Hero sat on a comfy bed. The sheets were very white, and beds were arranged parallel to the length of the chamber. Hero was in the infirmary. Metaphor was here, soundly unconscious in her bed. A tube delivered saline solution straight into her veins from bag held up by a metal stand. Her notebook was placed on the bedside table, slightly crumpled and moist. Hero was concerned, yet something was amiss.

He idly twirled his bronze dagger in his hand. He watched it dance between his fingers, and let his mind wander.

His vigil was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Through the door came in three individuals, Stripe, Tesla, and Dalton. Stripe walked over to the blue dragon with concerned steps, while Dalton and Tesla came close behind with their clawed feet taking cautious strides.

"Is she going to wake up?" Stripe asked.

"Yep, boy. She's gonna. I assure you." Tesla gave Stripe a thumbs-up with certainty simply flowing through its smile.

"Yes." Dalton began to elaborate. "We, however, do not know when. She could awaken a day or weeks from now. The snake's venom was potent." The green eyes of the crocodile was dull as if recently washed with worry.

Hero remained quiet, and began to contemplate. Behind his eyes brewed a sea of flames. Ships of thought sank and rose in the roaring sea. One particular ship carried a particular memory from last night. The eye of the storm set its gaze upon the memory, and maelstrom of magma formed underneath. The ship rose from the troughs of the waves, and made itself very visible in Hero's mind's eye.

"Green eyes." He muttered. That was the memory. Glowing green eyes floated above the body of Metaphor amidst the dark of night. He did not see whose eyes they were; the veil of night hid their visage.

"What was that, Hero?" Stripe asked, and the sea collapsed onto itself, and he was pulled out of his mindscape. Tesla and Dalton gazed at his direction in interest.

"I saw something out the windows last night. Green eyes. Glowing green eyes above the body of Metaphor."

"I may have also seen a pair red ones too."

"No, Stripe. That was only the reflection of my eyes."

Stripe began to rub its chin, and think. His gaze moved from Hero to Dalton. Dalton tensed, readying for the accusation. He then began pointing a finger at Dalton. "Could it be that it was him? Dalton, I mean?"

Hero sighed, and answered, "No. Unlike Dalton's eyes whose glow is steadfast and constant, this one's light was soft and gentle. Unlike his eyes whose light comes from a star behind his lens, this one's light was a candle."

"We don't even know how she got out there. The door was locked last night, and she ain't supposed to be able to bypass the defences," Tesla said with some distaste. His angry peach eyes listlessly glowed.

This had gone nowhere. The conversation stopped, and everyone had left the room to grab some grub. Hero and Stripe ate the plastic fruits with the same distaste they had before, but they had noted that they had improved. Dalton stated that they had processed their comments and expressions during the meal, and used the information to formulate a better recipe.

Hero returned to his vigil in the infirmary. The morning had turned to noon, then afternoon, then dusk. Hero idly watched over the body of Metaphor, and idly twirled his dagger once again. Metaphor did not wake. She was quiet, and still, and asleep. No change.

Hero knew that Metaphor was a wizard, yet he could not read the words in her book. He could not determine which spell she may had cast; he did not even know what spells she had and did not have.

Her book was filled with arcane glyphs that were useless to everyone but her. Even with the knowledge of Moly the shaman, they did not crack this alien code. These lines of glyphs were not all alone, for occasionally, an illustration would accompany them, but without clear understanding of the language written, the pictures were as useless as the alien words.

Hero studied these glyphs and pictures. He wielded a lance made of the flames of learning behind the eyes, but even with the weapon, the words did not crack. The only thing he could infer with confidence was that it was filled with watery and occasionally windy spells.

The dusk turned to evening, and soon to night. The world was bathed in darkness. Only starlight and moonlight challenged the dark, but their meager light was no match to the thickness of the veil.

Hero's body slumped in the bed: half-asleep, half-awake. His eyes were half-open, and his hearty inner fire were half-glowing. The dagger in his hand, he had stopped twirling; the blade was safely sheathed away. He now idly took watch of his ward that laid in the dark room.

His mind half-wandered into the realms of dreams. His half-asleep dreamself floated among the glowing dreamy clouds then down to dreamearth. A rain of glowing embers fell to the ground, and rose right back up in wisps of steam.

Hero half-walked down the ground which was paved with grey cobblestone. His body was steaming, but he did not feel any heat.

He half-dreamt. He looked up to the oneiric clouds that drifted in the sky... What did he see? What did he dream?... There was a deluge, and a rowboat that was always beyond his reach.

Night turned to dawn, then to morning. The sun rose above the horizon and drove the darkness from the land. Hero took out his dagger once again, and began twirling it in his hand.

Metaphor then stirred, and began to open its eyes. It caused Hero to exit his half-asleep state, and enter full alertness.

"Metaphor has awoken. Rejoice!"