I dreamt the fire never ended

I’m walking through a canyon that’s always burning, but the flames don’t eat anything—just glow like old embers in a hearth. The air tastes like coffee and charred pine, and I keep finding mugs on the ground, still warm, full of something sweet. No one else is there, but I can hear the crew laughing somewhere beyond the ridge, voices just out of reach. I don’t know if I’m running toward them or away. The smoke doesn’t choke me—it hums. Like the land’s remembering how to breathe.