Quote:
If you stepped on one of the etched stones - The next night you have a happy dream that brings back a memory you have forgotten, that will stay with you after you wake.
A dream, a vision, a butterfly. Focus. Focus on the butterfly, breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out, watch as it flaps its wings, shedding brilliant dust- no, pollen, it’s been in flowers somewhere. Somewhere there are flowers, rich with pollen, and the lusty bees and drunken butterflies revel in them- a fat, flush meadow, juicy with possibility. Something in this world is still good, and you’re dreaming about it.Half Truth knew she was dreaming, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. She hadn’t drifted easily into sleep; worry gnawed at her stomach, a rat in dry bones. Her heart was a plum pit, withered and hard, and her mind tore ravenously at possibilities and repercussions. Sleep found her, as it always found the exhausted, but it had been a battle to claim her.
So why was she dreaming of a butterfly? She had expected horrors untold, nightmare visions. She’d expected rot and ruin, but this was a butterfly, gentle and sweet. It tugged at her, somehow- some part of her was struggling to come to the surface, trapped beneath black water. The butterfly was reaching out, trying to help it come free, and the only thing to do was to follow it. She walked through the black, focused on the little speck of colored light as it danced erratically in front of her. With lurching flight, it led her on. Tiny pulses of light came from somewhere; by chance, she glanced down at her hooves. Though she walked through pitch black nothing, each step brought ripples of light with it, soft yellow light that seemed to splash onto her flanks and belly. As she followed the butterfly, the world seemed to grow lighter, like a sunrise, until everything was green and lush with color, though still featureless. A curtain of willow switches hung in front of her; the butterfly darted through them. Tentatively, she nosed through, unsure of what to expect.
She remembered this place.
Purple water hyacinth and tiny white flowers pushed through the thick, yet still succulently tender, grasses of a bright spring glade. The water was warm from the young summer sun, and butterflies danced wildly through the water meadow. She knew this place, though she hadn’t thought about it in years. This was a place she’d found as a little girl, where she’d stayed for quite a while. It was her secret place, a tiny place. Everything was small here- this was where minnows came to have their babies. This was a place where butterflies were born, breaking free from their pupal prisons and drying their delicate wings. This was a safe place, a place that hummed with joy. When had she stopped thinking about it? When did this little gem of joy pass from her memory? It didn’t seem to have forgotten her; butterflies glanced on her scales and horns, tasting her, testing her, deciding if she was a flower or not. The golden light washed everything with a warm glow, and she felt something unsnarl inside of her. Her cheeks relaxed- had she really been grimacing this whole time?- and she found herself kicking up her heels as she chased her butterfly. The gentle, sweet sound of birdsong and the thrum of distant cicadas singing in harmony was the perfect backdrop to this child’s game, this return to simplicity, this abandonment of worry.
She awoke with a smile on her face- an honest smile, the tension gone for now. The water meadow. A dream without worry- and a dream blissfully free of symbolism. There was no hidden message to interpret here, no nagging prophesy- just a simple memory of days long past and forgotten. The first good dream she’d had in ages.
Perhaps… perhaps tomorrow night, sleep would come more easily.