Hone your prophetic voice in tonight's medieval fantasy bedtime story.
Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy-inspired sleep series.
My name is Laurel,
And I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.
Sleep and sorcery is one part bedtime story,
One part guided meditation,
And one part dreamy adventure.
Follow along with my voice for as long as it serves you,
And when you're ready,
Feel free to let go of the story and relax into sleep.
If you're still awake at the end of this story,
I'll guide you through a relaxing meditation for rest and community.
In tonight's story,
You are a gifted healer and practitioner of natural magic.
You have recently entered the service of the regent of the kingdom of Brennendor.
And you work alongside his trusted mage.
In the time since you arrived in the capital.
You've honed your skill at peering through time.
And with the help of the mage and your travel companions.
You hope to uncover the secret.
To healing a blight in your home village.
Which may be spreading across the entire kingdom.
As you dive through visions of the past and present.
You eventually channel a prophecy.
One that may change the course of your life.
And every life in the kingdom.
This story lives in the same world as other installments of sleep and sorcery,
Such as The Dragon Rider,
Tales by the Tavern Fire,
The King's Mage.
And the Enchanted Amulet.
You don't need to have heard the other installments to enjoy this story.
But you may recognize some of the threads woven throughout.
If you want to catch up on all the stories from this sleepy,
Enchanted world.
Look for my compilations of medieval fantasy sleep stories,
And tales from Brennandore.
All that you touch,
You change.
All that you change,
Changes you.
The only lasting truth.
Is change.
Octavia Butler.
Parable of the Sower.
You are outside your body again.
Dropping through layers of a distant past,
Submerged in visions and running water.
You are like a river stone.
You feel your surfaces smooth out and tumble.
Flickering between states.
This river you sense as its source in the other world.
The place inhabited by the Fair Folk.
Or the elves.
Those ageless beings who once shared this land with your kind.
Before they retreated with their magic.
You can hear their songs in the water.
Tripping over you.
Catching the light.
The liquid songs pass through you,
Too.
Before you realize you are not entirely opaque.
So,
Not a river stone then?
Just as solid,
Perhaps,
But you let some light through.
Some you reflect back,
Tossing temporary rainbows through the pockets of shifting water.
You are a gem,
Perhaps.
A stranger among so many gray and marbled rocks.
You can feel how the water changes quality as it passes over you.
Flowing away from the source and down to the sea.
It is changing in itself.
Through the very process of movement.
It changes everything it touches,
Smoothing the surface of stones,
Carving ripples into the banks.
But you know,
Somehow.
That it is also reacting to your presence.
You are changing the water too.
It encounters you.
Interacts with you and moves on.
Its shape and texture and the timbre of its song is not the same as it recedes.
You are quite certain in this crystalline form.
That you have been here for some time.
Yet you do not have an antiquity to you.
The gems and sparkling jewels unearthed from mines are the result of untold ages of underworld alchemy.
You feel,
At least comparatively,
New.
You were not pressed into being by the great forces of heat and earth and material exchange.
You were rather forged.
Or better yet.
.
.
Channel.
You can see hazily.
The faces of those who made you.
Two of them.
Two women.
The younger of the two,
As raven-dark hair and eyes that sparkle or features are achingly familiar to you.
You try to hold her image in your mind long enough to learn her name.
Or parentage.
Or profession.
But all you can grasp is that she has power.
A power similar to yours.
Then her image ripples and blurs.
And you feel yourself rising.
Floating up from the bottom of the river.
Shedding your gem-like facets and pouring like liquid back into the top of your own head.
Filling up your toes,
Your fingers.
Your limbs.
Decanting back into your body.
Somewhere down the centuries of a disenchanted world.
Across mountain and forest.
You gaze into the glass-like surface.
Of a fountain pool.
Your own familiar reflection distorted in the ripples.
You touch the amulet around your neck.
You were so close this time.
So close to reaching the ancestral memory you've been searching for.
The one you suspect holds the key to all the strange things happening throughout the kingdom.
