I could see an opening in the woods ahead, from which light filtered through the canopy of the woodlands and illuminated the way. It was hard to push through the brush with no trail made by man nor beast to follow. The sights and smells of the woodlands were always so close and familiar, yet so distant and alien. The brilliant greens and earthy browns of the trees dotted with gentle violets and subtle crimson of spring flowers blooming under beams of light cutting through the woodlands. There is always a part of me yearning and pleading to stay in those lost places, distant and removed from the troubles of the world. Yet I continued to surge forward, for what else could I do?
Breaking through the last of the brush, I moved past the treeline into a verdant valley surrounded by woodland, with mountains looming over the distant north. Stumps and stray trees still dotted the land, all draining down to the valley's heart where the beginnings of a village lay, full of promise and potential. A man walked from the woods behind me and down into the valley, his back broad and arms thick and sallow, scarred from a youth spent fighting other's wars. I followed along, observing and taking in the sights and sounds of that imagined memory.
Each person he passed was greeted with a grunt and a nod, sometimes a passing handshake or an exchange of papers... I thought I heard shouting, yet when I turned I could only see the serene valley... yet quieter. Looking ahead again I saw the ox of a man spring suddenly, his steps became less burdensome; almost skipping in his own lumbering way as he knelt forward and embraced someone, her silvery hair tumbling forward over his shoulders and across his back. My heart swelled in that moment of pure joy, the silver-haired woman kissed him passionately, then made to move past, saying something imperceptible, I couldn't make out her face. As the silver-haired woman moved past, she unslung a bow and knocked an arrow, without warning the valley was filled with fire and the sounds of battle. Where was it though? The flames dimmed, and a weightless gloom-filled what was a valley, and replaced it with darkness.
It was hard to tell time, there were flickers of light lost as quickly back into the void. When at last it cleared I found myself surrounded by snow or maybe ash? A field filled with graves with only one other person present, he stood with his shoulders slumped forward; like a broken man, he knelt before a tombstone. He spoke something again, I couldn't make it out... then stood and slowly moved past; marching on toward a retreating light on the horizon, a rose at hand. I followed as lands shifted and mountains decayed, the forests burned and grew anew, men came and left yet ever forward he marched.
Duty
Yashe sat quietly, a quill in hand and a steaming tea recently set on the decrepit desk to her left. Her eyes lingered on the page for a time before she set aside the quill, and pressed her face into her palms. The dream was already fading from memory, soon she would only have what she committed to parchment to remember it by. And yet, that may have to be enough. Outside her window she heard shouting, thus she grabbed her swords and left her tea; departing to do as she was ever sworn to.