On nights when the moon is full and you are seen plainly, if you listen very carefully, you will hear the soft breathing outside your window. You will think it is perhaps the northerly breezes visiting from the distant seas, but you would be wrong. Still your head against your pillow and cease the rustling of your restless legs under the blankets. Listen. Do you hear that? 

Just moments ago, you changed into your pajamas while contemplating whether you should sleep in nothing at all; a return to the feeling of a womb as you crawl into bed and wrap yourself up within your covers. You did not cast away your garments for this sensation, but you still found security and are ready to journey away from the waking world. 

This world is cruel. This world is stale. The only thing that breathes life into you is when you shut your eyes and slip into that state that mimics death. Only, there are dreams awaiting you...  

... We have long heard the whispers. We knew they were coming draped in midnight blue with swords and bows strapped to their bodies while they tower over us on horses bred for battle. 

The whispers said that a bull could not stand up to a centaur. They quaked in fear. Otherssaid that a centaur would bow to our horns thrusting up into their chests that were much too proud and exposed. 

These whispers did not understand that our faith did not manifest such horns upon our heads. Our faith did nothing to prevent the centaurs from becoming bloodthirsty men who climbed down from their steeds to thrust their boots into our necks...