The sudden blight that killed your garden of potent plants and caused your region's crops to fail.
The disappearance of the air apparent.
Just before his coronation.
The rumored reappearance of dragons and whispers of a contestant to the throne.
And then,
All the curious encounters you've had on your travels to the capital.
You sense a presence behind you.
The faintest flutter of silk must have been what roused you from your vision.
Bringing you hurtling back to the present.
You rise to your feet and turn on a heel,
Donning an expression of sarcastic disapproval.
I almost had it this time,
You say bitterly,
Though you bite back a smart.
Emerus,
The mage and most trusted advisor of the King Regent,
Stands before the wrought iron gate that separates this corner of the garden from the more manicured,
Formal section.
He is clad in new robes of a vibrant cobalt.
You know exactly how he came by such a unique textile.
You say that every evening.
Emrys sighs.
But I can't let you stay in there all night when there's food on the table.
Come on.
Everyone's waiting for you.
You suppose he's right.
You've been inching closer to a breakthrough on this divination journey.
But if you don't stop to care for yourself,
To rest,
To feed your body.
And nourish your soul with good company and grounding forces.
You risk draining the power and skill you've collected.
Or even more dramatically.
Losing your tether to the so-called real world.
And becoming lost in the visions.
You have a purpose now.
To learn as much as you can about the magic.
That once abounded in this realm.
In the hope of someday restoring it.
Restoring peace.
And cooperation.
And you cannot hope to succeed.
Even in the slightest.
If you do not take care of yourself.
Very well,
You say,
And Emrys escorts you from the herb garden,
The centerpiece of which is the great fountain in which you've been scrying every night for these past few months.
A great sculptural dragon twists over the basin.
The creature's stone scales are wrapped now in ivy and moonflowers.
Together you walk the winding path.
Toward the Royal Palace.
Before you came here,
Emerus took all his meals in his private chambers within the tower.
Slowly,
In recent weeks though.
Is taken to joining you in the hall.
Where the king and his guard and attendants sup.
You like to think you've brought him down to earth a bit.
He is a magician and seer most concerned with the stars,
The orbits of the spheres,
And the long arc of the future.
You in your heart.
Our gardener.
One with hands in the earth and a kinship with plants.
Any magic you've ever commanded comes from that relationship.
Your worlds,
Two mages as you are.
Move on vastly different scales.
But you've come to realize that you need each other.
If you are to make a difference in this ailing world,
You must find a way to weave your magics together.
Light is fading over the castle walls.
And you can just hear the lapping of water beyond.
Who was it this time?
Emerus asks.
Through whose eyes did you see?
It wasn't a who,
So much as a what,
He responds.
Although even that I'm not sure of.
Sometimes I feel everything in this world must be alive.
Must be someone.
Emerus looks pensive,
But not unsympathetic to this idea.
But anyway.
.
.
I was.
.
.
You bring a hand once again to the amulet that hangs around your neck.
The one which you haven't removed since it came into your possession.
This.
You were the stone,
Emerus asks,
A hint of surprise and intrigue in his voice.
Then do I take it.
That you saw beyond the veil of twilight.
Into the land of the elves?
No,
You say.
Though you understand why Emerus leaps to this conclusion.
You came by the amulet during your travels.
On your way to this very castle to seek the advice of the king's mage.
You have served as a healer and herbalist in your village for almost your entire life.
Inheriting the role from your mother.
And generations before her.
But under your stewardship of the garden and the community.
The blight came.
And you felt you must be responsible.
If you had not sufficient magic to heal what was broken in your home.
Then you would go to the ends of the earth to find a way.
Your apprentice begged to go in your stead.
She was,
After all,
Much younger and in better health.
You refused to let her undertake such a quest.
The village needed her to stay.
Still your bones creaked.
And your body aches.
From the very outset,
You questioned your judgment.
What had possessed you to travel alone through such rough terrain?
But the journey was one of many wonders.
One night as you took to rest in the safety of a hazel grove.
