IT'S THE MOMENT YOU'VE WAITED FOR

Shand is deep, deep in the dream forest, picking his way through underbrush, squinting as bright dappled light falls in his face. He knows what waits at the end of the forest, at the clearing he's working his way towards, but he can never make himself stop, turn, run back. In the dream, he always has to see.

The forest's edge is ringed in wildflowers, forget me nots, springing up happily, haphazardly, from the ground and in a strange way, it feels like they don't belong there. Have they ever been there before? Shand can't seem to remember.

The clearing is strangely empty. And he can feel something inside him exhale deeply, relax in relief. There are usually mangled things, bloody things, rotting things that he can't look away from. Maybe this time, he'll be able to stay in the cover of the forest, away from the clearing. Maybe he won't have to venture out to see if it still smells like death.

Then, there's a soft birdsong, something warbled and high pitched, pained, breaking between notes, like there's not enough air to sustain it.

His body pushes him forward into the clearing and yes, it still smells like death, like decay and rot. But something flutters the tall grass over to Shand's left, and he wades through it to investigate.

On the ground, hidden by the swaying grass, is a very small bird, raven purple feathers, wings splayed out to the side at grotesque angles, very clearly broken. Its neck is turned in a way that necks aren't supposed to be, and the poor creature's eyes are huge, its chest heaving in and out in the labor, the pain of trying to stay alive. There's blood on the ground all around it, its delicate, frail legs twitch in the dust.

There's already horror, a sinking feeling of some doom, before Shand ever sees it. But then for a split second, he can see Luna from far off, arranged on the ground just like this bird, eyes wide, gasping for her breath, blood.

Then it's gone.

He wakes up covered in sweat, his hand gripping Luna's wrist underneath of him like his life depends on it. As he starts to come to his senses, as the dream starts to fade from around him, he acclimates to the dark room, to the silence. He raises his head to see she's still there, her chest rising and falling evenly underneath his head.

He's surprised she hasn't woken up with how hot he'd gotten. A quick drag of his wrist across his forehead tells him he's dripping with sweat, and despite seeing her breathing, he has a moment of panic and quietly, slowly, holds his hand out right under her nose and feels the bursts of air on his skin.

He relaxes just a bit.

But he can't stay in bed now. He pulls himself up, noting for not the first time and certainly not the last how it's such a good thing he's usually sleeping on top of Luna and not under her, or else he'd disturb her all the time.

It's his third dream like that this week, and they're getting closer together, more intense, less easy to brush off and go back to sleep. He's had dreams before, had dreams his whole life, really, that aren't pleasant, that he can't change.

But this one is too much. He ignores the sudden burst of cold air that hits him when he opens the tent flap, not even conscious enough of his surroundings to try and find a shirt or a coat or anything. The sweat instantly cools on his skin, cooling him immediately, but he doesn't care about being hot or cold anymore.

He's not really even paying attention to where he's going, his feet moving of their own accord, just like in the dream, toward the only tent that's lit up from the inside at this hour.

When he pulls himself through the flap, turns around, there's Yvaine working on breakfast, a little surprised to see him, and truth be told probably more surprised to see him in this disheveled state this early.

He just stands there at the tent flap for a moment, his mind taking a few long moments to catch up with him, to pull itself out of that dream.

"Uh... sorry, Yvaine, I did't mean to..."

Well, he can't finish that thought because he's not sure what he meant to do in the first place, or what he's done, but he does know whatever it is, he is sorry. He rubs his eyes hard with one hand, head hung with sleepiness, with something heavy.

"Do you think.. is it... can I just stay in here a while?"

“If you would like?”

Yvaine nods slowly, a little panicked watching him move to the large, old wood table behind where she stands at the portable stove.

“I-I’m sorry breakfast isn’t ready yet, I’ll try to get you a plate as soon as possible.”

No one ever wakes up when she does, she’s not used to being unprepared to greet them with a warm breakfast and hot cup of coffee. Well, except for Luna who will only drink tea, but Yvaine is always prepared for that special situation, too. Right now, she isn’t ready for anything and the guilt starts to eat at her as he sits down at the table with nothing in front of him.

“Kvanne is normally the first one awake and that’s not usually for another hour, I’m sorry. I can… I can try to get up earlier if you’re going to start waking up at this time?”

The idea of this happening again makes her stomach turn in knots, but all she can do right now is fix a quick cup of coffee and walk it over to him, place it in front of him with an apologetic smile, then turn to quickly work on breakfast while trying not to rush so much that either the meal is ruined or her antlers bump into anything.

For never having fought a day in her life, she’s rather skilled with a knife, at least when it comes to cooking, expertly cutting onions and peppers, throwing them into a pan to sear before cracking eggs to mix in with them. During that process, a timer dings and she’s rushing across to a small table, picking up a bowl from under a lamp, shaking the round lump of dough onto an already floured part of the small counter space she has to work with.

