Per'dra realized that she wasn't being of much help to this suddenly helpful mage. Refraining from taking another sip of absinthe until she was sure she could recall the nightmare fully, she lay the pewter cup on the bar counter and said:
"Perhaps not. My nightmare is always the same: I can never see who or what is roaring, because it's pitch-dark. My nightmare begins with a low, rumbling sound, like that of thunder. That's not what scares me, even though it probably should. The rumbling always comes before the roar. It makes me relaxed, and all the more unprepared for the sudden sound. It's actually a cross between a roar and a screech, louder than anything I've ever heard in my entire life. It makes me freeze in fear under the mussed covers of my bed, because I'm terrified."
She closed her eyes. "My little brother Ralthen, before he died, used to pretend he was telling me a secret and then shout in my ear. However, this roar is nothing like his. It's simply magnificent, and no matter what, it wakes me up."