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You are flying. Far below you see a valley spreading wide, a small river snaking down the middle, winding it's way to the far off ocean. You make a swooping turn to your right and begin diving for the tops of the craggy mountains down there. You marvel at the fact that you are able to fly without benefit of wings only briefly, but as your descent turns into a fall, you realize you are better off without that particular piece of knowledge. Instantly, you regain control of your flight and descend a little lower toward the jagged mountains. Darting in and out among the peaks, you feel your heart pounding hard inside your chest, the wind rushing in your ears. You feel exhilerated and free up here and you move out from the mountain tops to try a few manuevers. Swooping and diving, rolling in the air, you can't help but notice that something in this idealic scene is missing somehow. You level out and glance to your right and are astonished to find [Classmate's name] holding your hand, flying beside you. You've had a crush on [him/her] for years and never had the courage to speak up, but now, here [she/he] is flying with you, smiling at you, holding your hand! You whoop with joy and think to yourself that you are the luckiest person ever. She/he gives you a playful look and lets go of your hand, darting up above your head and around to your other side. With a laugh, you give chase, merrily persuing her/him through the clouds. From somewhere far off, you think you can hear a voice... no, it's not [classmate's name]... calling your name. You shake your head to get rid of it and continue your pursuit of [classmate's name]. Just as you are managing to close the gap between you and him/her, the voice returns, this time louder, almost shouting. Not now, you think to yourself, but it's too late. You lose control and begin plummeting downward. You watch [classmate's name]'s perfect face receding from your sight as you plunge through the clouds, down to your inevitable and untimely demise. Glancing down, you see the ground fast approaching, growing bigger by the second. You prepare yourself to meet whatever maker may be and jam your eyes shut as you slam into the ground. ...and shoot bolt upright in bed, heart blasting, your breathe coming out in gasps. It is completely dark in your room, but you can almost make out the faint sillouhette of a person standing at the foot of your bed. " 'Bout time you woke up. I've been trying to wake you for... well, for about a minute now," the last words sound distinctly like the speaker is grinning. "C'mon then, get up. This is important!" You groan as you realize who is speaking and you flop back down onto the bed. "Lambert..." you begin wearily. "No time for talk," he says, ripping the covers off you. "...at least not here." Still laying prone, you ponder the situation. It is the middle of the night, quite possibly just after midnight. Lambert Cobo, whom you've known since you both were wearing diapers, has a penchant for getting into sticky situations and you can see that it is quite likely that this night will be no exception. On the other hand, you trust his judgement, usually, on what he deems to be important. Do you rise from your bed to follow him, or do you roll over and try to get back to that nice dream?
