Communing

It was time to being again, the process always possessing the subtle changes that recurring dreams seem to have, clinging to its edges like wispy strands of a tattered intangible cloak. There is a robed figure, standing alone in the clearing of a dreamscape forest, trees barren and flickering like candles. Every sound is crisp as an icy breath. The long black fingers of trees creaking and scratching against each other, dry grass crumpling under foot, soft earth gently compressing with each step. As I approach the figure, he is outlined by a sharp white light, and my surroundings become blurry and distant. What little color was present before fades until there is nothing left but the deepest shadow or the brightest white light. I grab the figures shoulder and it turns to me.
A crow's face. Eyes unblinking as it stares back. It opens its beak, and a pure white fog begins to roll out of its mouth. It floats downward and curls along the ground and around my feet. Nine wings of black smoke unfold from the figure's back, stretching out to their fullest span. All around me, shapes begin to rise out of the fog. Animals, humans, monsters, nothing clearly defined, only vaguely recognizable. They all stand alert, featureless faces turned to me.
My mind empties itself of all thought, it feels like dying. Once I am empty, the figures all begin to walk towards me, and I can remember no more. Idwel's eyes flicked open, his crow, sitting in front of him, raised its head up to him and shook its feathers. They sat there in silence for another moment, before a thought shared itself between them.

Time to go.