Shand is watching her but she can’t blame him despite the discomfort it brings her: She’s the one that’s left him at the table with nothing to do. To even give him anything close to entertainment, she decides to tell him the menu for breakfast.

“It’s just omelets and biscuits today, I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anything creative to make for all of you, b-but hopefully it’s still good.”

Shand lets its rest a beat, then shakes his head like he's trying to keep himself from zoning out.

"No, no, it's fine Yvaine, really. I didn't mean to throw you off, I just... I'm not feeling super up to eating right now anyway."

He does his best to give a little grin, the lopsided one he throws around all the time, to try and convince her that everything's alright and she has no need to feel uncomfortable.

But he can't hold the expression for very long and looks back down, right into the cup of coffee, letting the steam rise up right into his face, the warmth there reminding him how cold he is now and how stupid he was for just bolting straight out of bed.

He closes his eyes for a moment, but even that jolts him. He can't close his eyes without seeing it all over again, and he never wants to see that again as long as he lives. So he keeps even his blinks short, quick, frantic, even, so anxious that any close of his eyelids will be enough to set it off.

Yvaine is caught between trying to make him feel comfortable and trying to get her work done, and it's so obvious because she's always been the mother of the group, the caretaker, and right now, it's almost comical how caught she looks between two separate things that she deems in need of care.

The thought dawns on him that if he could talk to anyone about this, it would be her. He's never asked her outright before about dreams, whether she ever has haunting ones with the work she does, whether she ever sees more than she wants to, whether those things won't leave her alone.

But then again, he's not willing to concede that this is the same. Yvaine tells fortunes, predicts the future. Sees it. What Shand's seen, that's not the future. That's just a pesky fear, a nightmare haunting him, reminding him over and over again how meaningless it all would be without her. Making him question what he would ever do if...

But it's not the future. It's not a foretelling, it's not any of that. It's his dumb brain, the anxious side of him he keeps buried deep down, the one that clings to Luna in his sleep, watches her aerial silk act with his nails digging into his palms every time.

He opens his mouth to ask anyway, to try and find some way to talk about this so it's not eating him alive, so it can be out in the open and maybe it'll get sick of him that way, take off and leave him alone.

But a bit of guilt creeps in at having interrupted her morning routine, of causing her this very clear amount of anxiety by changing things up on her. So he lets that go.

"So don't rush, for my sake, anyway. I'm fine."

“No, no, you’re not fine, you’re stressed about something and it’s my job to make sure everything is perfectly set and ready in the morning and I haven’t and it’s not helping and-“

Yvaine is flying through an apology at the same rate she’s pinching off smaller pieces of the dough to form nice round sections that she places on a tray waiting to be baked. At this rate, there’s really no arguing with her, she’s stuck on her own trail of thought and guilt.

As she places the tray in the oven, something in her mind tells her Shand needs more coffee and she’s turning on her heel to reach for the coffee pot, but the corner of her robe catches in the oven door as she closes it, tugging back on her as she tries to move away. She can’t help but yelp in surprise, frantically pulling the fabric free, nothing on fire, thankfully, but the edge is very clearly burned.

There’s no time to worry because she’s off the moment she’s free, grabbing the pot, getting flour from her hands all over the handle, rushing back to the table to refill Shand’s cup.

The cup immediately begins to overflow from her pouring without looking. Shand hadn’t even taken a single sip so hot coffee begins to spread across the table, threatening to spill over the edge. Yvaine is quick to act, slamming the pot down to free both her hands, yanking Shand up to his feet before it can spill and burn his lap though, with nothing to catch it, it does begin to drip down onto the rug they have placed under the table.

“Oh no, oh my – I can’t- I’m so sorry-“

By the time she’s working up another apology, Shand has already grabbed a towel to help her clean it up but she doesn’t even let him start, snatching the towel from his hand and working to fix the mess herself. She did make it after all.

Everything feels off, nothing is right or in order, she’s never felt so clumsy before, it’s all wrong. The only energy she has to spend gets used in containing the spreading liquid, once that’s gone she plops down in one of the chairs herself, holding her head in her hands, fingers digging at her scalp a bit.

“Sorry, K-Kvanne is usually finished with his first cup by now so I guess I just assumed you were, too. I almost burned you, I don’t have breakfast for you, I’m so sorry.”

Shand steps back, forcibly stopping himself from holding his hands up like he's trying to prove his innocence, or better yet dissuade any further implosions on Yvaine's part. He seldom sees her so worked up- has he ever seen her this frazzled? He's not sure, but he slinks back a little, trying to give her space to sort through the mess like she seems determined to do, and when that's taken care of, he scoots his chair back a little to give her some extra space before sitting again.

"It's nice to finally see someone other than me causing any kind of accident around here. Really, I appreciate it. Keeps me from feeling too lonely."

