Between lives you have settled in Dreamlands. You have a hut made out of woven fog. Every morning it rains buttered popcorn so you collect a days worth and let the strange animals eat the rest. A peaceful existence with a bed of soft grass freshly picked each day. But one day a bad storm blows you hug into little puffs of air and all the grass in the area turns yellow and dies. You decide to move on, explore dreamlands. After all, you have been year three months and you have not left that sixty-foot area.