A Dream within a Dream

The sun was shining, another glorious day. Boon busied herself with rolling up her sleeping mat, tidying her living space and making a far greater mess out of whatever lay about left over from the dimly recalled night before. Dressed in leggings and a shorter sleeved pullover, ready for a delightful venture forth into the great outdoors the pretty young gnome with a childish eagerness took hold of the knob of her portal and thrust the door wide open. Upon her first step Boon heard the distinct crunch of fresh snow, the mere action of transgressioning from her dorm room door out into the grounds of the Academy revealed the world she thought she knew to be one of quite abnormal weather. The wisp floated up from the floor of her room and wound its way around, hovering about the bone apple tied like a bag to Boon’s hip. After a moment’s inspection the sprite wafted about Boon’s face and then floated toward the Great Tree, urging Boon to follow.

“This dream?” thought Boon, realization suddenly apparent as heart and head determined sun and snow rarely shared the same space. The world around her was not real, merely a figment of her vivid and highly active imagination.

“Yes, Haur Berezia Basque,” replied the wisp in the sour tones of Theo Kite, Boon’s tutor in the wizardry school of Necromancy.

Master Kite and Master Kite alone had made it a habit to address the young gnome by her official title, give at birth and something Boon could not rid herself of no matter how she tried. It was a title inherited from a life Boon recalled little of. Something gifted from her mother and father but a gift she would have thrown back if only to hug those parents one more time. The sound of the wizard’s voice, a goblet full of boredom with a twist of sarcasm confirmed for Boon that indeed she was dreaming.

“Did I let you in, Master Kite?” asked Boon, concerned and somewhat confused.

“No, Haur Berezia Basque,” came the dry reply. “Again this is a surprise visit.”

There was a pause as both dreamer and dreamed considered this. Then the wisp again floated within reach, a female face vaguely distinguishable before a flurry of snow was blow across Boon’s vision and again the ghostly presence was that of a weakly present mist.

“Is there a way that I can keep you from my dreams?” wondered Boon, distracted again.

“None that I shall teach you, Haur Berezia Basque,” murmured the Necromancer. “Perhaps inquire with your other teachers, they may find you some patience and then some talent to accompany it.”

Boon ignored the scholar and ran out into the sun. She laughed at the crunch of her bared feet upon the crisp whiteness. Within mere moments she had already left the Academy behind. The roar of the grumpy groundskeeper a memory heard oft enough that it penetrated this dreamscape. Here Boon found her happy place, the trees tall like giants and the dark the natural dark loved by the hunted and hunter alike. The wisp was gone but the sound of the rangers could just be overheard if Boon held her breath and ignored the thump of her heart.

“Good day, little one!” called the Head Ranger with a chortle. “Up early or naught yet gone to bed?”

“In bed, dreaming…” Boon explained. “Experiments and such…”

“Right, make sure you listen to Master Kite,” Head Ranger added with a smile.

Then he was gone, vanished into the dark as quick as he had appeared.

‘Oh to be a true Ranger, not just an honorary one,’ longed Boon with a genuinely heartfelt sigh.

“Forget your emotional state, Haur Berezia Basque,” urged Master Kite, the wisp appearing from one giant’s shadowy hollow. “Focus upon the wisp, remember, recall…”

“As you wish, Master Kite,” promised the gnome.

Absentmindedly Boon popped the top of her bone apple and her index finger and thumb pecked like a little bird at the contents held within. A bit of dried apple soaked in sticky honey and crusted with ground nuts appeared and was shoved eagerly, messily, joyously into Boon’s pretty maw.

“Haur Berezia Basque!” commanded the necromancer as he might have a ghoulish servant.

“What?” asked Boon. “Even in slumber I hunger and snack.”

The wisp sighed, but said no more for that moment. Playful it flew about the forest’s darkness seeking creatures to scare but finding none.

Sitting upon the softest undergrowth Boon waited and waited, the wisp drawing closer. So too did the snow flakes, penetrating the thick pine giants to glide down and fill one by one Boon’s welcoming lap.

“You are chosen, Haur Berezia Basque,” came the voice of the necromancer. “Act as such.”

This time it was Boon’s turn to sigh.

“I am trying, master,” the gnome implored, asking for a moment to try and focus.

“Haur Berezia Basque it is impossible to work with you, you may as well wake up.”

At the words from the necromancer, Master Kite, Boon found the forest dark, the willow-the-wisp, the sun and snow all vanished to be replaced by the cocoon of warmth that was bed. The dust of the sandman caked gnomish eyes. With a slow, sloth-like stretch Boon untangled herself from the dream made mess and very cautiously checked outside. It was late morning or early afternoon, too late for brunch yet not quite lunchtime. The sun did shine but the Academy’s grounds were littered with an Autumn’s rainbow of fig and oak leaves. To Boon’s disappointment there was no dream snow. She dressed for a cooler day and slowly made her way out the dorm. Although the sun was halfway or more across the sky Boon knew it was to prove a difficult day. The last command of Master Theo Kite still echoed in Boon’s mind.

‘Haur Berezia Basque, report to my study immediately upon your awakening,’ had been Theo’s words. ‘We have little been discovered thus far yet still we have much to discuss.’

The wisp flew up from around the bone apple.

“He wishes to discuss you,” Boon muttered to the sprite. “Master Kite never was one to let a mystery remain a mystery.”

Boon hurried away from her soft bedroll toward the tall, foreboding tower that heralded the school of Necromancy at the Academy. Before her there promised to be a long stint with Theo Kite. In her wake the cry of the grounds man.

“For the love of the Academy please, Boon!! Keep off me grass!!”