The Dreaming, it seems, is as fickle and cruel as any human being. This will be knowledge enough to make the Fool reconsider his affectionate regard for the capricious plane, but that will come later. Later, after he opens his eyes and finds himself laying on dusty sheets in an empty bedroom.

Something is wrong; this much he knows immediately, although he cannot put his finger on what. His memories come back to him in a sleepy trickle: a boat off the coast of the Outislands, but also a curious studio within a cafe on a busy, alien street. A journey across the sea to Clerres, and touching minds with an immense being vast as any dragon. The pain of leaving Fitz behind, and—

Oh—! (Suddenly, all too suddenly, what had been mired in fog becomes clear.)

“Devin?” His voice is quiet, hoarse from something like sleep; the Fool is a little unsteady on his feet as he pushes back the blankets and stands upright, catching himself on the headboard with one hand.