All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. -Edgar Allan Poe
A fanfare of crickets chirp in my ear. It intensifies the pounding. Shards of light filter through the tree branches, stinging my eyes. Rolling onto my back, I raise a hand to shield my eyes then open them again. The leaves overhead swaying in the afternoon breeze. Taking in a deep breath, I pull myself to a sitting position.
"Hey, you had me worried."
"Where are we?"
Drake kneels over me. "About a mile from the house."
"My ribs are sore."
"I'm not surprised. Do you feel pain anywhere else?"
"You mean besides my chest?"
"Yeah," he says with a grin.
"Only my head."
He raises a hand to my face. Touching my cheekbone, he wipes away a tear.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. You're going to be fine. Please, don't cry." He sits up and holds me.
"I should've told Paul what I thought the pitcher was made of last night. I didn't know."