...as the searing paint lifts from her body, Vikta becomes aware that she has been screaming.  She isn't screaming any more... but she can't remember the sound her voice made as she cried out in agony... all that remains is a ragged, scratchy feeling in her throat.<br/><br/>She stares at her wrist in disbelief, and as she sits up straight, the wet tingling of dew exposed to the air along her bare back-- that, and the tickle of damp grass along her buttocks, her thighs, her feet-- it's so surreal, that all she can do for a moment is stare and wait for the dream to end.<br/><br/>Rising from the grass on unsteady legs, she blinks at the light and surveys her surroundings... she's struck by a pang of embarrassment, a desire to hide herself-- she quashes it with anger, knowing that she is being foolish for being ashamed of her body.  In fact, she reminds herself, she is being foolish for thinking that this strange place, or these women, are any more than a dream.<br/><br/><i>Would that they were not...</i>she thinks with a wry, soft chuckle as she stretches along the grass... the absence of pain allows her to relish the sensation of the dream... the feeling of warm earth, cool blades of grass, crisp with dew and alive, like thousands of fingers along her body...<br/><br/>Since the dream seems to persist, the stands, stretching her back in a cat-like gesture... the movement elongates her spine and stretches her ribcage, framing her diminutive, honey-skinned figure-- lithe, graceful... with features that blur the line between elven and human... supple and compact, but with a smooth, curvaceous ass and full, youthful breasts... short, but with long legs... hair ashen-blonde, almost white, but cut short in a pixie-cut that teases the tops of subtly pointed ears, and huge, vivid blue eyes, but with a keen edge of hardness that most humans' eyes take on.<br/><br/>She sighs and rubs her fingers over her taut stomach and narrow waist, wondering if she should dimply dress now or wait the dream out...<br/><br/>...when she hears someone speak.<br/><br/>Turning her head slowly, she makes out the girl who has spoken.  Vikta's brows quirk up in subtle appreciation of her, even though she's managed to dress herself (much to Vikta's regret).  Then, slowly, it dawns on her that this dream is incredibly real... oddly so, in fact...<br/><br/>She remembers the feel of the grass, the searing pain... wouldn't that have roused her from sleep--<br/><br/>Giving it no further thought, she spots her gear in the grass and dives for it-- clasping first her short sword, then second her armor-padding... a thick, black cotton, lace-up garment that she begins fumbling her small body into as best as possible with one hand-- "Wh-- who the bloody hell are you?!"  She spins, pointing the blade at one, then the other of the rising women, ready to defend herself as best as possible, when she finally manages to slip the garment over her legs to her waist, covering her lower-half only thusfar.