Dream d1982-s: Thin Rain, First Hearth

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the road narrowed to a cart-track and the drizzle came in sideways off the hills, the kind that doesn't announce itself as rain but simply accumulates on wool and eyebrows and the fur of a small white dog until everything is uniformly damp.

Harrowlea appeared before we expected it. One moment the track ran through stands of young alder, and then there was a low stone wall and a gate of plain timber, two lamp-posts burning with a steady, unsentimental light. No fanfare. The kind of place that has been where it is for a long time and sees no reason to say so.

"Reads tidier than I'd hoped," the Builder said, stopping a few paces short to look the gate-post up and down. She tilted her head at the lintel, tapping a finger against her own collarbone the way she does when she's measuring something she hasn't touched yet. "Mortared well. Someone knew what they were doing."

Lano had already pushed through the gap between gatepost and wall - nose down, tail in a slow serious wag, reading the wet ground in that private language of hers. She circled once and sat, looking back at us. Waiting.

Rurik took the threshold at his own pace, pausing exactly at the midpoint of the gate as he always does, amber eyes open and still. Then he stepped through and the moment passed, and we followed him into the hamlet proper.

The Weather Reader consulted her smallest instrument, the pocket barometer she keeps in her left breast pocket, and made a small sound of interest. "Pressure's been dropping for six hours," she said. "Whatever came through here this afternoon, it wasn't what's falling on us now. There was something heavier. They banked their hearths early."

I could see it - two windows glowing on the eastern row of buildings, a third further back. Not festival-bright, not fearful-dark. The kind of light that means people have eaten and are thinking about not much. The street between the buildings was well-kept, no ruts pooling into ponds. A dog barked somewhere deeper in and Lano's ears came up, but she didn't answer.

I opened the book of readings to the first blank page and wrote only: Harrowlea. Thin rain. Gate well-seated. Hearths early. It was not yet a reading. It was the handshake before a conversation.

We found the inn and a woman at the desk who asked no questions beyond how many nights and whether anyone took a hot bath. We said four nights. She said the rate. We said fine.

Rurik found a spot beside the hearth and settled into it as if he'd always been there. Hogar, Lano seemed to say in the small satisfied circle she turned before lying down - though she said nothing at all.