Many people had probably experienced this feeling.
There was too much salt in dinner, and halfway through sleep, you dreamed of drinking water endlessly.
Or you drank too much water before bed and kept dreaming of waterfalls or something.
Then you would sit up. If you needed water, you went to drink; if you needed the toilet, you went.
Those under deep anesthesia, in a vegetative state, or dead did not have the strength to spring up from a lying position. That strength was "sekhem." In Greek mythology, the god of sleep and the god of death were brothers too. Close your eyes, then open them—that was sleep. Close your eyes and never open them—that was death.
Count Leroy slapped himself.
It looked as though he wanted to make sure he was awake, or as though he was punishing himself for reciting spells for no reason.
It was like spending thousands on a plane ticket to travel far away to somewhere you would never visit again in your lifetime. No matter what, you had to experience it.
Tourists really were easy money.
"How did you remember that spell?" Severus asked, staring at the fig tree in the distance.
"I... I just..." Gong Saiyi spread his hands. "I don't know. I meant to recite pyramid writing."
"So what are we supposed to do with this tree now? Burn it?" Severus asked.
Gong Saiyi looked at the strangely enchanting fig tree amid the red mist and shook his head helplessly.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I thought I wouldn't have to see those little Trolls after leaving school." Snape's eyes seemed to gleam with black light. "Clearly, Trolls need a broader range of movement once they grow up."
"At least now we know this damned fog isn't just putting on