I awoke in the most confused and disoriented state. It was still nighttime, and the forest was shrouded in darkness. I had no idea how long I actually slept after the dream.
My fingers brushed against something soft. There, by my pillow, was a lone white feather. I sat up, clutching the feather. Upon inspection, there was nothing really special about it, other than the fact that the tip was tapered like a writing quill. But there was no doubt, it was the goose feather Mother Goose had given me. I let my hands drop and rested my arms on my knees. I was starting to get used to the idea that dreams and reality were not as distinct as I’d previously thought, which could be both good and bad, I supposed.
There was a soft rustle behind me and a familiar voice spoke. “Trouble sleeping?”
I smiled as I tucked the quill into