Writing - A Dream of Glass and Fiendlight
I had a strange dream.
I was an alchemist in a strange place, treating sore wounds and sickness in many.
Salid taught me the language of the clay peoples, and I spoke with people from every walk in every colour and of all needs.
Even a bandit who wanted treatment. I told him I'd not treat a person of violence.
But he called me a person of violence.
Said I came from a land of burning winds. I told him that was true, but I had left that life behind to come here and to die.
He challenged me to a duel.
And we fought in the market sands, as the sun fell before the three-moon night.
I slit his throat with a lapnar knife.
Thousands saw, so they dragged me to the dowager empress of glass for punishment. But she showed kindness.
She asked me to make a tincture to stop her blood quickening. And she asked so kindly.
So I did.
I should not have. For while it was what she wanted, it caused her heart great anguish.
I watched her crying, torn between duty and love, surrounded by the public.
I woke, and said aloud, "Never shall I craft the fiendlight again".
And that was my dream.
