Dreaming of Grief

It has been over two weeks and there has been no contact from him. I haven’t tried to call him other than that first day after I ran into Gareth. I’ve come to accept that my long nightmare is over finally, that the shifts are gone.

My sleep is peaceful, the windows open, letting in the soft night air. Until I begin to dream . . .

He is in chains again. But this time he is not in my room, he is a small dark rock-cut cave, his chains bolted to the wall and shackles around his wrists and ankles. He is not wearing his armor, he has on breeches and a linen shirt. He is sitting on the floor, his knees bent, his arms crossed over them and his head bowed, his hair a tangle covering his face. A barred gate covers the entrance to his cell.

( Did I do this to him? )