Dream d2004-s: Amber and Uneven Ground

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the road bent southward and Umberstead came into view before we expected it, low against the darkening sky, the kind of settlement that announces itself in lamplight rather than silhouette.

We had been walking since midday. The Weather Reader had her barometer out for the last hour, tapping it with one finger as she walked, not satisfied with what it told her. "Something is banking up behind that ridge," she said, not to anyone in particular. "The pressure's been dropping since the crossroads." Lano trotted at the edge of the road, nose working the ditch grass, tail low and purposeful.

The hamlet sat in a shallow bowl between two rises, and what struck me first was how unevenly the lights were placed. One side of the settlement glowed orange and thick, three or four hearths visible through open shutters, the smell of wood smoke reaching us on the road. The other side was quiet, the outlines of rooflines and fences only barely legible against the sky. From the road it read as spreading sideways, paths crossing paths at angles that didn't resolve into any clear plan.

The Builder stopped at the gate post. It wasn't a gate in any formal sense, just two posts with a length of rope strung between them, the rope worn soft with handling. She crouched to look at the post's base where it met the soil. "Settled," she said. "Not in a bad way. In a long way."

Rurik went ahead. He walked the rope's length, sniffed both posts, then sat beside the left one and looked back at us. That was enough. I lifted the rope over my head and we came in.

The lane inside split almost immediately, a fork with no sign, one path wider, one path better packed. Both led toward the lit side of the settlement. We took the wider one and found the inn without difficulty, a low building with a painted board above the door that had once shown something and now showed mostly weather.

The landlord gave us two rooms and a table near the fire. Lano curled under the bench. The Weather Reader set her barometer on the windowsill and watched it for a long moment before sitting down. "Tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow," I agreed, and opened the book of readings to a fresh page.

I wrote: Umberstead. Arrival. The lights are uneven. The paths cross. The pressure is falling. The reading begins in the morning.

Rurik jumped onto the bench beside me and settled with his tail wrapped around his paws, amber eyes on the fire.

Outside, the long amber light was going out of the sky, and somewhere behind the ridge, something was banking up.