Alistair was having his own troubles sleeping. Ever since he had laid down he had found himself immediately consumed by nightmares. Horrible images of the dead rising, people commiting suicide, maniacs in rags with deformed faces and other monsterous images. He didn't know what was causing it, perhaps he had been under such stress lately that his fears had finally decided to make themselves known through his dreams. His final dream was enough to make him decide that sleep was impossible; he had dreamed that he was being dragged down into a vast dark ocean by a large green hand. He got up from his tent, still fully dressed, and walked outside into the night air.