The memory of Carala seemed to be heightened in this dream. Maybe after the dream from the previous evening that ripped open old wounds like some horrific disease the Plague Bearers scattered in their wake, it was inevitable.
Warren recalled the first time he saw her. He was, what twenty? It was hard to keep track of that sort of thing. She was from...somewhere beyond the Labyrinth. He couldn't really recall where from exactly but she never seemed to get homesick much. Besides, whatever world beyond the Demon Wastes might as well be a pissing dream anyway for all the difference it made to him. He knew when she would get homesick as she wouldn't be her usual charming self, instead withdrawing into a quietness he couldn't understand. He couldn't imagine getting into a state of missing Maruk Dar. He certainly wouldn't miss the close living quarters or how Kreb spoke in his fucking sleep. Wait, wasn't he dead? No...not yet... If he didn't think about the linear narrative, it couldn't hurt him.
"What is this thing anyway?" Warren in his memory said. His face looked a lot younger, less grey and scarred. Not handsome exactly but passable, he supposed. Carala smiled back that small, thin smile she always had. Her thick brown hair was tied back partially in braids and the new mark of binding flame was still somewhat new and alien on her features. He pointed down at the wooden instrument she had. He had heard her play it on occasion but he would be fucked if he knew the name of it.
"It's a violin, dipshit." Carala teased, Warren's memory struggling to make the voice sound recognisably hers. Was he forgetting her? No matter how his subconsciousness tried, the voice seemed to always be off pitch, tonally dissonant. He smiled anyway, why let that bother him now? "It's an instrument from back in █████████████. I used to play in an orchestra before I signed up..." She tailed off, looking down at the floor. She had mentioned the war a bit before. He couldn't imagine anything that bad pushing someone into the Demon Wastes. She had told him fragments of things but he honestly struggled to make sense of it. It was alright, she had struggled to make sense of all this shit on this side of the border. A world you can't understand seemed to always be just the next person over. Like, what the fuck was an orchestra anyway? He lay his head on her shoulder, sitting quietly. He was never much for conforting people but it was the best he could do.
"I'm sure you could have kicked the asses of all the other people at the...ah...orchestra or whatever you said." He could hear her breathing change before she started laughing. He joined in, not entirely sure what he had said that was that funny but wasn't going to argue. His track record with everyone else in Maruk Dar wasn't great and for whatever reason - Kalok Shash only knew - she seemed to genuinely like his company.
"You flattering rat bastard."
"Hey! Sexy rat bastard, please."
She pushed him off her, still laughing before she stopped, looking at the violin. She pushed it into his hands. "I think I want to teach you. Have something to remember me by."
Warren stared at her like a wolf pup that had been told off. "Don't fucking say that. I could die before you. I'm a moron." She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead. He could almost remember what she smelled like, how her face felt against his. He didn't make it especially far in that "lesson" in terms of musical progress but he was happy in her company, happy to just lie with her in a quiet moment before going on patrol.
He moved forward in time, the memories melding against each other, indistinct and painful. She died maybe two, three years after his first lesson? He couldn't bear to look at the instrument so found a crack in the wall and shoved it violently inside, the strings scraping against the rough hewn stone. Part of him was thankful that she never had kids with him cause it would be a lot harder to lock that away in his head.