Dream d1480-s: What the Eye Named

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the road bent south into familiar trees, and I knew the workshop was close before I could see it. The clearing opened at dawn, pale light through the canopy, sawdust smell carried on the dropping air. Lano pushed ahead of me on the path, nose low, then stopped at the tree line and looked back.

The Eye stood at the threshold.

She had not come to meet us. She had come to the threshold and no further, and she evaluated the way a botanist evaluates a specimen: thorough, patient, without sentiment. The Woodworker was visible through the open workshop door, bent at his bench, not pausing. He did not look up.

The Builder stepped forward first. The Eye looked at him for a long moment, then stepped aside. The Weather Reader next, her instruments chiming softly as she passed. The Philosopher removed his hat and went in without speaking. One by one the party crossed into the workshop shade.

The Eye looked at the Dreamer.

He had his hands at his sides. His bag was on his shoulder and there was nothing in his hands. He looked back at her, and something moved across his face that I had no word for.

"You carry something that is not yours," the Eye said.

The Dreamer did not answer. Lano, beside me, went very still - quieto.

The Wireman went past them both, touching the door frame as he entered, habit or ceremony, I couldn't tell. The Student followed. I went in after, and the familiar smell of wood shavings and lamp oil came up around me.

I turned at the threshold.

The Dreamer had not moved. He was standing at the edge of the clearing, facing north. The Eye had turned back toward the workshop. The party was settling into their familiar places inside - the Philosopher already reading, the Builder lifting a relay panel onto the workbench to examine it in better light.

The Dreamer stood in the pale dawn. He had his hands at his sides and he was looking north, where the trees closed and beyond the trees the wired terrain continued and beyond that the source was still doing exactly what it was built to do.

The pressure had been dropping for three days. The sky said it would keep dropping.

I stood at the threshold and watched him stand there. He did not move. He did not look back.

I went inside.