He gives her a wide, genuine smile that's more gentle compassion than anything else, a humorous out to try and make her feel better. Before she can spin that into something else to apologize for, which Shand is fairly certain she's mentally preparing to do, he changes the subject like it's something his mind had just wandered onto suddenly, and not like he'd prepared it.

"Hey, did Lance catch you guys last night, too? He was ragging on the sideshow something fierce. I hope he let you and Kvanne off easy, cause hell knows he wasn't too happy with us."

Shand raises his eyebrows and looks away to emphasize how crazy Lance had been, picking up the cleaned up cup of coffee and sipping it. More to make her feel comfortable and helpful and like something is going right for her this morning, and not because Shand actually likes or wants coffee at all.

Truth be told, he'd rather this cup be full of bourbon. Vodka. Rum. Whatever.

"I know your section of the tent is smaller, so maybe he wasn't on the warpath there. But we definitely all think it has to do with the fact that he's not lifting as many wallets as he used to, and he wants to push it off on us. Trying to compensate for something, I'm sure."

Shand casts Yvaine a knowing glance as he forces down another sip of coffee, but she seems oblivious, even a little confused, so he swallows hard, realizing that's not a level he can speak on with her.

"Either way, I guess if he met quota in the fortune telling tent, then he was perfectly happy, huh?"

"N-No, he wasn't happy with how my tent went either."

Yvaine watches him sip the coffee slowly, beginning to wonder if maybe she got his order wrong. She knows Luna doesn't like coffee but does Shand not like it either? Has she really been that oblivious to his preferences this whole time they've known each other? Add that to the list of things she'll have to make up for.

Maybe she'll try making him tea tomorrow morning when she makes Luna's cup to see how he likes that.

"He said I'm not seeing enough people per night and that, for the people I am seeing, my visions are beginning to get too vague. It's difficult, though, because I can't always control what I see and the amount I see differs depending on how distracted I am."

Her shoulders slump a little bit, defeated, her main role with the family's circus and she can't even do that right anymore. Can't cook for them in a timely matter, is spilling things as she works, can't fortune tell like she's supposed to, what good is she? Why on earth do they keep her around?

But she's not willing to vocalize all of those thoughts and concerns right now. He hadn't asked about them anyways, he asked about Lance and what Lance had said.

How much can she say, though? To her knowledge, no one in the family takes her fortune telling seriously, they think it's all an act, so if she starts spitting off that she's been seeing things concerning the family lately, they'll either dismiss her or wonder if she's finally lost it and needs help. So, when Lance comes around saying she's not doing her job, she can't even tell him why she's distracted, can't even try to defend herself.

"A-Anyways, like Luna said, he seemed very upset last night, very stressed. There are... Things going on with the logistics of the circus lately, I'm sure that's a lot of pressure on him."

Shand tries hard to keep back a little snort out of his nose, a little bit of attitude.

"Yeah, I'm sure he's got it rough."

He catches himself a little too late, catches Yvaine's strange expression at his barbed tone and he closes his eyes a second, sighs, shakes his head.

"I'm sorry. Kinda out of sorts this morning, too."

He holds the coffee cup up in some sort of mock cheers, with a sarcastic, wry looking grin on his face that he's not sure Yvaine even appreciates, but what the hell.

"You know what I say? I say fu-... Well, forget Lance. People get really into what you do, and I think it's a real big selling point of the sideshow. You help people. So what if sometimes it's a little vague? Vague hope is still hope."

He shrugs, filling his mouth with more coffee before he can let that spiral anymore, let it take him down a rabbit trail he doesn't want to go on, at least not here in front of Yvaine.

He works pretty hard to craft the person he is around most of the members of the family. Like its own little act within an act. Nothing much rattles him, except Luna's admirers, that is. Never internalizes too much. He can just pick up from anything and keep going.

But unlike the circus act, none of that is true. And unlike the circus act, he's pretty sure none of them believe it anymore. They just humor him, letting him think that he's pretending well. He sees it on Luna's face every now and then, that extra questioning, that warning of always being moments away from calling him out on something that's clearly bullshit. But she seldom does.

Still, keeping the act up can make things lonely sometimes. The middle of the nights startling awake, not wanting to burden anyone with his problems, the things that make him wake up dripping in sweat. Doesn't mean that desire isn't still there, though. To reach out, to grab someone's hand like a life vest.

"Yeah, don't listen to Lance. If he were in your seat night after night, he'd be doing that whole, your destiny is near a body of water, shit. Crap, sorry. I just mean he can't judge what you do cause he couldn't do it to save his life. It's gotta weigh on you."

He's not sure where that last part comes from, and it seems so melodramatic to add there at the end from nowhere. So he just pulls the coffee cup back up to his mouth and hopes she'll take some kind of encouragement from that spiel and not think too hard about the rest.

