Several years had come and gone since the last image of the brunette appeared in his dreams, with her radiating golden hue, yet unfamiliar blurred out features. Who she was and why she appeared in the deep shades of sleep eluded. It would be assumed she was his Mother. Any memory he had of her was lost in his infancy. Any time throughout his life the figure adorned in golden rays appeared, she shone with a warm, consoling and loving light that touched the heart of the deep sleeper. Her face was always an eluding curiosity and a constant fleeting hope.
Amidst the grips of delirium and a worrying fever, she appeared again. All she did was smile, a real unaffected and gentle smile. She was in focus this time. There was no pain in her eyes, no expressions of anguish or fear. She smiled almost proudly as she stood adjacent to the bed. Her golden rays of light touched the sides of the blurred figure of his wife and the obedient hound next to her, going unnoticed by everyone in the room except for himself. She never spoke, her lips only moved to continue in their smile. The more she smiled the warmer the room felt.
This must have been a dream? Admittedly a very real dream, but a dream no less. He knew he wasn't dyin-Was he? Was this death? He could see the outlined figures of his dear loved ones. Nessya was by the bed with Dog, clutching at his hand with an iron vice. Amanda, stubborn as ever, stood at the bottom of the bed huddled close-hugged to the dressing screen. Poor darling thing must have been frightened, fearing someone else was leaving her. He vowed to himself he would never leave her like the others had before him. Gythleth too, Gythleth was sat on the bed to his left and oozed concern, as he so often did, like blood from a wound. Yet he could not speak to them. Like the specter by the bed, his voice was stolen. The only person missing from the room was his Son. His darling lad. Perhaps it was for the best he was not here.
Finally, the Brunette specter began to move with very lifelike steps to the bottom of the bed. For once he could see the fabrics of the dress she wore, as the radiating light dimmed to a more subtle luminosity. Her hair was thick natural ringlets of romanticized length and two strands met at the back of her hair by a green ribbon. She still smiled. Her cheeks touched by crimson and her eye lids wrinkled. She was a woman who, once upon a time, smiled so often and so care free. She looked a babe still, so young. Not much olden than himself now, if not younger.
All sudden, the Brunette spoke, with a hand placed devotedly against her heart. The voice spoke with an echoing silvery glass, as though she stood inside a crystal box with sweet tones,
"My Sweet Boy..."
Then all was black. For several panicked moments everything was still. He could feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing. Then, far into the depths of the blackness, voices began. The voices were unintelligible at first but as they grew louder, the voice of his brother became apparent. And then he heard Nessya. There was a quick gasp for air.
"Hey Rick, how are y'feelin'?
It was Nessya speaking to him now, busying herself with the employment of replacing the cloths on his chest and forehead with freshly cooled damp linens.
A groggy glance down the bed showed nothing but the shadows of the room where the candles failed to touch and that the space Amanda was stood only now gave way to a view of the open door. The specter was gone, as was the light she came with. She was gone. His Mother was gone.
It was a dream. It must have been.
