Orlando looks up from the book he had been reading, surprised that she had spoken. There's no way she had been talking to him. But it's not like anyone else is answering.

"Terrifying?" His own dream is hazy, of course, and he feels like he can't quite trust the memory of it even when it seems clear. But he doesn't feel fear, thinking of it. No, the closest thing would be- despair.

He shrugs, a movement made awkward by his wings and the nonchalance he's trying to force into it. "I don't know. It's a dream. It can be anything." He drops his eyes back down to the page, though he's certainly not reading again yet.