Dream d2985-s: The Single True Line

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where I was the Clerk of Alderbarrow, moving through the upper floor of a house where the ceiling pressed low against the rafters. The air tasted of old lime and damp wool. I knelt on the floorboards to inspect a primary support beam, my hands working to trace the grain of the wood. Lano sat by my knee, her white fur catching the dim light, her nose twitching as she inhaled the scent of dust. Rurik was a shadow in the corner, his amber eyes fixed on the joists above.

I held the distant account in my hands. It was a list of measurements, descriptions, and states of being, all compiled from a distance. I looked at the beam I touched. The record stated that the timber was of oak, weathered by salt and split by frost. I pressed my palm against the rough surface. It was indeed oak, and the salt-weathering was exactly as the page described. I took my marking tool and placed a single stroke next to that specific line. I did not extend the credit to the rest of the room. The floorboards were smoother than the account suggested. The shadows were deeper than the account permitted. I recorded the discrepancy between the distance and the doorway without judgment. I did not explain why the wood felt warmer than the ink implied. I did not praise the craftsmanship or condemn the decay. I simply marked the one truth and let the rest of the account remain unsettled. Lano let out a soft huff.

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