Lydia, apparently done with her screaming, is heading in their direction.

"There's probably time for another. Did you want to help with this one?"

The breeze-lady hums thoughtfully, tilting her barely-visible head as she studies the approaching girl.

"I wouldn't mind making a contribution," she says. "Should I be keeping a greater purpose in mind, or may I work my art with a free hand?"

"Try not to scare her too much, she has school in the morning. Wouldn't do to draw too much attention. I wonder what you can do with that."

She smiles.

Her material form, such as it is, dissipates. She sinks into the forest, into the girl's dreaming mind, and a moment later the ground begins to crumble and dissolve. The forest becomes a swamp. And the water is getting deeper.

Lydia is not pleased!

She seeks higher ground, except there's really not much solid land to walk on.

She starts to sink, and struggles ineffectually as her clothes grow heavy with muck and mire.

The water is cold. So very, very cold. Sapping her strength, chilling her to the core. It closes over her head - lets her struggle to the surface just long enough to take a single breath - does it again and holds her under for longer.

Oh, she struggles.

She's never been a strong swimmer. She starts to get tired.

She tries to push back through, to reach the air, but she can't tell which way is up, and it's been too long since her last breath.

She sinks.

He doesn't say anything, but the way the trees turn their branches towards her exposes his heart.

"How long do you think we have until she wakes up?"

She rises from the water, a crystal-clear liquid figure, cold as ice.

"Whyever do you ask?" she murmurs.

"There's a lot one can do in dreams. I've always had a mind for scientific inquiry."

"Such a fascinating creature you are."

She enfolds him in a chilling embrace.

Lydia wakes up, shaking off the ice-cold clutches of her dream.

She's safe here. This is her private space, and she's safe here.

She goes back to sleep, and she doesn't dream.

The next morning, Beacon Hills High experiences another one of its sunny days. 

The students who would normally be sitting and standing on the front steps or on the grass aren't doing so.

It might have to do with the police officers on the grounds. 

They're looking for one of the students. 

...that's, um. Mildly alarming?

The Sheriff seems to be explaining to every student who asks, if she wants to overhear. 

Yes let's go with that.

"...of interest. If any of you see Isaac, tell one of the officers. The sooner we can solve this mess, the sooner things can go back to normal around here." 

...um.

"Excuse me, Sheriff? What happened?"

"Solvei. Have you seen Isaac Lahey?"

He holds up a picture.

"His father was killed last night. We're looking to talk to him." 

"...No, I haven't," she says, concerned and alarmed.

"If you do see him, call the station. We're concerned."

"I'm concerned too! What happened to Isaac's dad?"

"I'm not sure I should discuss the details of a violent crime with any kid who asks, Solvei."