You found yourself transported to a strange realm where neither sun nor moon would shine.
Only an enchanted twilight.
There you were doted upon by a coterie of beautiful attendants.
Each one seeming to glow from within.
You feasted on the finest foods and sweetest wines you've ever tasted.
And with each passing day,
You felt younger.
Light her.
More vital.
Like a river stone,
Softened and smoothed by the singing waters.
When finally you emerged from the otherworldly company.
The amulet hung around your neck.
It hummed against your youthful skin.
And you knew.
That if you ever removed it,
All those years would come rushing back.
And until tonight.
Until the vision you were just granted.
You believed the amulet was some elven artifact.
Something enchanted by their hands for the purposes of your journey.
Now,
You suspect the gem has its origins in something closer to home.
I lay at the bottom of a river,
You say.
Describing the contents of your vision.
And I knew that river.
I could swear it was the Arden.
The river that flows through Silverfair.
My home.
But I also felt that I knew its source.
And that its source lay beyond the borders of Elfland.
But maybe I was mistaken.
You add this last after stealing a glance at Emrys,
Whose brow is furrowed.
Trust your instincts,
" he says.
They're sharper than mine,
Anyway.
You smile as you and your friend pass under the colonnade and through the oaken doors to the hall.
Already there are dozens of people at supper.
Household attendants,
King's guard,
Lords and ladies.
The King Regent is not at the head table.
Though he rarely is these days.
You suspect he accompanied the latest envoy to the lesser courts in search of his heir,
Who vanished unceremoniously at the very time you and your friends arrived.
Most of the denizens of the capital seem grateful that the prince's disappearance didn't provoke all-out war,
Given that the regent suspects kidnapping.
But with rumors of rebels and dragons stirring across the land.
And still no sign of the boy.
Such a peace is unlikely to last much longer.
You try to put this unease out of your mind for now.
You join your friends at their table,
Where they are delighted to welcome you.
To the uninformed onlooker.
Your group of companions must appear tremendously unlikely.
There's you in your finery.
And Emrys,
The king's trusted right hand,
Resplendent in silks.
Then there's the chambermaid,
Lunette.
And the funny comrades you picked up on your travels.
A trio of half-elves called Brightbuckle,
Whistle,
And Thorn.
And a merchant dyer from the south.
ALIEN who's responsible for the many brightly colored robes that now bedeck many of the castle's inhabitants.
Not long ago,
You were all strangers whose paths crossed in a warm and welcoming tavern.
You've been inseparable since.
And you kept each other safe on the road to the capital.
You think you've even made each other better people.
More open to hearing other's stories and sharing their joys and sorrows.
You're more inclined to helping strangers.
On your first day in the Capitol together.
You scooped up a youth who had swooned in the square.
Fed him and got his strength back up.
You wonder sometimes where that young man got off to.
Whether he was safe.
After pursuing an audience with Emerus and entering the service of the regent.
You pushed for your friends to be given a place at court.
As it happens,
The half-elves are warriors skilled with a bow,
And they have made valuable contributions to the castle guards.
They were reluctant at first,
As they'd only come this far to petition the king on behalf of their people for sovereignty.
But you convinced them to work toward that goal through climbing the courtly ranks.
Rather than approaching an uneasy region.
With no cloud.
Meanwhile,
Dalien's talent with textiles and the exotic dyes brought from his home at the kingdom's southernmost tip.
Has made him an in-demand artisan at court.
Even the King Regent is dressed in his linens and silks.
You join your band of misfits happily,
Shaking off the last shiver of vision and trance.
Settling instead into laughter and conversation.
Having such a cross-section of companions means you're able to learn much about the goings-on in the castle and beyond its walls.
You command a unique position of being in the know.
Even before you count your tendency towards second sight.
Tonight.
You hear gossip all the way from the Midland town of Merrymead.
Or a stranger was said to have conquered the beast that once prowled the streets.
Most of the guard think it's all tall tales.
But Brightbuckle thinks there must be something to it.
At any rate,
No one seems to know what manner of beast it was.
