Vasran doesn't know whose dreams she's seeing. She's only fairly certain they aren't her own. Feverish sleep brings few comforts — the haze of being half-awake and plagued by visions brings even less.

Magic and steel and broken, bleeding bodies. Is this the Hinterlands? As soon as she asks the question, the dream wavers and fades, only to return when her mind begins to drift. For the moment, Vasran relents to allow the dream to play out before her. This too shall pass... she hopes.