The Dream Weaver and the Sandman

      Brass hated nightmares, but they were a part of his job, he did not get to choose what he crafted, he was pulled to sleepers. Their minds telling him what ingredients to combine, bits of his fur sometimes being pulled into the tapestry of dreams. It left him looking pocket marked and soft. This did not harm him of course he was a dream weaver and that was the nature of his job.

      He’d always liked Faerie land best, their fluffy cloud filled dreams with pastel hues even in the bad ones, until the faeries turned to stone. They weren’t asleep exactly, and no matter where he pulled threads from he was not sure they penetrated their thick mineral shells. If only he were Gold, he could have offered them some relief, or at least so he thought.

      Then something happened, Faerieland fell. It landed in Neopia in a blaze of reds, oranges and dark purples at the paws of a Xweetok whose dreams always had pieces of storm clouds and star light. He’d seen the dreams but never knew what they would lead to or what a simple dream weaver could do, he was only Brass after all he had no real power. He tried to knit sugar and sweetness into those that opposed the misled pet.

      After faerie land fell, they began to rebuild, dreams were hopeful and bright again, while some were still tainted by storm clouds, mud and ash. Now the land was on land, he felt a new tug, a new sensation and a desire to entwine new ingredients he’d never encountered before, dried leaves, swamp water, a night breeze, cream from pies.

      Not far from his soft hued home he found a place that seemed to be made of the threads of nightmares, tied together, but was almost as cheerful as his homeland. The inhabitants are strange and frightening, and yet friendly and welcoming. A place that seemed to celebrate the spooky and uncanny, where the stuff of dreams and nightmares played together in delightfully new tapestries.

     *

      “Perhaps I am getting better, perhaps a change of name is in order,” Brass mused as the dream began to take shape. Archne perched on her master’s shoulder and watched as he worked. The Korbat rolled over enjoying her dream filled with flowers and spring breezes.

      He paused his work with a smile, his paws still only for a moment before he pulled more dream essence from his ruff and added the finishing stitches before drifting down from the wagon window. The family had been pleasant to weave for as all their dreams had been laced with lavender and sweetness, particularly the young Bori’s. The Xweetok was musing over this as he floated toward the path out of the Wander’s Camp when he felt the strangest sensation. Almost like someone, other than Arachne, of course, was watching him.

      That was just silly of course no one else could see him. He looked around the dim camp, embers fading in the dark, when he saw the faint outline of an Xweetok…a winged Xweetok? A laugh bubbled up from his chest as he spotted it.

      “Scared of my own-” he started when “his shadow” didn’t move like he did. Another dream weaver! He shot forward to meet them excitedly, he’d never met another weaver before. Perhaps they were Gold! To his surprise the other Xweetok ran.

      *

      Bo was surprised when he saw a pastel Pink Xweetok floating pass Ash and Bell’s wagon. He’d never seen them in the camp before. He rarely ever saw anything pastel Pink in the woods at all. It wasn’t exactly the aesthetic of the Haunted Woods unless you were in the Lumi’s shop.

      He hadn’t meant to stare and would have headed into his own wagon when the Pink Xweetok turned to look at him murmuring something as he pet a Rainbow Spyder. Bo hated Spyders and stood frozen when the Pink Xweetok charged at him, Spyder in paw. Shamelessly, Bo ran.

      *

      Brass watched for a moment surprised then put Arachne on his shoulder. Perhaps they were playing a great game of chase. He had never played chase but he’s seen others play it in dream and in daylight. One would run and the other would follow and tap them then run away. It seemed like great fun but since no one could ever see him he was never able to participate but clearly this weaver wanted to play. How could I say no?

      *

     Bo crashed through the underbrush. Normally when he needed help with a Spyder he went to Bell or Ash they weren’t scared of them but they were sleeping and they had two young kids he’d help put to sleep. He couldn’t go to Bazz because Bazz would make fun of him, and the fair was the other way, anyway. If he could find Victor or Stubs they’d help him but he wasn’t sure where they would be.

     He lost his footing for a moment as he stumbled onto the path. Bo looked back and saw the Pink Xweetok still following his rainbow arachnid on his shoulder. Fear drove him back on to his paws and he ran as fast as they would carry him toward the town. Lumi would help him.

      *

      “What in the name of Sloth is all that racket!” Bo jumped when he heard the Poogle’s voice. He’d forgotten that Kiche spent some nights in her storage room or in her spare room especially on rainy nights. Only minutes before he’d been knocking furiously on her door. It had taken her longer than he would have liked but he knew she had some difficulty navigating the stairs. She hadn’t seemed to be upset or surprised by his presence and let him right in. Unfortunately she didn’t seem to see his pursuer.

      “It’s just Bo,” Lumi replied cheerily. The teal Xweetok went to fetch another tea cup for the Poogle as he came down the stairs. “He had a bad dream. You of all pets should understand.”

      “I did not have a bad dream!” Bo interjected. “He’s outside!” A rather confused looking Pink Pet sat in the street fiddling with something. His pouch looked very similar to Bo’s own and he was searching through it furiously.

      “Tea?” Lumi asked as Kiche joined them but he didn’t acknowledge her. He was looking out the window where Bo had been looking.

      “No,” Quiche answered rudely. He went over to the window. “Lumi what do you see?”

      “Um,” Lumi set the teacup down and went over to the window. “The Crumpetmonger’s but I bet she’s closed at this time of night.” She laughed, then looked at her companions.

      “She can’t see them,” Bo said miserably. “They chased me here all the way from the Wander’s Camp!”

      “See what?” Lumi asked, finally believing that there was some there, but not perturbed by it.

      “A Pink Xweetok,” Kiche replied.

      “Pink, how lovely, perhaps we should invite them in,” She suggested.

      “No,” both protested in very different tones.

      “I’ll go see what he wants,” Kiche offered. “If it means that you will both be quiet so I can get some sleep.”

      *

      “He says your dreams are always full of colour, and he likes that,” Bo sighed as he sipped his tea. He was not enjoying being the dream weaver’s translator. He would have to see if there was a way to make him visible to others. Asking Brass was fruitless, because he was “brass” after all he figured you’d have to be Gold for others to see you.

      “Thank you, but I am sure it is because of your lovely work,” Lumi answered the empty chair. The chair was not empty of course, because Brass sat there so close to Bo they were almost toughing. Bo had made a new friend, it seemed whether he wanted one or not. At least Brass had put the Spyder down on the chair on his other side.

      The End.