The House, Part 19/x

I did not have the owl dream again for several nights. Perhaps I was fighting it, in my head. Contrary of me, but I often am that. It suits me well.

The dream always started the same way: in it, I am a mouse.  When awake, I recognize that the dream had put me in some sort of barn; but in the dream itself it is just a vast dark and chilly space above me, full of giant, misshapen things that smell of men and danger.  I scurry through the straw and between cracks in the walls, because I am looking for something. For the first dreams, I did not know what I was looking for.

In later dreams, I finally found what I was searching for: it was a bird.  An owl, in case you had somehow not guessed. But it did not smell of danger to me, because even as a mouse I could see that it was tangled and bound up in rawhide cords that kept it from flying or moving.  The floor suggested a wild struggle in the past, but now the owl was tired, and simply lay there, only weakly moving. I was safe from the owl.

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