Lunette at least,
Seems especially interested in the topic But your friends lean in extra close as you share the wisdom you've gained since last you spoke.
You relate the experience of this evening's vision.
Your certainty that you inhabited the memories of your amulet.
And its unexpected appearance at the bottom of a river so near your home.
You describe with as much of the slippery detail as you can grasp.
The faces and eyes of the two women you saw in the vision.
Especially the younger one,
Who seemed so familiar.
You're getting closer.
So close to accessing the cultural memory you seek.
The memory of a time before the great magic faded.
And for the first time,
You've received a clue to that story.
The story of the Kingdom's disenchantment.
Of all the events that led to the blight.
Of the curious marvels you've witnessed.
And it's a clue that all that.
Is connected to you.
Your village.
And perhaps even your family line.
What you have no doubt of by now,
Is that your amulet,
A gift from the elves.
Is the key to solving it all.
The party has many thoughts and interpretations to share.
And just as many questions to ask about the nature of your vision.
Though you are somewhat unequipped to answer them.
How did you know it was your home river?
They ask.
Because you swim in those waters as a child,
Gathered herbs by the banks.
You know it's special song.
What about the women you saw?
You believe they made the gem?
They ask.
Not made the gem,
Perhaps,
But made it what it was.
Made it more than what it was before.
Who were they?
Your companion's wonder.
You don't know.
But you felt a tug so profound within yourself when you saw the young woman's eyes.
Like a child when they see a beloved parent.
Or sibling.
No,
Not like that exactly.
More like an elder.
Gazing with wistful longing at a painting of their younger self.
Or a gardener.
Beholding the first green shoots after an endless winter.
Or a devastating blight.
The next one,
You say,
Will be the one.
I can feel it.
I'm so close to the answer.
I've gone back almost as far as the departure of the elves.
And that was what started the disenchantment.
The next time I dive.
I'm sure I'll see what really happened.
And we'll figure out.
How to reverse it?
It has never occurred to you to question the idea that the deep past holds the secret to a brighter future.
Ancestral wisdom,
Like the knowledge of healing herbs passed from mother to daughter.
Or the songs that immortalize heroic values across generations.
Is the most sacred,
Mutable vessel.
If you can travel back far enough.
To the moment magic began to disappear from the realm.
The moment the elves withdrew.
You can restore a link.
That's been forgotten.
And you can help restore Brandendor to the splendor and peace it once knew.
A harmony between people and land.
Though you never would have believed it when you first left home.
You may be the kingdom's best hope.
For recovering what's been lost.
For returning to the way things once were.
The talk around the table soon softens.
Turns less serious.
You laugh with your friends,
Letting the whole vision slide out of your mind for at least a few moments.
You just enjoy each other's company.
What a strange road you've walked together already.
And what untold adventures must still lie ahead.
You feel fortunate to have accumulated friends like these.
You never would have met any of them.
I do not left home.
Finally,
The hour grows late.
And little by little,
The hall empties out.
Lunette is off to finish her evening duties,
And Emrys disappears to his tower.
Your travel companions,
Dalian and the half-elves,
Escort you back to your chambers and wish you good night.
You have a small but comfortable room in the palace.
With a window that faces the garden.
When the moon is full,
You can even glimpse the hidden herb garden and the dragon fountain.
Tonight.
A haze is rolling in off the water.
And you can't see much from your window at all.
Only darkness.
And a smattering of stars.
Still you look out over the mist.
Almost a scrying surface in itself.
And imagine you can make out shapes and stories in its patterns.
There are times you feel everything in this world must be alive.
And connect it.
And working together.
Even mess.
Even water.
Even rocks.
You touch the amulet around your neck once more.
And you climb into your bed.
You sink like a river stone towards sleep.
Dropping a little deeper down with every breath you take.
Tonight's vision swims lazily in and out of your dreams.
Familiar faces.
Unreachable ancestors.
The song of the river enfolds you like a loved one's embrace.
Is it the trill of the little bird perched in your window?
