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I dreamt the sight of an eagle. From winds and cloud I saw the fluid hills of the lands that bore the son of Haerin. In mist came color, and life and cold. Day still held but the sun threatened to fall. And the life of the valley sat in silent and fearful readiness of what comes from passing time. One creature moved, a man. A man I know but my dream kept secret from me. His youth lost but not through years. He bore burdens with each step and sadness held his face. The hills watched, the air stopped. Violent silence followed this man, and broke my mind. The man looked bound by chain and burned by fire yet carried on.

Then the valley died. The sun perished in water. The once moving fields were made broken earth. A diseased yellow and gray bound my sight. No moon, the valley lay captive to the dark clouds of grief and burn. No life accompanied the walker now. His cheeks bore the look of hunger, his eyes the glean of loss. His foot met withered plant, and he fell. Dead leaves and branch bore him down and held him. He lay in vines and bramble. I watched his breath lessen. And stop. Was he free?

Then my dream released me.