The dream catcher was a trap; a small and lacking one. Bif did not know who had planted it in the corner of Jam's Ana; above the chair in which he slept. But he noticed its appearance in the cluttered room as soon as he entered.
Bold of you, Dream catcher, to assume that any dream of mine can be caught. My dreams are too big for your net. My dreams cannot be contained. My dreams are vaster and wilder, than for what you have been built!
So, Bif did not pay the dream catcher any mind. He slept beneath its twine without care. And for what it was worth, the boy was right. His dreams were too big for such a humble catcher. A fishing net, like the sort carried by seafaring boats, would be more apt a tool for capturing a dream of Bif's magnitude.
Though the little catcher did feel Bif's dreams. Some of them moved through it as gently as whispers. While others were loud and riotous; punctuated with Ogre-shouts and the bright colour purple. Some, wept in grey and shady blue. Lust was pink and hazy. But the love of Bif was forever orange and warm; a hue darker than his tawny hair.
But it was always as the lad promised; too big to be held.