.waxing.crescent. dream journal
[text: -handwritten. Using Forge as tablet and wand as stylus. Handwriting, scrawled, is an echo from what's gone, semi-translatable glyphs of an inaccessible land: he's still half-asleep. But tries to capture that last clinging moment of a dream]
of the dawn from ^come the dawn
they float away
breathe again
float away
the Door opens again someday
of the dawn from ^come the dawn
they float away
breathe again
float away
the Door opens again someday
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[he still sounds sleepy too; the following is meandering and a bit to himself] I'm trying to remember where I heard that poem. Now and then the dreaming mind comes up with things that seem beautiful and perfect but are, by necessity, entirely inaccessible once awake. The sense of transcendence wouldn't exist consciously, in actual words. The fact that I can remember it suggests to me that I didn't make it up.
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So you dreamt a poem? Or did you write it from the dream?
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I think I heard people singing it.
[which, remembering that, is strange as well. He never dreams in music.
Glances at clock. It's earlier than he thought-witness by how Io wasn't here either. Of course Asellus hadn't been asleep; aside from working with the patrol now, she was young.
Tunny raises his head from the foot of the bed to glare balefully. He was both young and a firm supporter of bedtime.
Lupin disentangled himself from the dog and pulled on his dressing gown before switching to video, picking up the forge en route to the kitchen. He wouldn't go so far as to offer his virtual company tea, but it would be nice to talk while having some.]
I theoretically keep a dream journal, but usually fail. That was more my wife's fascination. Are you interested in dreams?
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they float away
breathe [the air]
float away
the Door opens again someday
Those words were in my head when I woke up. I think I dreamt of children singing them.
Do you remember anything else?
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Yes, that was it.
I remember beautiful land, thick forest and mountains; perhaps a city; and inside the mountains, a mine… Something like Freyja and the dwarves, but without any necklace.
[…]
That's right. Before the singing. It all went rather wrong.
Are you now going to tell me…?
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Landscape seen through window and from an aerial view -- city ahead, forest below, mountains at sides. Change of scenery - common area of sorts with dwarves and yes, a blonde woman with what looked like lightning at her fingertips.
[...]
She nodded my way, smiled. Then the sparks/lightning.
[...]
Memory's very vague from that point on - "mist", darkness, children singing that verse.
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[hadn't thought much of flying through the air, but that hadn't been a broom ride]
Since we've never met-hello, my name is Remus, by the way-and are unlikely to share dream references, I'm going to operate under the assumption that this originated from neither of our own psyches, but somewhere external. If you think of any other details, I'd appreciate your letting me know. I'm going to do some research, see if I can figure out what it may refer to, where it came from. These things often seem to prove heralds.
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[but he can't sound too foreboding while smiling at her. It's good to see her face again.]
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[Like that "Door opening" thing? Creepy.]
As long as you're okay, I guess I won't worry too much.
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[inclined to give her a hug, so it's just as well they're on opposite sides of a forge transmission. It's hard to remember he hasn't known Vanille for as long or as well as it somehow feels.]
I'm going to look into it. If I find anything deserving of discomfort I can let you know.
I rather suspect, though… [Well, he had his pet theories on the subject, but hadn't tried to articulate to anyone since… Lestrange. On the hill.
And he was unlikely to again, just yet.] …places have memories. That's why they can seem to have ghosts. Sometimes I think… Anatole is too full of old stories with too few left who know them. So the stories seek a new audience. Sometimes insistently.
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I'm going to do some research to see if any of those landmarks really exist. There may be history or mythology to draw on as well.
[sends Scar a link directing him to the exchange with Near] Anything you can think of to add?
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Hullo, my name's Remus. [doesn't ask if she's feeling all right, though clearly concerned at her appearance; unless his voice is always so exceptionally kind] You are…?
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Four? [ Man, that goes beyond coincidence. ] I-I'm Freya. ... It's...nice to meet you, Remus.
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…Well, Freya, I promise to look into this. In the meantime, I don't think there's much cause to worry. Dreams already tend to be… less private that one would assume, around here.
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