Fresco collapsed onto his bed, fully clothed, and fell into a deep sleep. Instantly, he began to dream, of flying over the rough streets, watching the whole place coming awake with morning, he himself untouched by them, disconnected. He wondered if he was back on the street, still in the dirty alley, his power reaching, searching for Daniel yet. Those thoughts left him as he was drawn deeper into the dream.
He soared higher, exploring his freedom. He flew through the clouds, the cool, soft pressure of them like the brush of angel's wings over his face and hands. Fresco reached the height of mountains, skimming across their snow topped peaks. He dove back down toward the earth, encountering other fliers in the early morning, reaching out to touch the feather tip of an eagle as it hunted. F
