Rhiann submitted to fatigue and slept.
Shapeless grayness again entered his mind.
Wisps…
Threads…
Threads of Magick…
Threads of fate…
Threads of time…
Threads connecting worlds …
Dreams connecting worlds …
Dreams of Magick…
The Magick of Dreams…
Magick connecting dreams…
Magick connecting worlds…
Grayness…
Shapeless grayness took form, specifically the visage of his Uncle Mayard Klarje. The visage spoke, “I thought you’d enjoy this visage.”
Rhiann answered his dream, “I’d have preferred to have had the opportunity to say goodbye to my Uncle.”
The voiced replied, “You should proceed with carrying out his wishes. It’s time to use the great spell. The very fabric of Sagain’s existence is tearing.”
Rhiann said, “I don’t have a destination… I don’t want to waste the shypoke eggshells.”
The visage changed to formless mist and said, “The eggshells will define your focal point, the point to which you will return. The eggshells fix the passage of time. Once you travel to a place the eggshells will fix a focal point as well. It’s not necessary to use the eggshells to return to a place you’ve previously visited, but you fix time only by using the eggshells. Maybe. You’ll learn. It’s Magick. Magick defies definitions and rules.”
Grayness faded. Rhiann slept fitfully for a bit.
Then…
Redness entered Rhiann’s dream.
He dreamed again of horrific and disturbing images, including a great lake of flaming water.
Fire…evil…the stuff of nightmares…
Names…
benjamintowe 