Okay, not really lost. I remember the green-blue sky and dim sun of the world I wormholed to; I remember the thought processes and conversations ("We call it a wormhole, because that's a convenient term, but it's not one," and "Well, if this weren't a safe enough world with a breathable atmosphere and liveable pressure, we'd be too dead to notice.")

It was one of those magical dreams where your subconscious far outpaces your conscious imagination. The humidity, the slightly off air pressure, the over-saturated colors, the techno-babble of the other people (someone I was with, someone who came through the wormhole with me, which we had activated in an Indiana Jones/Stargate-style shuffling of stone mechanisms somewhere in either Germany or Ireland--that someone was an astronomer, and he was convinced he knew what star we were orbiting, and that sisters to the planet we were on had been discovered and named by humanity)...

The inhabitants of the planet were humans living in stone edifices somewhat between Mycenaean palace and Norman castle. And they spoke English. So that's where my imagination failed--or did it? They spoke English because they fell through the wormhole at some point in the past, right?

Anyway, I woke up before I could do something plot-like. But it was a great travelogue until then.

Easily the best dream I've had in a year. Better than the lost fairy tale, even.

Sorry to make you suffer through a dream report, but you know. I never promised not to.