I had this whole thing written up but I can’t, I erased it.... I dreamed Dr. Whitman and I were captured by men with guns. They’re the ones who made the shrines, I think. One was Russian, and he seemed like the kind of man who revels in gore and glory. They had other members of the ship's crew. He shot a deckhand in the back. It was all so terribly real. I can still feel the recoil, still see the Russian's eyes go dim. I feel sick.
And then this morning I found a bow and the climbing axe I dreamed about using. When I held onto them, I felt different. More confident.
I don't know if I should keep writing about these dreams, but I feel like it helps me contain them.