I based Deirdre's thoughts
on an awareness that permeates my dreams of Novatierre. That though the actual crystals only scatter
here and there, magentine suffuses the entire planet, and not without effect.
The herb-gathering and plans
for Corey fill in a gap in my dreams.
But in one of the oldest dreams that I can remember, preschool, I
dreamed that I was an adult lady in a fine medieval dress, corseted in tight,
walking just outside of a castle, in a warm summer night, talking with a man in
doublet and hose. It had rained, and the
leaves all glistened in the moonlight.
Music and light shone from the windows as we passed them.
He had to excuse
himself. He expected me to wait for
him. Exactly as I’d hoped he would.
As soon as he went into the
castle I fled into the forest, kicking off my shoes, ripping off the corset ,
and the outer dress, and the inner dress, all of it, tearing fabric, leaving it
behind in euphoric excitement, my bare feet exulting in the wet humus, my bare
skin rejoicing in the wet leaves, laughing, my curls tumbling down freed as I
run into the deep, sparkling darkness of the wild, dense woods. Home!
Home! My heart cried out, home at last, escaping the human world!
I made up Damien’s song, The Sons of Meni Jhien. Someday I might finish it. Or maybe it’s one of those folksongs that
have a thousand possible verses, no two versions alike. I made up all of the layers, laying
groundwork for things to come, but I know that boy’s school cafeteria well.