We haven’t sat for a while, them and I.
At first, it wasn’t for lack of trying. I would go to the usual place, sit down and wait for the fire to light itself. It remained stubbornly unlit. Without fire to draw them, nothing was drawn. I might have taken it upon myself to light the flames but, in the strange rules of the place when it comes to starting fires, I am entirely ignorant.
Okay… I know how to start fires. Just not in that space. As I said, special place, special rules.
Eventually, I figured out that we were “on break”. I’m slow, but I can take a hint. So I stopped coming round to stare at cold ashes and wait for relations who weren’t much interested in making an appearance.
I got talking to a ghost yesterday and, in our discussion, we came to the conclusion that I should go back to the campfires. Say what you will about such revenants as he. More than occasionally, I’ve found, there’s some sense in listening to ghosts. Your mileage may vary, depending on who you tap.
So I went to the old spot we used to meet for our campfires last night. I expected a raven, maybe a spider. Probably given a verbal bit of spanking in the process and tell me what was what. Or maybe nothing, as there had been mostly ashes in the past year or so.
The fire was burning, so there was that. So I sat down and waited. Maybe some spirits.
No no no. Nothing quite so… whatever the word is.
I stared and stared. One moment I was staring, the next moment She was there. This is noteworthy because She is rarely anywhere, let alone here.
”You’re back.”
I didn’t know what to say. I shrugged instead.
”Have you thought about it? Know what happened?”
I nodded. “Distraction.”
It was her turn to nod.
”Distraction. Are you done with distractions?”
I shrugged. “I’d like to think so, but sometimes they find their way to me unbidden.”
”That’s the Dreamer in you,” She said.
”He’s a bit of a troublemaker at times,” I confess.
”He is.”
I told her about the ghost. “People will say It is part of your Dream too,” she said.
”But that ghost seems to know what’s what. Can I trust that ghost?”
”Yes.” No qualifiers.
”As much as Raven?”
She chuckled. “Probably more than that old bird. He likes riddles far too much.”
“Will I see you again?” I ask.
”Shh,” She says. “You already know the riddle to that answer.”
“But,” She adds before I can ask any more silly questions. “You need to start coming back. You’ve had your distractions; now it is time to become the wode.”
”Wood?” I ask. She is no longer there.
”Wode,” She replies, nearly at whisper. Her voice drifting on the mists gathered since She arrived.
The fire had burned low, so I stepped back into my room.
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