He's dreaming. The line of understanding between dreams and reality is becoming nonexistent for him. This time, he's standing still. He smells smoke. He can taste ashes on his tongue and feel the severe dryness of the air.
He can't see anything, but he swears he can hear the crackling of a fire. He doubles back to the realization of being unable to see anything and frowns, finding that odd for a self-evident reason. He blinks his eyes once, twice, three times, and still nothing—just darkness.
Tiny embers began to pass by his vision, snapping him out of his mental reverie, reviewing his seeing nothing. Instead of floating outwards and away the way he would expect, all the tiny sparks appeared as though they wanted to converge with one another. They were moving downwards as well as inwards, almost.
Once they found one another, their pieces rearranged to take advantage of their variation of colors: reds, sunset oranges, yellows, some almost appearing as though halfway obscured by ash. The dancing sparks were reunited, glowing as if happy, as they took the shape of a carnelian pendulum, shimmering with leftover divine energy. To his eyes, it looked as though the divine power surrounding the pendulum proceeded to pick it up and carry it over to him, dropping it into his pocket.
*
He was shaken awake, cinnamon and nutmeg instantly greeting his nose. He caught a whiff of firewood as a curtain of auburn hair fell over his face.
"You smell like a campfire," He mumbled sleepily to her before he could register what he was saying.
He felt his cheeks grow hot as he shot upright, biting back the urge to yell at her for waking him in such a manner. Instead, he took a deep breath and forced his body into a more relaxed and friendly posture. He needed her help. That was all he was sure of at this point.
He heard a musical giggle to his left, and the same woman from earlier hopped into view. "Sleeping beauty rises. Hello, gorgeous." She talked a mile a minute, shoving a warm cup of tea into his hands.
He was curious about how long he was out for, carefully stretching out one of his stiff, sleepy joints.
She did it again, responding as though she heard his thoughts. "Longer than you think. Your nap. You're a very expressive sleeper." she dissolved into a fit of giggles, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as a snort escaped her. At that, her face shifted from summer and directly into winter, glaring at him as if it were somehow his fault. "Drink your tea." She crossed her arms, turning her back to him and pausing a moment or two before sitting on the couch across from him, regarding him with a curious yet guarded gaze.
He hoped his face didn't betray the confusion he felt inside at the sudden shift from hot to cold. He brought the cup to his lips, first letting the steam waft the aroma of the tea to his nose.
He was instantly greeted with scents of cinnamon and oddly enough pine and juniper. Very hesitantly, he brought it to his lips and took a sip.
Sparks exploded in his vision, but not the kind that makes you worried you're about to pass out. No, these sparks were more akin to a colorful fireworks display, and he was awestruck at the experience.
Warmth spread like a tidal wave from his throat down to his toes, circulating back up again and reaching his ears. The sensation made his body scream for the cozy comforts of sprawling out face-first into the fiery-smelling couch cushions. So that's what he did.
The last thing he heard was the woman's laughter echoing in his ears as he fell right through.