It's always bothered me, the way I can't drink moonlight when I'm awake. Tonight, I don't think I'd want to. The light from the three demon eyes falls harshly atop the heaving canopy, and catches in a knife's edge of brilliance upon each twisting leaf. The beauty is almost painful, and the lashing dance of whip-thin branches is decidedly so. I hunch deeper into my cloak, pulling it over my head, and sink more comfortably into my chosen tangle of branches.

The winds carry something of the ocean in them; the scent is rimed with salt. If it rains, the drops will taste like tears. And if my moose hide cloak gets damp, I'll smell both rank and bitter when next I climb down from these trees. I'm hoping for a dry storm with distant lightning, and clouds that vie for dominion over the sky without entirely conquering the stars. I'm in a contemplative mood, and have sought the things that suit me. All the things I can claim, anyway.

How can I not consider the gods at this moment? Are they not present in the wild song of wind through knotted trees and are the awesome, cloud torn heavens not their handiwork? Perhaps I didn't always attribute such things to them, or consider them at all. That was before we gathered in the Meditation Circle, and I saw the gods favor illuminate Glorna in a show of whimsical beauty. I myself felt briefly touched by something deeply mysterious, and I've yet to dispel the confusion that moment awoken. It is almost enough to savor it, and maintain a sense of wonder.

What connects me? What threads tie me to this place, keeping my soul from fleeing my flesh, allowing me to reform at whatever Life Monument I've most recently run my fingers across? It's an easy answer for the clerics, they plead the intercession of the gods, and are satisfied by this explanation. I'm not so comfortable with such glibness. I want more understanding. Ha, I want more in general. Maybe that's the personality trait that sums me up – grasping. Grasping at straws, explanations, overtures of friendship, grasping until my nails close upon the empty circle of my fists and pierce my own grip.

I let go of things, too. My guild, my family, my finances...

I resigned from the Seekers because I took little joy from the association, and didn't have the faith to see it through. For a time I remained out of stubbornness, but eventually I couldn't abide the silence, and the ghostly emptiness of the Hall. I get my fill of those things in the Tomb. I purchased my paper of release almost on whim and held it until Ruby walked the lands. I sent her a message of my intentions, but did not wait for a response before dissolving my allegiance to the guild. I believe Ruby Falcon feels betrayed, but though I regret causing her pain, I don't willingly chain myself to anything except Life Monuments and dreams.

I've been walking a web of dreams for more than a week now, awaking with frantic energy that lasts mere minutes. I doze in the sunlight, I dream in the moonlight, and I cannot control my lethargy. I've fallen asleep on the Kilican shores, and counted myself lucky that the tides didn't take my boots, or wash me out to sea. Sometimes, I'll toss a pinch of powder, and stumble into the portal room, hoping it isn't dangerous to sleep near so much magical energy. I won't mention how often I've awoken in the Desert Tomb with a pile of bones for a pillow.

I dream of falling all the time now.

It's not imagery full of metaphors or the secret language of the brain divulging nonsense. It's a thrice cursed memory and so close to the borders of true dreaming that it blocks it completely. There's nothing I hate more than memories masquerading as dreams. Seems like cheating to me. This particular memory disturbs me more than most, because I'm half sure I died at the end of it. The contentious side of me argues that I probably just fell through a rift and magicked across time and space until I landed in Valorn. I'm disinclined to take sides against or with myself.

I think I'll sleep in the canopy tonight, so when I dream of falling, I've a casual excuse.