On October 27, 2021, P.T. Wyant posted a Wednesday Words prompt involving a flickering light, a dream, dried herbs.
This Tale of the Navel was the result…
Sometimes the flickering light was green, sometimes it was blue. It fluttered in his hands, pulsing in his palms, warming him.
Nothing made Leiwell feel more tender and protective than the light. Dreaming of it effected him as much as the visions of his master.
He’d awaken, breathe in the scent of dried herbs, hear Map humming under her breath through the cottage wall.
Those smells and sounds grounded him in the here and now, reassuring him. There was no need to chase after the light. No need to go looking for his master. Map was here. She needed him. Sooner or later the light and his master would both find him.
He was content to wait here in this cottage. With Map.
For now Leiwell would be content to dream. It wouldn’t last. Dreams gave way to waking reality or they drew you back in.
He would enjoy the state he was in, this flesh and blood form for as long as he could. For as long as others needed him to wear it.
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