Yvaine just stares down at her lap for a long, hard moment, not giving him much in the way of a response at all, more focused on picking at the burned section of her robe now.

It's difficult to talk about these sorts of thing. To Shand's credit, he's being very polite about it, not mocking her in any way, not belittling what she does, even if he doesn't believe it. He's humoring her at the very least.

How long will that good-will last? How far can she push it to get things off her chest?

She's not really sure she can sit still listening to someone push Lance's concerns to the side, even if it is to make her feel better. In any situation, that would make her uncomfortable, she cares too much about each of them for that to be passed off as normal, but it's just so much worse now because she knows too much. She's seen too much.

"I... I think we should all listen to him more. I've seen... Well, I've seen visions of things about the circus, our family, and his worrying is valid."

Suddenly, the timer in the corner of the tent is excruciatingly loud and her eyes flick over to it, silently begging it to run through, to ding, to signal her to get up and check on the biscuits in the oven, give her a valid excuse to walk out of the situation she walked into.

It doesn't, it just ticks on, much to her dismay, so she drops her eyes back to her lap, unable to meet Shand's curious stare.

"No one has to believe me, but I am concerned about what I've seen so far and I know it's much worse for Lance on his end of things. I just wish I could help."

"Wait... what did you see?"

Shand's never been good at controlling his outright emotions, his gut reaction to things, despite the fact that he's been practicing this act for so long. So he can't keep the clipped, surprised, almost hungry sound out of his voice at first.

But by the end of his sentence, his tone has changed, and he's still a little frantic, like he wants to corroborate something, validate something, but there's a drop too, like his heart is sinking into the pit of his stomach, like there's a terror waking up in him.

And he swallows hard, his eyes a little wider than they should be. She won't pick her gaze up out of her lap, though, and he leans forward a little, hunches over the table in hopes of catching her eye, of her seeing him at least out of her peripheral vision and looking up.

"Yvaine, I... I believe you, I do. I mean... I've kind of..."

He starts to let himself go and then clenches his teeth back. What was he about to say? That's he's seen things, too? It's not true, though. He hasn't seen the future. That's never what his dreams are. They don't come true, they just wake him up in the night, they just paralyze him. They aren't some warning of fate.

So he keeps his jaw clenched tightly, the muscles tensing here and there as he fights within himself.

His movement does catch her attention just as he hoped, her gaze shifting over to him, brow knit, studying how he leans into what she's saying, leans in to listen. He's actually... Listening?

Something isn't right. Why now of all random times is he deciding to speak with her, not that the two hate each other, they just rarely have moments to chat with each other. Does it have to do with why he's awake so early? Why he cuts himself off?

"I... Just things. Financial issues, mostly, things that Lance would worry about."

Again: How far is too far? What can she say without sounding absolutely insane?

He keeps his head lowered, wanting her to say more. No, he looks like he needs her to say more. Does he really want that, though? The things she's begun to see lately, the details of it, it's worse than the looming financial difficulty which is most definitely saying something.

Actually, maybe it's all connected...? That's a thought she hasn't had yet though it worries her to explore it and try to go piecing things together.

"L-Lately, visions have been a bit more of a physical experience. Like one of the tigers dying, Lunath nearly being mugged for money, and, last night... L-Last night I saw one of the spotlights fall during a show. It was... It was falling right towards Kvanne, right in front of my eyes. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't... The visions are getting more graphic and I don't know what to do, I don't know how to stop them from happening."

Her voice hitches in her throat and she finds it harder to breathe the more she thinks back on everything she's seen lately. She can't protect them from all of this, all she can do is see it happen not once but twice. There's nothing within her power to help them, all she can do is let the visions come, disrupt her sleep, remind her how helpless she is, how the family is on the edge of needing serious help and she can't be that for them even though she knows exactly what's going on.

Shand sits back so hard in the chair it knocks all the air out of him, but it's not enough to knock the expression off his face. The furrowed brows, his wide eyes, how he stares at the table, refusing to blink.

Everything she's said, how can it make so much sense to him? There's no way what he's seen, over and over again, fits into this pattern. She's a fortune teller, not him.

Still, he can see his hands start to tremble so he hides them under the table.

"But you don't... you don't know for sure that they're visions of the future though. They could just be bad dreams, nightmares, cause things aren't going so hot right now. That could be it, right? They're probably just normal dreams."

He can't help the paranoid tone that slips into his voice, how his words speed up and he still can't look into her eyes. By the end, it sounds like he's on a rant talking to himself, like he's going to start rocking in the chair any second. He can feel the heat start to fill his face and the sweat start to bead at his hairline again.

There's still a chance it could all be normal, not dangerous, not ominous. Just two tired, stressed minds playing tricks. Of course, there's a greater chance that Yvaine's could be true, but even then, it wouldn't make Shand's true, also.

