Dream d3161-s: Nine Posts in Still Ground

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where the field track softened underfoot, and I came to Nettlefield in the late grey of a dry afternoon.

The nine pale posts stood in a rough circle around a patch of soil that no one had touched. The Relic-Watcher moved along the perimeter with careful steps, recording nothing yet, only looking. The posts were the same height, uncarved, set without apparent measurement. The ground between them was not darker or lighter than the surrounding field. It was simply unbroken.

The Bedrock-Reader crouched at the edge where the track met the grass and pressed a palm flat against the earth. She did not speak. The Tally-Reader walked the outer circuit and counted under his breath; I heard only the end of it, a low number, whatever the road had accumulated since the last sheet entry.

Rurik had slipped ahead. He sat in the gap between the second and third post, amber eyes on the untouched soil, tail folded beside him. He did not cross. The Anomaly-Hand came forward and noted two of the posts: the grain of them showed a pale cyan trace along one face, faint as chalk on slate, running from half-height to the base. She did not touch them. The Warden of the Deep Stratum stood at the far edge and watched the gap between post seven and post eight without writing anything down.

Lano circled the outside of the posts slowly, nose low, pausing at each one. At the fifth post she stopped and sat. Her ears lifted. After a moment she trotted back and pressed against my ankle.

The Horizon-Surveyor moved to the edge of the field where the surveyed sheet ended, turned back, and reported the line. I wrote the figure in the margin of the day's account. Nettlefield had not changed its condition since the last record - still warm, still untouched at the centre.

We had not been here before. This was the first witnessed visit, and I kept that distinction. The Relic-Watcher recorded the posts from the south, then from the north. The cyan traces did not read the same way twice.

Before we left the track, Lano stopped, nose tilted toward the circle, and made a small sound: aquí.

I wrote the date. The patch remained unbroken. The posts stood as they had stood before anyone arrived.

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