The rush of cool feels halfway between wind and water, as if the very air was perfectly translucent fog. Looking up as I fall I see the ground flying away fast. The battle rages on but seemingly in slow motion. I look down and little blobs of light like plankton fly around me. Approaching down in the deep looks like the bright visages of stars. The world above is just a speck until it totally disappears from sight. Totally alone in the darkness now. I think of my cold body lying on the battlefield above when the rush of fog turns into the rush of water.
Sputtering about in this subterranean lake, I kick off my greaves and gauntlets and tread the deep gloom to the shoreline of black sand. What I thought was a cave turns out to be another realm entirely–above me is a sky the color of gutter water with low smoky-looking clouds. Looking about the dismal beach I see nobody, no trace of there ever having bee a soul here prior to me. The black sand crunches through much like the layer of ice frozen above half-melting snow and my boots sink a few inches. Stepping further I feel an irresistible urge to go on and keep up the march despite the fact that I am sinking deeper and deeper until, stumbling, the ground consumes me . . .
. . . I awaken under the rotting bodies of friend and foe, carrion birds digging into the putrefying flesh. Groaning, injured, I try to roll the corpses off of me. Standing up and shambling towards the nearby stand of woods for shelter, the battlefield looters look upon me with horror as if I am some demon sent to punish them for their thievery. The sky has the same murkiness as the dream and soft rains come down to wash away the mortuary smell.