Off to Never-Never Land

The bed was moved to the middle of room. Clan elders and parents gather around him. Dubin laid on the bed with just a hint of fear in his eyes, any sense of tiredness wiped away by the nerves.
 
The clan medicine woman entered the room, hooded and cloaked. Standing over Dubin, she spoke the ritual words in the dokkalfar tongue, the translation of which was never told to the tribe, but are recorded below:
 
Say your prayers little one
Sleep with one eye open
Heavy thoughts tonight
Hush, little baby, don't say a word
Exit light, enter night, take my hand
You're off to never-never land
 
As the final words were spoken, the rest of the adults had moved to the edges of the room, and the medicine woman dropped a pinch of some kind of dust onto his forehead.
 
She stepped back a few paces and spoke once more "Sleep, little one. Let your dreams guide you to our lost daughter" as the effects of magical sleep fell onto Dubin.
 
When Dubin awoke, his vision was clouded and distorted, not like the fog that sometimes crept through the forest and into the clan hold, like he was looking through an old glass bottle that the clan herbalists used. As he focused on his surroundings, he realized he wasn't anywhere he knew. Not in a forest or a cave like he expected. There were buildings, but not clan buildings. As he looked up he saw... he saw fire. All over the buildings was fire, but the fire didn't burn, it just sat there, frozen. And where were the people? Had they all left? Did they flee the fire? His vision started to cloud up again, then darkness overtook him.
 
Dubin slept all through the night, then the morning, and then next night again. It wasn't until mid-day after the 2nd morning after the ritual did he finally awake. His vision blurred from sleep, but his surroundings familiar. As he was served a warm stew, he told the elders what he could remember of his dream. Clouded vision, and a strange burning city. Disheartened, but not ready to give up, they agreed to repeat the ritual the following evening.
 
This next time Dubin awoke in the dream, his vision was clearer, but the setting had not changed. He still couldn't make sense of the strange fire that consumed the town but did not burn, but he was drawn to a specific house. There, his sense of smell seemed to come alive at the scent of strange luxurious food that defied his imagination (and wouldn't encounter anything like it until he came to Academy, years later). Eventually he came upon a strange forge, the frozen fire seemed to leap from it and spiral upwards. As he looked around he saw a strange, twisted shadow on the wall. Was this all that remained of the person that once lived here? What's going on? Why isn't it working?
 
Was there something wrong with the ritual? The elders asked each other. The medicine woman studied the all notes and histories recorded when the mysterious Dokkalfar more than a generation past had visited the clan. Is the ritual flawed? Perhaps we should wait for the changing of the seasons? That's too far away. What about the next fog coming in from the forest? Who knows when that will happen.
 
"I want to try again." Dubin spoke up. "We have to find her, I have to find her"
 
So they tried, again and again. At different times of day and night, when the last leaf fell in autumn and when the first flower bloomed in spring. Yet the dreams never changed. A year had now passed and the elders were forced to surrender. No progress had been made and the clan had no other means to locate her.
 
Yet even though the rituals stopped, Dubin continued to hope, he never gave up. How could he? After all, even though the rituals had stopped, the dreams still came to him.