[It is nice. It's a hell of a lot nicer than the place the precursors used to keep him in while he dreamt, or the room he would wake up in that felt suffocating. He sits next to her with his knees pulled up and his hands beside him, anxiously picking at the grass. There's a nervousness in the way he glances around with blurred vision, as if a rabbit who had narrowly escaped a hawk's claws and still surveys the scene for a second attempt.

So, not the most graceful he's ever looked. It'd be comical if it wasn't so sad.]

Y-yeah.

I got them a lot, before. And I couldn't remember them. Most of the time.

I'd just wake up scared, but not knowing why. Just knowing something was wrong.