Mary decided to tell Dragon Little about some of her own dreams.
Mary ist a dream, of course, created by Dragon Father in his dream. Unlike Mary, Neither I nor Dragon Little were born in his dream. I did always wonder how he found her and how he saved her from the monsters that were no doubt looking for her. But I do not dare ask him, for it will lead to too many things I am too fearful of.
Still, this story I am telling you ist not about that. It ist about a woman in a dream who talked about her dreams. And as I listened, I tried to fathom whether a dream could actually dream or if this was what Dragon Father had built into her when he dreamed of her.
“In many of my dreams,” Mary began, as Dragon Little lay in her cot in her cabin in Bonny’s Revenge, “I dream of the fields of Ireland, my home. The hills are green, the air is fresh and cold. And I am nineteen again.”
“Nineteen?”
“Yes, lass, that’s the age when I was almost a woman and so much more than a child. You’ll get there when you’re older. You’ll be an amazing young woman, you will.”
“Okay.”
“That was the age when I met my husband, may he rest in peace. In my good dreams, we’re always doing everyday things: Walking around holding hands, cooking, going to the store, running on the hill and playing... “
“That’s a story you tell yourself when you sleep?”
“Yes, dearie.”
“I don’t… I don’t do anything when I sleep. I just sleep and wake up.”
“That can’t be true. Everybody dreams, lass.”
I could see Dragon Little sit up in her cot and cross her arms in anger. “I. Am not. Everybody.”
“Aye. That is true.”
“What else do you dream about?”
“Ah… then there are the bad dreams.”
“Bad dreams?”
“Aye.”
“Tell me.”
Mary was afraid to tell her the bad dreams. She was afraid it would give Dragon Little bad dreams. But eventually she relented.
I will tell you of Mary’s bad dreams tomorrow.
—Told by The Red Dragon