Already flowed on his throat. And already IT was pressed to his lips again, and Arelshouted, vomiting IT out of himself, and each time his mouth was filled with IT again and again.
Chapter two
Recovery
He walked down the street; it seems that it was Lower City. Too narrow streets and pressing clutter of houses. The streets did not rise up and down, and did not loop. It looks like it was already a flat level. Arel has never been here, and now was he really where he thought he was?
And was this him? Arel did not understand. He could not even imagine that such streets exist. He never thought about what the city looks like there, on the plain. There was no difference to him? But now, now everything looked too plausible, really, and for some reason he believed that the Lower City plain was like that and no other. He just knew it, knew without a shadow of doubt and hesitation. Did his diseased brain or inflamed imagination create this world? Create everything so carefully, to the smallest detail, to every stone, every crack on a peeling wall? No, that would be too much! He could not imagine all this. It was all real, it was all real. And if he comes to himself, wakes up and goes there, for example, tomorrow, he will find these streets, see them again and find out. However, to see them, he had to peer. Vision let him down, he could not understand what was happening, at another moment, completely losing orientation in space.
It was a bright sunny summer day. He understood this and felt, and at the same time he knew that now it was not summer at all, but only the beginning of spring, and he could not be there, on the Lower City, and even on a summer day. And yet he was there.
Arel like a mole slowly walked an unknown destination, all the while keeping a hand on the walls. The houses here stood close to each other, and when one house ended, the next one started – it helped him. Several times he pressed against the saving wall, letting the horsemen pass by. They flashed in his mind as completely indistinguishable silhouettes, vague shadows, and he rather heard their approach and therefore pressed into the wall than saw them. And yet, despite all the precautions, he nearly fell a couple of times, his legs did not obey him any less than his eyes. Gods, he was lame! “All this only seems to me! It only seems! It seems to me that I am Nikto! I am he!” – thought Arel, with a kind of horror and at the same time delight.
It was so weird. The whole world around was different, it was his world and at the same time not his, completely alien. But this is probably even more attractive. His body also became different, denser, heavier, wider at the shoulders. A very strong body, but some kind of clumsy, it didn’t seem to work, because it needed “water”, “water”, “water”, “water” …
Now he felt that he had not eaten or drunk for a long time, but these feelings were somewhere in the background. Perhaps his body needed it, but the brain did not care. His brain was empty. No thoughts, feelings, emotions, just some echoes of thoughts, vague fragments that he could not catch and realize. And sheer indifference. Where is he going? What for? Arel did not know. Did not understand. And he didn't care. When he was himself, he always knew what he needed or at least he thought he knew. He knew where to go and why. What he has to do. He always went somewhere, toward a goal, did something, or did not, but also thought about it, at the same time already thinking what he would do