That doesn't give him as much relief as he wants. Even if his dreams are just nightmares and Yvaine's are the true ones, he doesn't want anything bad to happen to anyone in the family. But he keeps seeing Luna's broken, twisted body sprawled out in blood before him and it feels heavier.

He rubs his eyes hard. He hasn't even closed them this time, and there the sight is again, superimposed on the table for a split second before he blinks hard, looks away. He rubs his eyes so hard he thinks he might bruise them or something before moving on to his forehead, holding it in his hand, trying to get himself together.

"There's... there's just gotta be some other explanation..right? Right?"

"I don't just dream, unfortunately. Anything I see is tied to the future in some way or another."

Despite her worry, despite her panic over this, her voice is surprisingly calm, with a terrible assurance and confidence. God, wouldn't she love to be as confused and unsure right now as she normally is? But no: This is fortune telling, this is what she does. Unfortunately, this is a game she knows how to play and play it well.

She wishes he was right, wishes it's all just bad dreams, just nightmares, just stress, but it never has been and she knows the signs to look for to see just how detailed and accurate these visions are.

Actually, she's not even sure she knows what a dream is. All she's ever seen were these glimpses into the future and one could hardly call those dreams.

"These things... They're waiting for us and I don't know how to stop them or fix them. But who can I talk to about this? No one will believe me, they'll think I'm crazy. But Lunath, Lance... And Kvanne, god, Kvanne."

Yvaine tenses, shrugging her shoulders in, moving her arms to hug herself. Every part of that dream was terrible, the way that man's oddly pale green eyes stared right at her, the way he moved just for her to see the hot piece of massive metal plummeting down towards Kvanne.

The way she woke up before she could see if he was alright, to see if he managed to move out of the way, or if... If maybe...

"God, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said all of this. I'm sorry."

"No, it's. It's okay."

Shand still can't bring his gaze up from the table, but he's staring at it like he thinks it will move out of his way if he just looks hard enough. His eyes are a little too wide and he can't get enough control over his breathing to look comfortable like he should.

"Yvaine..."

He swallows back what was going to come after and trails his gaze even further into his lap. He doesn't know how to handle this. Can he handle this alone?

"...we've got to be able to do something about it, right? Like if... if a spotlight's supposed to fall on Kvanne, just... just have them check the spotlight right before the show instead of an hour ahead of time. Don't... don't let Lunath out alone, that kind of stuff, right?"

He wants to sound reassuring, knowing that some of Yvaine's erratic behavior has to be because of this, too. She's rattled, she's tired. He knows how it feels. But his voice doesn't quite pull it off, he knows. He can hear the tiny slices of paranoia, the desperation himself. It's not worth keeping up the act anymore.

"How d-do you know? The difference, I mean. Between... just dreams, and... and something more?"

He can't chance looking her in the face yet, just keeps staring into his lap with his brows pulled tight, picking at the skin around his fingers with all the ferocity of the anxiety he can't give any other outlet to.

"I don't... I don't quite know what a dream is in the sense that people like you know."

Yvaine's eyes quickly flick up to look at him through the long strands of red hair that fall forward over her face, hiding behind them from him even though he clearly isn't looking back at her. If he does, though, she's ready, safely concealed.

"If I see anything while I sleep, it's a vision. It always has been, I'm not sure how to explain it."

What are dreams? What is it like to sleep and just see nonsensical things from your imagination? What is it like to not see the future, the gritty reality awaiting you or someone you know tomorrow, in a month, years from now? It's impossible for her to fathom.

So, reverse that: How do you explain to someone that seeing things in sleep is rarer for you than most? How do you try to convey that, when you do see something, it's never simple or whimsical, it's always true?

Short of it is: You don't. She gave up trying years ago. But Shand is sitting here beside her at the family kitchen table so... Desperately wanting some sort of comparison. Why? It probably wouldn't hurt to attempt to explain it to him but where to even begin? They're starting off on completely different playing fields.

"It's just... It's like... It's too real to be made up by the limitations of your own mind. You can see it as clearly as a memory, feel it as if you've already lived it, point out details that you shouldn't even be able to know. F-For example, in the vision I had last night about Kvanne, the man in front of me was extremely fleshed out as if I've known him my whole life but I've never even met him. I can tell you what he was wearing, his hair, his eyes, this total stranger. I... It's like you're living another temporary reality, I guess, though that's probably dumb since it's a glimpse into the future of this one. I'm sorry, I'm not explaining this well..."

Shand can feel the dread grow from this gnawing doubt to this big, huge black hole that eating him alive from the inside out. By the time Yvaine is done speaking, he realizes he hasn't even been breathing, has to put his hand across his diaphragm and push a little to make himself gulp in a breath.

"But do they... do they always have to come true? Do they have to?"

He's seen things in his sleep his whole life. But always coded, always in some metaphor that he wakes understanding plain as day. But he's not sure he's ever watched any of them come true before his waking eyes before. He has no basis to assume that what he'd seen happen to Luna is the same as what she'd seen happen to the others. He wants to feel like he can just let it go, but he can't.

