The very instant she closed her eyes, Myranda found herself transported to the blackened field that
had poisoned her sleep the night before. Fear and desperation filled her as she searched for some
remnant of the light she had remembered. In the distance, a handful of faint, flickering lights seemed to
beckon to her. She ran toward them--but, one by one, the shining embers flickered out.
The ground became uneven and she stumbled, feeling the cold, dead grass crunch beneath her
palms. Unwilling to waste even the time to stand, Myranda crawled toward the lights. There was a
feeling within her that if she looked away for even a moment, the last piece of light would be lost to her
forever. A sudden coldness beneath her hand started her, and she reflexively closed her fingers around
it. Whatever it was that she had found, it was firmly planted in the frigid earth. She wanted to move
forward, but at the same time, she could not bring herself to let go of the freezing object she'd found.
She pulled and strained, finally looking to the artifact she had stumbled upon.
Even as she could feel the speck of golden light in the distance flit away forever, she saw the item
she'd found replace it. It was a lantern, and the second her eyes met the wick, it fizzled to life. In the
oppressive blackness, the dim flame seemed blinding. When her eyes painfully adjusted, she rubbed
them to find that the world she was accustomed to had returned. The light she blinked at was the
handful of rays that made it through the heavy curtains. The dream was over.
#
Blinking the sleep from her eyes was a matter of moments. Shaking the powerful emotions and
painful throbbing from her head was another matter. She looked in vain for a basin or such to at least
wash her face, but the room was rather poorly stocked. Dejected, she slowly gathered her things and
laced her boots. When she was certain she had everything, particularly the sword, she entered the
hallway, locked the door behind her, and sought out her only intact pocket to place the key. On the way
to the stairs, she stopped in front of the door she'd seen Leo at the day before. After a long moment she
continued on, deciding to let him sleep.
The tavern was a very different place in the wee hours of the morning. Pale light from the cloudy
morning sky replaced the warm light of candle and lamp. The only motion was the stirring of flies upon
a half-finished plate of food left by an unsatisfied customer the night before. Where had been a room
full of rowdy patrons now was only one, a filthy man who'd had a bit too much of the ale and made a
pillow of his leftover cabbage.
Behind the bar was a wiry young fellow, likely the owner's son. He'd leaned his chair against the
wall and gazed lazily into space through a few greasy locks that hung in front of his half-closed eyes.
Myranda approached him, hopeful of procuring a few pieces of the meat from last night. In her
experience, if the meat was past its prime, the kitchen would usually part with it free of charge. It might
not be tasty, but it would be nourishing, and so long as it filled her stomach, she was satisfied.
"Sir?" she said.
He did not react.
"Um, sir?" she repeated loudly.