Beneath the MoonMature

Narrator: Adrian "Arrow" DeFlèche

All I can hear is the sound of my feet brushing against the aromatic thyme planted on either side of the walking path. Shadows fall against me, by light cast from an unseen source.

I'm not alone, I feel and then think, in this quiet dream.

The ferns close suddenly, as if night is coming faster than nature allows. The shadows darken, as evening becomes night in an instant. The forest path ends abruptly with encroaching nothingness. And yet, the source of the light is beyond the oblivion.

I stand at its end, at the brink of my dream, staring between the dwindling trees.

An owl hoots in the distance.

I can sense someone. There's someone in my dream. It's not a part of me, it's not some archetype from my unconscious or any other meaningful apparition ridden and riddled with symbolism. Any further opportunity for further psychoanalysis of the self has evaporated in the cold heat that crosses the expanse.

In that void, my sight reaches across. There is no exact distance. I perceive it slowly. And there it is, in the sky.

The moon.

There are no stars around it, nor even any stars. It fills the sky with its own solitude.

Who is there? I wonder.

My sandaled left foot moved forward, and takes a step. And in that single step, I cross the void. The dream, for me, is no longer my own. I stand, now, on a cobbled path beside waist-high sculpted walls. Beyond them, I see the buildings of a calm village on either side, amidst a boreal forest. In the distance, there are mountains, and a castle sits between them. Its spires climb toward the sky like fingers with painted nails reaching for a lover's touch. It's a beautiful landscape, but I cannot find any trace of the dreamer.

There's a faint scent of mint on the wind.

And I find something else. Or rather, it finds me. It charges toward me with a flash of light, and then stops short of knocking me against the cobbled walkway.

Round. White. Large.

It flashes with good nature, and bounces with a pulse like a flickering candle flame.

Seeing the orb, I now know whose dream I've entered.

"Take me to her," I request.

It reaches for me, and wraps me in luminescence. All I see is white. And when it disappears, I am alone in an alcove within a building I know not. The orb is not present. The ceiling is many feet above, and the buttressed architecture is smooth. It curves elegantly with carvings of scrolls and leaves. I walk out of the alcove and into an open hallway.

I'm now in different clothes. A silky off-white tunic with a frilled collar fits me snugly. My hair is longer, and combed behind into backward spikes. A russet-coloured pair of corduroy knee breeches ends in red and orange wrappings spun around my calves and into my sandals. I did not dream these clothes into being. Luna did.

And, looking down the hall, I see her. Back to me, black hair down. The sight of Luna draws an imagined breath from me. She begins to turn around, and that's when I know that the kiss to seal my role as Protector will be far deeper than any physical kiss.

The End

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