The Dream

Warmth flicks across Ma'Jakrah's whiskers. Lifting his heavy eyelids, he finds himself sat at an old wooden table next to a freshly stoked fire. The flames lap gently around the fireplace, dancing their eye-catching dance into the cold air, creating many shapes and faces within, each just out of memory's grasp. There are people around him, sitting at their own tables. M'Jakrah tries to rise, but falls back down - he can move, but doesn't want to. Why?

A hard but warm hand is felt on the shoulder, as a voice whispers into his ear.

"Discover for me, the stars."

The fire dies almost as quickly as the conversation from the other inhabitants, enveloping Ma'Jakrah into a thick, lonely darkness.