He holds his breath for a long moment, then exhales slowly. "How often is sometimes, Dahlia?" Because most of his dreams aren't about things like sunshine and puppies and he's become an incredibly private person -- out of necessity. For his sanity. For his safety. Not that he thinks she'd go shouting from the rooftops that he dreams about the nemeton just about every night.
That even in his nightmares, he can feel its presence.