What Dreams May Come

Tavik’s eyes snapped open at the behest of some distant call.

He glanced around the encampment of his friends and saw them all slumbering. Was it his turn to be on watch? He couldn’t remember. Grimacing, he rose to his feet and began walking toward the water’s edge, his mind strangely fuzzy with after-echoes as if still dreaming.

“You’ve done well, child,” a voice said in Gith behind him. He spun to face the intruder and stood agape as his mother strode up to his side, staring out at the lake’s surface. Tavik was too shocked to say anything. “How deep is the river if you cannot see the bottom?” she asked simply, her eyes still on the water.

Tavik’s brow furrowed slightly. “That’s all you have to say?” he frowned. “After all this time?”

“Wake up, Tavik.”

“Tavik!” someone whispered hoarsely nearby and his eyes snapped open. The monk took a moment to gain his bearing and looked at Seldon. “It’s your turn for guard duty,” the druid said, pointing.

“Right,” the Gith muttered and rose lithely, not showing any signs of sleep dulling his abilities. How deep is the river if you cannot see the bottom? He considered the question thoroughly, examining it from all angles. It wasn’t until his friends began waking to perform their various morning rituals that he finally realized the meaning.

He glanced down at the tattoo on his right arm. Until this vary moment it had been constantly shifting from one form to the next. Some he recognized, most he did not. He had grown used to the constantly moving writing on his skin, but now it had stopped. Clearly visible was an image of a griffon in mid-attack, raised up on its hind legs with wings spread wide and claws slashing at an unseen foe. Tavik smiled suddenly as he felt a part of his soul align with the Path.



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