Voltron: V4
                        Memory of Souls
                                
                            Preview
                             by Mea


     In his dreams, he was in a world of shadows and phantom
shapes that seemed to flow like water through the darkness. 
Something seemingly solid would brush against him, only to be
nothing more than mist, while cloud and smoke would twist into
shadowy shapes both familiar and strange to him.  All was
shades of darkness and silence.
     He should have felt a little frightened, but for some
inexplicable reason he felt strangely calm here.  Here, he was
little more than a shade himself, almost invisible, melding
with the encompassing gloom where only the most sharp of eyes
and most alert of ears could find him.  His senses were
perfectly in tune with this place, which sharpened them
exponentially until he could feel every dust particle and
water droplet in the air. Every sound was crisp and magnified,
from the moan of a distant wind to the rumble of his own blood
coursing through his veins.  
     And somewhere, he could feel the presence of another
person... somewhere far away in the dark.
     "Hello?" he called, his own voice almost deafening to his
ears.  He got no answer, but he knew they were there, he could
sense their heat, hear their breath, feel their gaze.
     For a moment, he thought he saw something move at the
edge of his vision.  He turned quickly, only to see more
shadows, but his other sense told him to keep looking, they
were near, and they were a phantom like himself.
     Then, without warning,  a being stepped forward before
him as if it had been formed from shadows itself, and maybe it
had.  Though it was human, its features kept changing, melting
from one unfamiliar face to the next.  It wore a pelt of dark
grey fur draped about its head and body like a hooded cloak,
hiding its frame from clear view.  As it approached him, he
could see it's eyes were not human, but reminded him more of a
wolf's eyes.
     The stranger stood silently before him for what seemed
like an eternity.  The shades and shadows and his own shroud
of darkness were gone, retreated elsewhere. The two stood face
to face, alone in the dream-dark.
     Finally, the stranger seemed to reach into its chest and
drew out a polished and carefully cut black stone.  Owen
didn't resist as the being took his hand and pressed the stone
into his palm. The stone was hard and smooth and cold, yet he
could feel a power radiating from somewhere within the strange
rock.
     "Yours," the being spoke in a dozen voices as one, its
wolfin eyes staring into the very core of his soul, deeper and
deeper, drawing him in...
     Owen gasped as his eyes flew open.  
     He wasn't in his bed, but standing in the middle of the
room, his hand outstretched, holding...
     Nothing.
     He stared at his hand a while, as if staring at it would
make the stone reappear, which, of course, it didn't.  
     In all his thirty-seven years, he had never had a dream
that was both so real and so unreal at the same time.  And
he'd never sleepwalked before.  Never.  
     The stone... it felt so real...
     And what was that... was it a man? He couldn't be sure.
     Did it mean anything?
     Finally, he sighed and squeezed his hand closed, letting
it drop to his side.
     The first thing he thought of was the Fortress ship.
     Where did THAT come from? he thought.  He had just had a
dream about strange people in animal skins with removable
rocks for hearts, and now that?
     Maybe it was because he was tired.  That had to be it. 
Why else would his thoughts be so scattered.
     His launch window was in the morning.  He should get some
rest, but he felt too alert and too bothered to sleep.
     "I need a beer," he muttered.  "I need a REALLY good
beer."
     He didn't have a really good beer; the only one left in
the small refrigerated unit normally used for transporting
hazardous biologics was a cheap bottle he had gotten
someplace, he had forgotten where since he didn't drink _that_
much (mental note: restock before leaving Telos), but under
the circumstances, he'd make do.  
     After unsuccessfully hunting for a bottle opener, he
wrapped the cap in the hem of his boxers and twisted the
bottle open.  The beer was bitter, and it tasted cheap, but as
he slouched on the bed and drank it, he felt his thoughts
slowly untangling.  The images of the dream and the memory of
the Fortress ship both slowly faded as he stared at his
familiar cluttered walls and felt the reassuring coolness of
the glass bottle in his hand and wondered about a lot of
trivial things as the digital clock clicked over to 2:00 am. 
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