In the high up canopy of the Snoring Tree, Polokus watched the dreams around the Glade through the bubbles of his pipe. There weren't many nightmares today, which allowed him the reward of a grin, instead watching his silly creations do whatever shenanigans they did.

The mosquitoes buzzed about, their droopy eyes scanning the deep forests they drifted through. Globox could be seen appeasing to his children, attempting to amuse them. Was he still doing that? Red lums in the Fairy Council hummed their melody that left one feeling warm inside. Barbara was testing out new attack techniques and moves in a way that always made Polokus chuckle.

The god's focus became a little more intense as a larger bubble slipped its way out. He could not hear the dreams, but he could see them just fine beyond his tinted specs. It wasn't a nightmare, it was something he found far more upsetting. A weak dream.

For something to be a dream, it must be thought up, that much should be evident. Dreams can be made from the powerful essence of love, happiness, togetherness, excitement. Though there was a key thing for a dream to be stable, as mentioned prior: It must be thought of. Thought of clearly, and thoroughly. Otherwise, the Glade itself will drain the poor dream, bit by bit until they are no more, and once again part of the world, and energy of lums.

This dream was not a coherent nor planned thought. Only one of love and excitement.

Uh...Hi, it's my first post in here for 2026...

My piece for the #RaymanAlive art challenge!!