Two birds with one stone, drabble and roughly the start of chapter 18.

Rainier knew she would be there, he tasted her presence the moment he slipped into the Dream. The sound of roaring water came to him just as he expected, he always found her at the falls. She stood there in a wispy blue dress that gave her willowy figure an ethereal quality. Pale blond hair spilled down her back, she still wore it long. The tumbling water entranced her nearly as much as she entranced him.

"Corina"

She turned toward him and smiled. "Rainier, I thought I felt you in the Dream. How is my favorite cousin?"

The smile masked something. Her brown eyes looked tired, the shadows under them pronounced. As she spoke her gaze darted between him and slightly to his right, not keeping steady contact. For a fraction of a second he hoped some calamity had befallen her husband, but her distress came short of that happy possibility.

Oh, that was a Norwegian accent? I've always wondered.

Actually, I goobered, based on an assumption. I knew he was from North Dakota and somewhere in my memory banks, I had it in my head that he was of Norwegian or at least, some sort of Scandinavian descent. However, he was actually of German descent, his family coming from Alsace-Lorraine by way of Odessa, Ukraine. So his accent was actually a mutt of German and Russian.

Oooh, lovely, all! So fun to see so many people contributing and so many different perspectives on just one word. This is why I love drabbling.

Somehow I missed that there was a theme. Um. . . welcome to chapter 18.

I for one was never that wedded to the theme thing, but it is a handy leaping off point.

Exactly. And wasn't one character welcoming the other in your drabble, Gud?

And wasn't one character welcoming the other in your drabble, Gud?

Yes! I stumbled my way into the theme.

Myron Floren was, however, Norwegian.

:facepalm::

And yet, I fail to remember my PIN.

Drabbles! It's so nice to see them in here again!

I should write one, too. Having a hard time thinking in the cold meds fog, though.

Which gives me an idea for a new prompt for today: fog.

oooh, fog . . .

I drive down the hill, around a curve, and the world ends. Red flashes ahead warn me to stop.

A deputy coalesces from the grey. "We're letting one lane go at a time, five at a time. Go slow."

My headlights off the grey blind me, but no lights is madness. I'd never see the tree that could kill me. There's no sign of the car that I know is ahead of me.

5 MPH, and I open the door so I can see the white line below me. Three miles of terror and awe.