Waking

You wake slowly, noticing the little things first. The hardness at your back, slightly rough, but still comfortable; the softness underneath you, it is springy and tickles your exposed legs; and a small weight which rests in your lap. You feel warm, but a cool mist-laden breeze keeps you from becoming uncomfortably warm and the scent of rain on the air envelopes you. A drop falls on your forehead and you wake fully.

Your eyes flicker open and you take in the scene around you. The leaves of the tree hanging down in front of you, the soft emerald green grass and the rain, steadily and heavily falling outside of the shelter of your tree. You look down to see a book resting in your lap, open to a page with a beautiful picture printed on it. The black lines form a dragon looking down on a fallen hero, but not with malice, somehow the eyes of the dragon seem caring, and sad. You don't remember this book, or the storm around you.

The world feels different somehow, though you have only been asleep for a few moments you feel the whole world has shifted. Has it left you behind? Does it matter if it has?