"That's the kind of thing that... gets attention?" He kept himself still, watching it graze, the sun dappling its warm brown back. There was something about it that almost looked more real than he was used to, like a velvety texture to its coat that he could almost touch from where he was. The way the best dreams were so deeply felt, so elusive.
The bread we eat in dreams, he thought. Not his own thought. He'd read it somewhere but couldn't recall it now.
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The bread we eat in dreams, he thought. Not his own thought. He'd read it somewhere but couldn't recall it now.