Dream d3354-s: The Scribe Walked On

I had a dream where...

I had a dream where I stood at the parapet of Brackenfall bridge on the sixth evening and the light came in from the west without haste. The stones were moss-green and umber where the water had been high. Lano sat close to my left boot, her nose aimed at something across the water I could not identify.

The relay clerk stood at the far end of the parapet with a small board and a stub of pencil. She was not looking at me. She wrote something, paused, wrote again, and I understood she was recording the scribe who had crossed before me, and the date, and nothing else. The parapet held that small act without commentary.

Brackenfall was quiet in the way of a place that has been quiet for a long time and expects to continue. There was moss between the stones. There were marks where iron rings had once been set into the coping, the rings themselves gone. The water below moved but did not hurry.

I looked at the notebook. The cover was worn at the spine. I had carried it since the last settlement without finding the person whose absence it described to me. Nobody at this parapet reached for it. Nobody looked at it. The keeper of the approach stood further back where the road widened and sorted through a bundle of tallies without glancing up.

Lano got up, walked three steps toward the downstream railing, sat again. Her ears moved, then settled.

The relay clerk added a line, or perhaps only a date. I could not see from where I stood and did not go closer. The act was hers. The notebook was mine to carry. These were separate things and the bridge did not confuse them.

The residency here was in its sixth night and the place had not changed its character since I arrived. Dormant was the word I kept using. Not empty, not closed, but resting the way a room rests when its occupant has been away long enough that the room has forgotten to wait.

I set my hand on the top of the notebook, the cover warm from being held close to my side all day. I was not looking for a sign. I was looking for whoever the notebook was looking for, by the method of going where it was quiet and standing still.

The clerk closed her board. The bridge held the evening.

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Artwork instructions

IMAGE PROMPT: pixel art a human figure at a bridge parapet, The clerk records the scribe who walked on, and the date, and nothing else., muted moss and umber, warm amber accents, 8-bit style