Al's eyes were withered, and his mind was hazy at that moment.
He didn't know whether this was a dream or reality, as his eyelids, nearly devoid of any moisture, drooped without the strength to open, barely perceiving the light from outside through the tiny slits.
His lips were dry and wrinkled, and the visions in his sleep were chaotic and blurred. Al couldn't remember anything, feeling only an overwhelming thirst.
"Yarlessto, my child, I'm thirsty,"
he said subconsciously.
At the moment the words escaped his lips, he heard something clang as it hit the ground, and the sound of crying reached his ears.
The crying was heartbreaking. Al had never heard such a sound, like winter ice being broken into pieces and dropped into a river.
Al couldn't distinguish whether the crying was from his dream or reality; his consciousness was too blurred, leaving him unable to find a trace of clarity.