Or the soft wrapping at your door that first rouses you.
Wisps of golden morning light.
Fall graciously into the room as you stir.
Your eyes catch the flash of golden and brown.
Before the tiny bird with a voice much stronger than his size suggests.
Blitz away.
Another soft rap at the door.
You put on a silk dressing gown of deep saffron.
Made for you by Dalien,
Of course.
And go to answer the door.
It's Lunette.
You wonder what she's come for at this early hour.
The King Regent,
She says,
And his search party.
They returned in the night.
He wants a word with you.
With me,
You say surprised.
Since joining the household.
You've had no direct contact with the monarch.
You hardly thought he knew your name.
Emris will be with you,
" Lunette clarifies.
Is waiting for you now.
I'll take you to him.
She waits for you as you dress,
Swiftly,
So as not to keep the king waiting.
Then Lunette leads you down the steps and through a labyrinth of light-filled corridors,
Past gallant tapestries and exquisite paintings.
Emerus joins you at the mouth of the hall.
And together.
You move into a part of the palace.
You've never seen.
You've never been inside the throne room after all.
Past an alley of portraits you stride,
Glancing here and there at the empty spaces on the wall.
You imagine the images of the old king.
Against whom the regent led a rebellion.
Were removed or destroyed.
Vestiges of his reign can be found here and there.
The dragon fountain,
For instance.
But few at court dared to speak of the ruling family that was so violently removed from power.
Steps from the entrance to the throne room,
However.
You start.
Your fellows make it a few further strides before they realize they've lost you.
You stand.
Mouth agape.
At a portrait on the wall.
It's of a young man.
Decked in the regalia of the ruling house.
He wears a coronet upon his brow.
And a fine brocade of crimson and gold.
A sword is at his hip.
And he holds a shield with the family's herald.
A lion poised on the back legs with a forked tail.
What is it?
Emerus asks,
Concern in his voice as he doubles back to join you.
Lunette steps in behind.
You gesture to the painting wordlessly.
Not because of its exquisite detail or technique.
But because you've seen it before.
You've seen him before.
He was not clad in such finery,
But in commoners' clothes.
He was out among the people at a festival in the square.
You and your companions caught him.
When he nearly fainted at the center of all the activity.
You broke bread with him.
Is this the crown prince,
You say?
Is this a wane?
Emrys and Lunette respond in the affirmative.
He disappeared on the day of the coronation,
Did he not?
You continue.
And your question is once again affirmed.
I think.
I may have been among the last to see him.
You turn away from the portrait now,
And your eyes catch those of lunettes.
There's something unreadable in her expression.
You want to tell your newest friends about the encounter you had with the prince.
Everything you remember.
In case it could help with tracking him down.
But before you can say a word.
The doors of the throne room open.
The King Regent's Attendants invite you within.
You share a loaded glance with your companions before straightening up and following the attendance inside.
The King Regent sits in the ornate throne at the head of the hall.
He leans against one side,
His forehead balanced atop arched fingertips.
He looks old.
Weary,
Exhausted.
You feel for him.
He may not be the most beloved ruler.
Or the most compassionate person.
But to toil on for so long,
Without knowledge of his child's whereabouts.
This is a sorrow you would wish on no one.
Any hope that the search party had returned successful now evaporates from the room.
Among the King's Guard posted throughout the chamber.
Are your half-elf companions,
Brightbuckle,
Whistle and Thorn.
You are glad to see them here.
You still do not know why you were summoned.
But their presence makes you feel calm.
And safe.
Without lifting his eyes,
The sorry monarch clears his throat and calls your name.
In treating you to step forward.
You obey.
I'm told you have visions,
" he says.
My trusted mage tells me your skill surpasses his own in many ways.
You feel color rising to your cheeks.
You look at Emrys who nods humbly.
I've asked you here to inquire if you've seen anything.
A crack of desperation enters the king's voice here.
Anything.
About my son.
The Prince Awain.
You lower your head in respect.
