TwelveIt wasn't a Sandman who woke me, but someone else.
A nutmeg brown face, bronzed from a life lived outside, framed by a ragged, congealed grey beard, loomed close to mine. I thought for an instant it was the goat man, come back to capture me or lead me into another trap. As things came into sharper focus, however, I could see it wasn't. This man was real. His eyes shone with a burning lustre, almost a childish impishness. No matter, I thought to myself, I was past caring. The world seemed to grow cloudy again and I slipped back into blackness.
The second time I woke I knew I was in a different place. Gone were the sharp, jagged stones that perforated my back, gone the cold shadows of the cave. Instead I found myself lying on a bed, with sheets and a pillow. My old clothes were gone.