The fear grips so white-knuckled hard at him that he has to remind himself to keep breathing, to not gasp and choke at the table with her. She's already a little frightened, skittish and upset, and he doesn't need to give her any more reason to be.

"I've been having this dream lately..."

Shand stops himself, shakes his head hard, like he's denouncing it all halfway through.

"It's just a dream. It's not anything else. It can't be. I won't let it be. It's nothing."

He rubs his eyes hard again, lets his forehead rest in his hands as he tries to scrub those images from the backs of his eyelids, tries to not see Luna twisted and bloody. But his brain won't let it go.

"It's nothing, I just don't want to see it anymore, I can't keep seeing it, dammit."

"Is it Luna?"

Shand looks over to Yvaine so quickly that she flinches, turning her face even though her hair had curtained her off already.

What she most definitely can't say is that the way he's acting, the nerves she sees frayed... They're how she felt when she woke up this morning, after seeing Kvanne in the path of the falling light.

Luna and Shand, they're so obviously a couple, even strangers know it. It's even part of the marketing for the circus, having the two of them pose together for the flyers and posters. But she and Kvanne... They're not anything, they're just friends, part of the same makeshift family.

Of course, she wants it to be more but she knows it probably can't be, it just seems impossible. She saw it last night: Kvanne is going to marry some person and have a beautiful family with them and that person didn't seem to be her. It couldn't have been her, there's no way it was. These are feelings she needs to hide away, but she finds herself feeling them anyways, finds that same fear she sees on Shand's face rising within herself for Kvanne.

She can't say any of this.

"You look worried and exhausted, it only makes sense it would be someone important to you. I may be one of the slower people in our family, but I'm not stupid. There is no one more important to you than Luna."

The best she can think to do is steer the conversation to be completely focused on him and what's brought him into the kitchen tent so early this morning.

"How long have you been having this dream? What is it like?"

He has to swallow hard a few times with how thick his throat is starting to feel.

"I don't know... maybe a week or two? It's the same thing every night."

Deep, deep terror grips at his throat, tells him that saying it, describing it out loud will make it true. Keeping it in his head, in the shadows of the tent at night, not putting breath into it, will keep it from being real. Will keep her safe.

He fiddles with his fingers anxiously, even shifting in his seat a few times, obviously growing more and more fidgety, uncomfortable, as he wars within himself. But again, if he can't tell Yvaine, there's no hope to tell anyone. And he's not sure he can live with that.

"I see this... this bird. And it's dying, it's all mangled on the ground, everything's broken and it's... it's bloody, and it's gasping and it's...."

His eyes are wide and desperate looking, he wants it to be untrue so badly, he would accept it being a cruel joke, anything, as long as it wasn't true.

"It's her, that's how my dreams always are, they're something else, but I know what they mean, and it's her. Afterwards I see her."

Heat starts pressing behind his eyes and he can feel hot tears building up. He starts swiping at his eyes proactively. He'll do anything to keep them from falling, to keep from crying right now. He can only fall apart so much at a time.

"It's not going to happen, I know it's not. It's just... seeing it is..."

He refuses to finish the sentence, because he's sure she knows what it is. It's excruciating, it's haunting, it's horrifying. It's the very essence, the very definition of a nightmare.

What he describes is... Different than her visions, to say the least. His is shrouded in symbolism, hers are always so direct. That alone makes her inclined to believe this really is just a dream he's seeing, not a vision like she's seen.

But something about it... Pulls at her, tugging at the back of her mind, weight on her heart. She can't let it go, just like her vision from last night.

And that's what concerns her the most. Feelings of hers like this are so rarely wrong, but how can she gently tell him that? Gently tell him to be careful, on guard.

"Is there something we can do to stop it just in case it's not only a dream? You mentioned checking the spotlight every night, making sure Lunath isn't alone... Can we do something else to keep Miss Luna safe?"

She's hoping her choice of wordings comes across less like a confirmation that what he's seen is reality but rather that, just on the off chance it is real, let's take precautions. Obviously, he's going to hear the negative in it, hear some sort of affirmation he doesn't want to hear, but it's better than telling him the complete truth.

Than telling him to lose sleep for the rest of however long thinking she's going to die any moment.

Shand stops picking at his fingers, resorts to rubbing hard at the back of his head, no doubt messing his hair up beyond belief.

"I... I've been checking over her equipment extra, closer to showtime than normal, since the dreams started. She doesn't know, I just... I can't check it right before the show, right before the act. And short of just, refusing to let her up there, I don't...."

He shakes his head hard, more to himself than to her. Like he's trying to convince himself, or convince himself that he's already convinced.

"It's not going to happen. I'm sure it's not. It won't. I just, I know. It won't. I just don't want to keep seeing it. This is... it's too much."

