I dreamed about that geography, the stone
spire behind us, the peak ahead, then another behind it, and how we headed to a
village in the valley beneath while autumn flamed around us. But in that dream we traveled with messages
from the human world to a fairy village.
I borrowed the geology for this story because it worked so well to
conceal the village till the sudden reveal. And then I felt stumped.
I had reached a point where I had no idea how
to continue, and hoped for some dream to guide me. I laid the writing aside and went to bed. That's when I dreamed of the burnt
farmer. I saw him in vivid, scorched
wild-eyed detail, smelled the scorch of him, with glimpses of the burnt stone
and charcoal beams behind him, and the layers of smoke between us. He didn't have to say anything, just stand
there confronting me. When I woke up I
knew his story and all the rest unfolded.