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Scaramouche chases the taste of feathers in his sleep and finds more than what he’s lost. Xiao does what he must. You know how it goes.
“So, you just go around tasting other people’s dreams?”
“I try not to. Sometimes it happens anyway.”
“Why not?”
“I used to devour them,” Xiao says. “Often, devouring a dream means devouring hope as well.”
“But they taste good?”
“They taste good,” Xiao admits.
“Even the bad ones?”
“Yes.”
“Then just eat those,” Wanderer says. “Easy.”
“I am afraid,” Xiao says slowly, “that if I start, I will not stop.”
“Would that be so bad?”
Xiao looks at him. “Should I start with you?”
“Tch,” Wanderer says, but nothing more. Xiao’s eyes are bright but they’re also old. So old on such a young face. He knows those eyes.