He thinks about other nights he's woken up from a dead sleep, this dream fresh on his mind, her shocked face, her dying face, fresh on his mind. Nights she's woken up under him from his jolting, rubbed his face gently, tousled his hair, tried to lull him sleepily back with her.

The guilt alone, seeing her face alternate in his mind from this perfectly safe, content, comfortable sleeping angel to the one in agony, the one asking wordlessly what's happened to her and why he hadn't stopped it. That rips his heart out.

"I'm afraid to fall asleep anymore."

He finally looks up, having reached some kind of place in him that's placated, that's grabbed onto some reassurance that this won't be the future. His eyes are still a little wet with his fear, with the anguish of it, but he tries so hard to cling to that conclusion he wants, even when looking Yvaine in the face now.

"Have you told her?"

Yvaine frowns at him, slowly reaching up to push his cover mug to him very slowly, being extra sure to not move too fast, to not tip or slip it, just moving it enough to remind him it's there.

"She wants to be there for you, I can tell. You don't love someone as much as she loves you and not want to help them. It may be smart to let her in on this, Shand."

Though, that train of thought makes her look away, nervously check the clock near the oven then the opening of the tent, taking long moments to look back and forth between the two of them specifically while also keeping herself from meeting his gaze again.

"Then again, I'm not one to talk... I don't even know how to tell Lance or Lunath about this. I... I-I have no idea if I can tell Kvanne. I don't really know what to do, either..."

The pressure from her fists balling up on her lap digs her nails into her palms, pressing and maybe even cutting into her own skin with all the worry she feels resting on her. How hypocritical of her to tell him to be honest when she can't even do that herself.

Even worse, how long has she been concealing these visions, lying to everyone? She doesn't want him to live that kind of life with the family but she can't exactly lead by example either.

"... Maybe we just need to find a dealer somewhere and get something that will help us sleep like the dead."

He can see her the moment she starts to get worked up too, starts to let the worry sit and stew in her. She doesn't deserve that, with all the care she gives this family and how quiet she is about everything, how she puts up with so much. She doesn't deserve any extra worry.

So he swallows dryly, hard, one more time before he makes himself crack a smile at her, take the handle of the coffee mug and just hold it, letting the warmth leech into his hands and take his mind even further from all his own concerns.

"Better yet, maybe it's time for all of us to take a vacation. Get away from circus stuff for a bit. Somewhere warm, yeah? Not like here. God, not like here."

He starts to try and drink the coffee again, filling his mouth with it to the point that his cheeks puff out a little. He's jumping between topics so fast, and he knows he's giving himself a little bit of emotional whiplash, so he's probably doing it to her, too. But still, he doesn't know how to handle these kinds of things.

And there's a negative chance that he'd ever share this dream with Luna. She'd only be concerned about him. Worry over him. When she's the one in danger.

No, no that's wrong. She would be the one in danger, if his dreams were of the future. But they're not, they're just nightmares, and Luna is going to be perfectly safe. No need to worry her or anyone else over it. He's done enough damage in worrying Yvaine even more than she already was.

"Why don't... uh, can I help you with breakfast stuff? Can I do anything? I'll be the first to say I had no clue how much stuff you did before anyone woke up. If it were me, I'd let everyone starve. Good thing it's not me."

"N-No, no, I have breakfast taken care of, I'm just sorry it's not ready for you."

He's clearly trying to change topics, stray away from the one eating at both of them in different ways. The more worried, and probably correct, side of her wants to shake her head, force them to talk about their dreams more, figure out what they should or could do.

The exhausted, about to fall over side of her is more than grateful for the changeover.

"But you c-could help me with packing everyone's lunches? I do that in the morning, too, usually while part of breakfast is baking or cooking."

Yvaine stands, making sure to turn and walk towards the counter before Shand is up on his feet as to not hit him with her antlers. There, she pulls out various sandwich making things for all different preferences. Maybe not a huge variety, just several different types of jelly: grape, strawberry, peach, blackberry, and raspberry.

Slowly, Shand picks up one of the jars, arching an eyebrow at her as she sets a thing of peanut butter down in the midst of them and then bread.

"It's really all I have to make anyone anything for lunch. We need to buy groceries. Usually, Lunath does that but I've been taking over for him ever since... Well, you know."

Eyes dropping, she hands him a few spoons and a knife, trying to work on forgetting the sight of Lunath nearly getting mugged for the sake of Shand' attempt at pushing on from any talks of visions.

"Everyone has a preference in what type of jelly they like. I can tell you who wants what as we go."

"Really, Yvaine, I️ wasn't hungry anyway. Don't worry about it."

Despite the sincere tone of his voice, something in her eyes tells Shand that she's bound and determined to worry about it regardless of what he says, so he really can't do anything to prevent that anyway.

