Dream d1827-s: What the Shed Held

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the frost had come down hard on Brackenlea in the night, and the fences ran white in both directions as we shouldered our packs in the grey light before sunrise.

The Crofter came out to the yard with a lantern still lit, though the sky was gaining enough to read by. She had bread wrapped in a cloth and something to say that she had been saving. The Weather Reader took the bread with both hands and thanked her properly, and for a moment the three of them stood together in the cold with their breath visible, speaking low.

I was making the last entry in the book of readings when Lano went stiff at my knee. Not a slow stiffening but a sudden one, ears flat against her skull and eyes fixed on the far corner of the yard where the generator shed stood. Then a single bark, short and declarative.

The Builder was already moving. She crossed the yard and pulled the shed door open and stood a moment reading what was inside. When she turned back her expression had the particular flatness that meant she was adding numbers and not liking the sum.

"Fuel gauge is at a hand-width from empty," she said. "And the salvage rack is bare. Someone has been drawing on this reserve for some time without saying so."

The Crofter's face changed. Not guilt exactly, but the compressed look of a person who has been managing a problem alone long enough that it has become habit. She said they had been ranging further and further to find usable materials, and the last supply run had come back short.

The Weather Reader came to stand beside the Builder. "How far do they range?"

"Further than they should have to," the Crofter said.

I wrote it down. Last entry in the book of readings for Brackenlea: the hamlet has a working generator and organized fuel storage, but the reserve is critically low and the supply lines are thinning. The network will need to carry this.

Rurik was already at the gate. He sat on the cold stone post with his amber eyes on the road, waiting. He does not hold departures hostage to difficulty; he marks them and moves.

We said our farewells to the Crofter and to the others who had come into the frost to see us off. Lano pressed her nose once to the Crofter's hand. Anda, I said to her softly, and she turned and trotted to the road.

The hamlet's lights stood quiet behind us. The generator shed was still running. For how much longer was the question we brought with us into the cold.