It's always the same dream.
You're floating in midair.
Small droplets of water mist down all around you, sparkling and cool, swirling in odd patterns like swarms of fireflies. It feels like you've been swallowed by the heart of the universe. Something massive, and old, and thrumming with untold power.
Below you is a legion.
The figures stand in rows and rows and rows -- platoons so vast that you can't see the end of them. Archers and infantry and strange mounted creatures the likes of which you've never seen -- all standing still. Frozen. As if asleep.
And around you, also floating in midair...
Lights.
You're used to this part by now. You reach out your hand instinctively to where you know they will appear: Beautiful, strange, golden lights. Four of them, slowly spinning on their axes. There are objects inside the lights -- you think you can discern the slender curve of a chain, the shape of a handle. It's so bright that you have to look down.
And then, suddenly... far below you...
Eyes.
Red eyes. Crimson. They flame to life in the skulls of each and every one of the warriors. Blood-red dots disappearing into the distance ad nauseum, ad infinitum, and the deafening sound of one unified footstep as each soldier turns as one to point up to the lights, the ground rumbling, shaking --
And then a roar.
And then --
You wake up.
This is the Pinefallow that you remember.
The lovely Pinefallow. The boring Pinefallow. The sun and chores Pinefallow, the Yardwork and mopping Pinefallow.
The shadows have retreated, and CARRIE reinstated the Yard treaty. MARLEY has a continental breakfast spread ready every morning. There is so much to do -- debris to sweep and burn, walls to repair, trampled gardens to revive -- and yet when your hands are busy, the context of the destruction seems to disappear. It's just you and a bucket and a trowel.
And yet things are so busy you barely have a moment to rest. There are so many tasks to get done that there's time to think about strategy, next steps. It's just the next foot in front of you. CARRIE's frantic, making hushed phone calls, falling asleep while standing upright. You don't feel much different.
But in many ways, the busyness and exhaustion are a form of care. It's good to see things started and finished. Even if it's tying up a wilted tomato plant. Maybe soon it will bear fruit.
But at last the rubble has been cleared, the giant chickens are laying eggs again, the bus is back in working order, and it's time for everyone to gather.
You've finally had the time and emotional energy to worry about what comes next. Where is KANOS? Where did TOBY take the horn? What's going on at Laut Sihir, Kitezh, the Hidden Land? Where does the Sanctuary Society stand?
Are things going to be okay?
But when you head to the living room, prepared to put your heads together to formulate a plan... you are confronted with something you would never have expected to see:
Your suitcases.