He takes a few seconds to survey the odd mismatched jars of peanut butter and jellies. There are different peanut butters of all different textures and jellies.. well, there are too many different types to keep up with. And from the way they're jarred, it's obvious that Yvaine does all of this by hand. How has he never heard or seen her making jelly before? Does she do all of this before everyone else gets up?

He holds two jars of peanut butter up and tries to distinguish the difference.

"....crunchy and smooth?"

He asks with a little hesitation, lifting one and then the other. She nods to confirm, and his brain starts to spin a little trying to imagine how she can remember what everyone likes. He's never given it a second thought before, he just knows his smooth pb&j with strawberry jelly always shows up after morning practice. He should really pay more attention.

At least now his focus is directed elsewhere and some of the jitters from his dream are starting to numb away. This could be a good thing for them both.

Shand starts pulling slices of bread out, accepting the knife and spoon Yvaine offers with a little flash of a grin.

"You're really comfortable with me using this?"

He holds up the knife playfully, hinting at his clumsy nature, but Yvaine's eyes go wide like she's trying to fight away real concern now and Shand shakes his head quickly.

"Just, just a joke. I️ can spread stuff with a knife, I️ promise. What, it's just a butter knife, right?"

To demonstrate and hopefully help her feel better after his insensitive blunder, he starts spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread, holding it up so she can see and critique his technique if need be.

"Okay, that was smooth peanut butter. So who is this one for? What kinda jelly's going on this bad boy?"

"You can make yours first if you want. You like smooth peanut butter with strawberry jelly."

As Yvaine speaks, she points to what she's saying, trying to re-emphasize what he just learned, or hoped he learned: Smooth peanut butter does not have chunks of peanuts. He seems to have a grasp on it so she sweeps her hand to point to the pinkish red jelly, trying to lead his eye in a natural motion to not completely overwhelm him with the army of jars.

"After, feel free to make Luna's. She likes smooth with grape jelly- Yup, that purple one right there."

Shand points to a jar with his knife, looking for approval which she happily gives with a bright smile.

It's odd because she never wants people to help her with this. Fixing food, drinks, taking care of everyone is about the only thing she's good at aside from seeing terrible futures, it's really the only way she can pull her weight around here, even if said efforts go unnoticed. To her, it's not so much the being noticed at all, it's more seeing everyone healthy and happy. Maybe if she can see them smiling in the present, she won't think about the future anymore or, better yet though improbable, will change the future.

"N-No, I said she likes smooth! Luna can't stand crunchy peanut butter."

Yvaine finds herself laughing this morning, though, actually enjoying the company and assistance. Not that she'd ever want Shand or anyone to feel the need to do this on a regular basis, but this rare moment feels nice, light, less somber than slaving away for hours in the morning alone.

Well, until Kvanne wakes up, first to rise like he always is, and that is probably her favorite part about waking up so early. Any moment alone with him is a good, calm moment she wouldn't trade for anything. She won't really get that today, but this is wonderful in its own way.

"Well, I guess it's too late, you already put crunchy on it. Instead of grape jelly, just put raspberry jelly on it. Trita likes that combination so we'll just make that one hers like it was the plan all along."

"Raspberry jelly? What the hell? I️ mean, y'know."

Shand gives her a sheepish grin at his unintentional cursing, and somehow even though Yvaine never yells at any of them or makes any demands of them, everyone is always softer around her, tries to be more sensitive, more polite. Shand hasn't really understood it until now, because he's never really spent a lot of one-on-one time with her. But she has the kind of presence he's always thought a mom might have, and he can't imagine cursing in front of his mother. At least, not without apologizing after.

"Raspberry jelly? You got like kumquat jelly in here, too? Really, Yvaine, you make all these? When the f-, when on earth do you have time?"

He keeps spreading peanut butter on bread, following it up with Trita's jelly, trying to be careful not to get too ahead of himself and waste any bread. He knows Yvaine has just as much to do around here as anyone else, and now he realizes she has more. She's Dolan's assistant with the tigers, and Lord knows she spends quite a bit of time with them, trying to be the go-between and making sure they're happy. On top of that, she's always making additions to someone's costume, coming up with new costumes altogether, or doing something behind the scenes.

Come to think of it, she does all the mom stuff around here.

"Do... do you ever get really tired? Waking up before everybody to do all this? It's really a lot. I️ never knew."

It's Shand's shy and backwards way of saying thank you, although he's not sure it comes across in between all of the curiosity and, frankly, awe. To deal with everything she does, the fortune telling, worrying about the family like they'd just confided in each other about. If it were Shand, he would have probably up and run away a long time ago.

And really, Shand doesn't even remember when Yvaine had joined the group. Like any of the others, it just seemed like she'd always been there with them, an organic addition that seamlessly became family. But times like these, he realizes that maybe he's taken for granted a lot of the things she seems to do without much recognition at all.