Dream d2048-s: Farewells Before the Gate

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the last morning at Harrowhollow came in sideways, the west wind pushing low clouds across the yard so fast their shadows raced each other over the packed earth. I had already filled the final page of the Harrowhollow entry in the book of readings - the Crofter's handprint pressed in ochre at the margin, the Builder's diagram of the mill joint that would hold through another decade if the timber was replaced before spring, the Weather Reader's pressure curve showing the valley's peculiar tendency to hold warmth two days after the surrounding hills had gone cold.

The Crofter found us at the gate before we had finished loading. She pressed a small bundled cloth into the Builder's hands - dried hyssop and a worn metal hasp from the door they had repaired together on the second day. "When you find the next stuck door," she said, "think of us." The Builder tucked it into her pack without ceremony, which I knew was her version of gratitude.

The Weather Reader was already reading the morning. She had her barometer out, the brass tube catching no sun through the cloud-race, and she was writing in her own small log. "The pressure's been climbing since before dawn," she said to no one in particular. "The valley's releasing something it held all winter." Lano sat at her feet, nose pointed into the wind, ears back against the gust, tail moving in slow agreement.

There were others in the yard - the old couple from the eastern house, the young woman who had shown us the collapsed granary wall - and they stood in a loose half-circle the way people stand when they know they are watching a departure and want to witness it properly. I made the final notation in the book: the date, the condition of the node-site, the two small improvements we had documented and the one the settlement would need to make for itself. Then I closed the cover.

Rurik had been sitting on the gate post since before any of us were ready. He dropped down to the road and sat facing outward, amber eyes already on the horizon, patient as accumulated weather. The signal was clear. I said the last words to the Crofter - simple ones, nothing that needed ceremony - and turned.

Lano trotted ahead without being called, as if she had been waiting for permission since daybreak. I looked back once from the first bend. The windows were warm against the grey sky, the hyssop smell still on the wind. The book of readings was full. The road was empty and waiting.