The Ring and Spoon

[smokingboot]

6 am. Waking dream.


'Come and eat,' he said. It's been a very long time. He is not as I remember him, bright with that cold sunshine of early spring, a smiling face. Then his hair and his eyes were both light as glass, and his skin shone. He was nimble, a sapling youth, and his smile was clever too clever, mischievous. Long ago, he got me out of a trap, and only asked in return that I did not forget him. I never did, quite.

Now his hair is not close cropped or tied back as it was then, but loose. His narrow face is older, chiselled, unshaven, around his shoulders a thick cloak of fur. We are in some kind of cave, and a pot of something is bubbling. He dips a ladle into it, and poors stew into a bowl, handing it to me.

'You should eat,' he says.

I notice that movement is hard for me, look down to see what seems like stone or crystals around my waist.
'These must break,' he says, pointing at them. At the same time, I notice the Dagaz rune on the wall in red ochre. Dagaz, D equivalent in old norse, first letter of my name, associated with daylight by rune readers. But in real life, sitting at my PC, I don't think the sun has risen yet. God I am tired. That's the letrozole or age or both I think. It saves your life, but there's a price. Three more years of it they say, maybe more but who knows? He sits and waits for me, though he gestures towards a stick. Maybe I will need that in time to come, but it doesn't look like it's mine. It is ornately carved, a wizard's staff rather than a walking stick.

The messages that flow towards me are inventions arising in my head. I am making a story, so no, do not make the story. Let advice or warnings or anything just come and go, see what happens. There's more painted on these walls. He smiles when he sees me take note of that, and he pats the stone beside him as if it were a chair. I think I was meant to go sit. Now, having stopped seeking the message I look around the cave. It is vast, lit by fires, though I do not see the faces. Soot is in the walls and the smoke curles out towards the entrance, which is much further up than we are. It is cold outside.

'Time to tear away,' he says, and gestures to the stew I am not eating. Confused, I have nothing to eat it with. He has this belt with - what is it called? a chateleine set? From it he unhooks and passes me a little metal spoon. I smile, start to say words of thanks but don't recognise the language coming out of my mouth, so I just bow my head to him instead. I use the spoon and eat the stew, which doesn't taste, so I am not as deeep in this as I might be. he's got a ring he wants to give me, I see him hold it in his hand even as I am working out how to wash the spoon after using it.

We are both waiting.

He shakes his hair, long and beautiful now, and he holds the ring.

Not saying anything til I have finished the stew, I am not hungry. But I do have water, a waterbottle, and I wash the spoon with it, nice and clean, then hold it in the flame tips just a minute, then he offers me some herbs and I crush them. Faint the smell but it's more distinct than the the taste of the stew. I rub the herbs along the spoon, a slight almost antiseptic smell, and then I wash the spoon again and hold it over the fire to dry it. When it is done, I hand it back to him.

I'm not hungry, I'm not thirsty, I don't need sleep.

'That's right,' he smiles, 'you don't need any of these things.'

And the vision is gone.

Comments

[mallorys_camera]

Lucid dreaming?

[smokingboot]

Yes, exactly, but being as hands off as possible.