped blood onto her shoulder.

“Vhalla,” he hissed. Part of his jaw was gone and the remaining bone moved at an awkward slant. “Why didn’t you come?”

“I tried!” she cried, begging. “I’m sorry, Sareem, I’m sorry!”

“You weren’t there.” The corpse of her friend leaned forward, nearly touching her face. “You weren’t there, and I died because of you.”

“I’m sorry!” Vhalla screamed.

“You were with him.” His grip cut off the blood to her arms, and Vhalla’s fingers went numb. “You were with him!” He shook her. “Where is he now? Where is he now?” her childhood friend demanded, shaking her body like a ragdoll, her head slamming on the ground.

Vhalla struggled against the arms holding her as they shook her again.

“No, no! I tried to save you!” she sobbed.

“Vhalla, wake up!” A different voice commanded, and Vhalla’s eyes shot open.

Larel’s palms ran up and down Vhalla’s arms. Her dark Western eyes were rife with concern. Vhalla blinked up at her, removing the image of her dead friend. The memory of Sareem sent her stomach heaving, and Vhalla rolled to the side of the bed, vomiting into a carefully placed bedpan.

“This is the third night in a row,” said a voice from the door. The same voice she’d heard the past two nights.

Vhalla looked up, wiping spittle from her chin. A sorcerer stood there, and he didn’t exactly look pleased.

“Cut her some slack.” Larel was not amused.

“Cut me some slack.” The person yawned, but heeded the warning tones in Larel’s voice with one pointed glare back in Vhalla’s direction. A slamming of the door punctuated his departure.

Vhalla coughed a final time, her mental and physical stability returning the longer she was out of the dream. Pulling herself into a seated position, Vhalla rubbed her palms against her eyes and blinked away the last remnants of the vision.

“Vhalla,” Larel whispered softly, placing her palm on the crown of Vhalla’s head. The other woman sat on the bed and pulled Vhalla into her arms.

“I’m okay. I’m fine, I’m fine,” Vhalla murmured into the soft comfort of her friend.

“I’ll stay.”

“No, you can’t stay every night.” Vhalla shook her head, but didn’t shrug off the soothing palm stroking her tangled mess of brown hair.

“Who says?” The woman assumed her position between Vhalla and the wall. It was cramped with the two of them, but Vhalla was too exhausted to object.