Tipsy's planning had to be put on hold when sudden, wrenching thirst seized her throat. Confusion and anxiety gripped her mind. She'd just drunk as much as she could, and yet her belly had hollowed and her skin tightened with dehydration. It almost felt like a hangover, but without the pain.
She jolted up and staggered back towards the pool. The birds were utterly still and staring at her with weirdly intelligent eyes. Strange pictures flickered under the surface of the water. It was terribly disorienting, but she'd hallucinated worse. She braced her legs apart and leaned in, the sweet scent of the water intensifying in her face. Drinking nearly hurt, so urgently did she need it. Perhaps she was dreaming? She certainly felt sleepy, her eyelids heavy and submitting to gravity.
When she reared up, she had to walk backwards in an awkward circle to regain her balance. The world was spinning in a very familiar way, and the water was the deep red of her hide and the tower and her best wine. The scarlet birds had darkened in color, as if dyed by the water, and as the horizon tilted wildly they took off in a flurry of wings so loud she was buffeted away. They called down with the voices of cats, mocking her viciously.
Legs staggered but carried her back to the little nest in the grass she'd made. Like all events that had her in this state, she knew the best thing was to lie down. Besides, her eyes could barely be kept open. She grinned loopily. "That's sooooome wiiiiine," she slurred, then collapsed into the nest. The tower rose above her, so big that it took up more than half her field of vision, which was fuzzing and sharpening at random. A line of light and sparkles whipped away into the deep, grieving blue of the sky, taunting her with complete freedom. She wanted to go with it.
Then the darkness closed in as her consciousness sank into the deep, cozy confines of sleep. She was weighted down, sucked in, despairing of ever finding that light trail again.
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The distant sound of her fellow Risers murmuring morning greetings awoke her, and her head tipped back in a gigantic yawn, making her jaw pop. That was the most bizarre dream she'd ever had. She must have been sober at the time. What a dream, though. It had to be one, for she was still in her nest of chicken down and fragrant, dried grasses. Peck was not far away, picking at the ground for beetles.
For a moment, the unsettling feelings washed through her, and she pressed them back defensively. Nope. Just a dream. It was even sort of fading now, growing odd and jumbled. Events seemed to switch places. It was nice to know, though, that she wasn't stuck out in the desert and facing the long, terrible journey to the swamp again. Relief shivered over her. She stood and shook out.
Sand scattered about, and three perfect red feathers drifted to the floor of her hollow.
