Dreams had a habit of emphasizing or dimming certain qualities in the environment. He was still getting used to the differences in this particular manner of creating dreams compared to what he had experienced in Deerington. The faint whispers from the maze earned a look from him, and he was almost tempted to see what was beyond.

His own sense of smell picked up the scent of smoke, and it wasn't a fire of the corn field so far. Something else. Not flesh either. Not yet anyway.

"And? It not being real doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy the benefits of that younger body." After all the shit they had gone through to get it, may as well live the American Dream and all that nonsense. "I'm certain I can leave if you'd like to be alone with the smoke and whispers on the wind."