"Thanks," they say, nodding, and take a moment to collect their thoughts. "The dream—I'm on a riverbank, near the shore. Sunset. I'm holding a drop spindle, but I have nothing to spin. And a voice says—and I can't pronounce the words, but what they mean is 'pray, but swim'. And a lightning storm rises over the water."

They pause. "It's been just like that every night for a week and a half."


[As author I'm referencing a particular Aesop but my character hasn't heard it.]