Your grace,
You say softly.
I am afraid I have not.
I cannot control what visions or messages are sent my way.
This is mostly true.
Certainly you have skill and you can maneuver through the memories to an extent.
But the waters tend to push back.
Steering you along a course already determined.
But the thing you haven't the heart to tell him is this.
You are not looking for the Prince.
You are not diving into the past.
For the sole purpose of bringing him home.
Your motives are broader.
You look to the past to find answers upon which the entire kingdom depends.
Not one youth.
The recovery of the Prince is secondary to your greater purpose.
Restoring Magic.
To Brennendor.
But surely,
The regent says,
Almost pleading.
You could try.
You could look again.
I have searched,
And I have negotiated,
And I can abide the injustice no longer.
If he is not safely found soon.
There will be no other choice.
He doesn't say the words,
But you and everyone else in the room can hear it in the silence.
If the prince is not discovered.
You will have no choice.
But open war.
Emrys steps forward now.
Side by side with you.
He speaks up on your behalf,
Insisting that your skill improves every day.
But soon.
Very soon.
You will have the gazing waters.
In your complete control.
That you will be able to dive in.
And find any answer.
To any question.
The King considers you.
Show me he says after a long pause Show me what you can do.
He claps his hands and calls for a basin of water to be brought forth.
Your nerves rise,
But Emrys squeezes your hand and whispers words of encouragement.
Two of the attendants exit,
Returning shortly with a shallow basin.
They said it before you.
You've never been tested like this.
You wish you could refuse.
Tell me what you see,
The King Regent says expectantly.
These are not ideal conditions for your gift to flourish,
You think.
The threat of war,
The watchful eye of the monarch.
And the audience of onlookers.
Make your brow sweat.
But as you step before the basin,
You catch the eyes of Bright Buckle.
And his company.
You've been through deeper perils than this,
With them at your side.
Emerus is here.
You trust each other.
And lunette,
A steadying force of a friend.
You exhale.
You gays.
For the past few months,
You've been searching the past.
Climbing down the threads of ancestral memory.
That which is imprinted on the land through roots and relationships.
Now,
You imagine yourself riding on the current of the present.
Instead of wrapping around you.
Flowing over you.
Or passing through you.
You try to purge.
Like a weightless bird.
On the crest of a wave.
To be carried with it.
On and on you flow.
Reaching out with all your senses.
Grasping and grappling for anything that might connect you to the prince.
His youthful face swims across your inner vision.
A crowned peasant.
The river's song is different from atop the rapids.
It is the song of foam and spray.
Of splash and giggle.
Rather than the rushing and pounding and thrumming you're used to.
It takes effort to balance on the current.
To neither fall behind nor surge ahead.
You are tempted more than once to slip from your perch.
But you hold on.
The banks of the river are dappled at first.
I owe.
And alder and willow woods.
But then the river twists through silent corridors.
With paintings and tapestries hung here and there.
You try to lock on the face of the crown prince as you float past his portrait.
But you cannot hold on.
Your gaze is lured to another portrait.
A woman.
With dark hair and eyes sparkling.
As soon as you see her.
The young woman from your vision the evening before.
The river dries up.
And flattens.
Everything flattens.
Everything is still.
And the paintings are no longer paintings.
The woman stands before you,
Clutching the hem of her apron.
Which is full of acorns.
Something sparkles from her collarbone.
But it is partially obscured by her shift.
She's accompanied by a much older woman.
Who carries a basket loaded with fallen twigs and willow weaves.
The two women regard you.
Then lift their eyes upward to the sky.
The moon is full and bright,
And something large and winged.
Is silhouetted against it.
You think you hear heavy footsteps behind you.
But you turn to see nothing but a small bird.
Perching on a toadstool.
One of many that grow in a ring.
Beyond the mushrooms.
There is only a lavender mist.
The amulet around your neck grows warm.
Almost vibrates against your chest.
It's humming,
You think.
Humming and trying to sing.
And it does sing.
But not with its own voice.
With yours.
