Dalmatia tossed and turned throughout her sleep — a dream invaded their sleep, what felt more like a nightmare, her usually calm and peaceful rest beside N​ó​ttin was perturbed. While the plague lifted from the lands, it cursed her dreams, ripped the Dream Visitor from them, where were they? What was usually a safety net amid these twisted visions does not comfort her from the shadows — no, but a tree in the middle of a lake does, a golden light... encasing them all...

Then a bitter cold strikes her, the sky darkens faster than the blink of an eye, and the sole thing lighting her vision is a purple lit flame, festering, keeping all that is close warm, and the rest a bleak wasteland.

Another blink, and she is awake, startled by the flapping wind intruding in the shared den of to-be husband and wife. Snow drifts in, a dusting maybe from the night before. She can feel Nóttin's warmth pressed into her side, but it is not enough to keep her from shivering like it usually does. She shifts, hoping not to wake her love, as she goes to inspect what knocked loose the pelt that shielded their den from the outside...

The spotted woman peered outside, looking for the cause, and finding that the wind, or a mischievous rabbit, pushed one of the rocks stabilizing the pelt overhead had fallen. Just as she ducked out to fix it, she felt as if she had stepped back into the dreamscape; thick, gray clouds cluttered together overhead, creating a blockage, a cage that held back light. It is reminiscent of the week of the Blood Moon, where the world darkens, but there is no watchful eye, just the feeling of nothing. Not even a star blinks through.

Where is the sky; her stars? Panic wells in her chest, as the frost starts to creep over her paws, making them feel numb... Why was it so cold? Was she... Dreaming again? She looks back, stepping frightfully out of the cold, to the safety of her Night. He is there. Her legs wobble, tail tucking, Nóttin...? She reaches a paw to wake him, lest the dream do it first.