The first dreamer he approached was a tall, imposing figure. The man was standing perfectly erect, drifting through the mist without a care in the world. He seemed locked in a deep, meditative state, his gaze fixed on an invisible horizon.
"Hey! Hey, can you hear me?" Thomas cupped his hands and shouted from the bow. His voice felt thin, as if the mist were swallowing the sound waves before they could travel twenty feet.
The figure didn't flinch.
Frustrated, Thomas hopped off the deck—finding that he could "walk" on the mist as if it were solid ground—and approached the giant. He tried shouting again, inches from the man's ear. Nothing.
"Should I just shake him? It's not like I'll get bad karma for waking someone up in a dream, right?"