And the quiet of the throne room and the royal palace.
You hear yourself say.
Two went down to the river when the dragon moon was high.
The King Wren was watching.
The four are in the forest.
The lion's tail splits in two.
The King Wren's eggs are hatching.
A glass will shatter.
Two worlds will collide.
Only one.
They wear the crown.
Silk threads will unwind.
The bard will compose the bridge.
The King Ren.
Never bows.
As the last of the words leaves your lips,
You come back to your body.
You realize you are gripping the sides of the basin so hard,
Your hands are cramping.
You pull away.
Softening all the muscles in your body.
From your scalp to the soles of your feet.
I saw him,
You say through gasps,
Trying to catch your breath.
The prince?
Asks Lunette.
No,
You say.
The King Wren.
I saw the wren in the past.
The present and the future.
I know what we have to do.
When the king finally satisfied that you don't have the prince's exact location.
Gives you leave to go.
Your heart pounds.
You send a message to Dalien and the half-elves,
Asking them to meet you,
Emrys,
And Lunette by the dragon fountain at nightfall.
You wait for your friends behind the wrought iron gate.
You pace before the dragon statue,
Looking up at the fierce creature from time to time.
The symbol of the old king's house.
An enduring symbol of the way things used to be.
Back when they were,
According to some,
Better.
When the land was richer,
The people more prosperous.
And magic.
More abundance.
It's only now that you realize looking to the past is not the only answer to the kingdom's problems.
In fact,
It is dangerously insufficient.
To make the best world for the future.
You need more than memory.
You need a prophetic voice.
The courage to sing new possibilities into existence.
To make magic real.
You don't go searching for it.
You practice it.
To make peace.
You practice peace.
You don't know if the words you uttered at the feet of the throne today were prophecy,
Or history.
Or memory.
Or nonsense.
But you know you wear something powerful around your neck.
You know that when you sank to the bottom of that visionary river,
You are not the amulet itself.
But the wondrous thing contained within it.
The magic waiting to spill across a hungry world.
You know the woman from your visions is trying to lead you to something.
And whatever those riddling words were.
Your friends were there to hear them.
And the world you all deserve.
Is yours to make.
It all starts with joining forces.
With taking a first step.
As the moon rises over the water.
And climbs to sit atop the ivy-covered garden wall.
You hear footsteps along the path.
They're all here.
They're all eager to know what you're planning.
Under the shadow of the moon and the statue of the dragon.
You behold your friends.
The unlikely companions of court and tavern.
Power and scholarly.
The bonds of trust between you.
Are stronger than spider silk already.
Stronger than the roots of the oldest oaks.
Before you even speak it into the night.
You know what their answer will be.
Thank you for coming,
You say.
I need each and every one of you.
Will you come with me?
On an adventure.
Settle into a state of calm.
And flow.
As if you are adrift on a gently moving river.
Letting it guide you.
Towards sleep.
You don't even need to steer.
Because the river knows where it's going.
Bring your awareness to your breath.
Your inhale filling up the lungs and belly with fresh,
Cool air.
Your exhale releasing tension within the body.
Relaxing you deeper.
There's nothing you need to do right now.
But rest.
And breathe.
And trust that the river on which you float is carrying you to your destination.
Without effort.
Or complication.
It flows on.
Towards sleep.
Consider how you are like a river.
Ever flowing.
Ever-changing.
You are more than meets the eye.
More than what appears on the surface.
And so is everyone you meet.
Each traveling their own path.
Living a complex,
Beautiful story.
Whether you know it or not.
And though your paths may be different.
Though you may make choices.
That send you on different forks in the river.
You are still traveling through this life together.
And community.
In relationship.
No one in this life.
Alone.
Drift here.
Feeling the ebb and flow of the current.
And how it aligns with your breath.
Let your mind and body be calm.
Serene.
Tranquil.
Surrender to the flow of the river.
It knows where it's going.
It knows where you need to be.
Let it carry you.
All the way down.
To sleep.
Good night.
You
