Sharing the same enchanted realm of dreams.
“Then seemed it as if rude and angry sounds
Rippled our visions, as a pebble thrown
In water blurs the cool reflections there,
Till growing louder, more tumultuous,
A rumour rose above the huddled roofs
That clustered round the palace, shattering
The crystal of our dreams, and then a voice
Shouted to me: ‘Brunhild, awake and fly!
For Sigebert is slain by treachery.