The days have past in a whirling mist. I push to keep my emotions separate from the ultimate goal. The true magic. Leaves, turning now, remind me that the time is coming. The mundane tasks of preparing for winter are upon me and the boy. Frosty breath and chilled bones bond strangers and friends alike. Memories of summer and green hide in the shadow of the mountain.

My weaving comes easier now, these thin threads joining a world force spread across my page, now pages, and bind me to them with even stitches. I take in the aroma of waking drink and webvision and revel at the pages of others, of masters. I sweep in and forward and past, and occasionally they nod and note my ghost. I leave few tracks. I am humbled by their strength and endurance and beauty. I can only taste what they spin, like honey out of a stolen jar.

The quest continues...

Go back to Stone's Throw! or go to Chapter 3