By Dolores J. Nurss

Volume 1II: Responsibility

Chapter 8




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.

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