A Mouth. A slavering tongue and teeth that grow.

{if Menaced By A Hound of Dreams = 1} The {else} A {endif} beast hounds you. Your breath is ragged and you no longer remember rest. Endless night and endless mist surround you, and behind you howls the hound. You run and run and cannot stop. A slavering jaw snaps for your ankle, and its foul breath is sulphur and pestilence on your skin.

You run and run until you fall. A pale body lies under the fog, his throat shredded by iron teeth. Thick blood stains your hand, and dead eyes stare up at you with reproach. You touch the matted hair and brush the tangled locks aside.

You touch the nose, thrice broken, yet so similar to your own. Thin lips and cracked teeth smile with contemptuous mockery, and you avert your gaze away from your own rictus grin. You think for a moment to dig yourself a grave – and then the beast is upon you.