You are on page 1of 2

He had had two dreams. The first was unimportant.

It had been about his father and the thought of him was enough to make him sick with rage and hate. Fly that. The second was of twins. The dreamscape shifted from the first one and into an area free of plant life and no other sites save one. A long stretch was carved out of the land in front of him like a great finger from the heavens drew a line in the sand. The ground inside the great trench was hardened baked and dried. An old riverbed. Gone for many years but there was no mistaking the shape. There had been one near the mountain and he used to look there for bones. There were two figures. One boy one girl clearly twins. They wore clothing of drifters tattered and loose. They had black hair and eyes like green crystal. They sat on either side of the riverbed speaking in a tongue he did not know. Or maybe their voices were muffled. Or maybe he wanted them to talk so his mind made it so. In any case they both sat on their own side and threw pebbles into the emptiness. What are you doing? Neither turned but both answered. We were throwing stones said the boy. Into the river said the girl. Aint a river to throw anything into. Never was. Never is. Sure there was. It dried up, so its gone now. Thats why were here. Were waiting. Always have been. We hoped it would come back. Come back? Youre doing what you can. Always did. ***

He awoke on the earth having fainted midstep a day before. The sun crept on and the traveler was in pain. Fighting with the giant had taken its toll. His head rang still and the rest of his body was hungry to the point of collapse. He hadnt stayed among the homesteads for fear that they would kill him if he did. His shirt was white with the exsanguination left by the giant, and the smell was so foreign and wrong that he wretched. Dry heaves, but painful. Convulsion grasped. To his knees and he looked at his hand and saw the the blood of the shaman. Dried and chipping off with almost none left. Needed he said you are needed. Adra of the storm whose wrath is sandstorms. Who sits on clouds and brings wind and rain. Needed he said. But the promise left unspoken chipped away with each shaking step. Sweetwater still days away. Hopes fire dimming to embers of journeys left unfinished. Sight leaving. He closed his eyes and met sleep once more. Sounds around. Footsteps. No sight. Back into the dreamscape.