A dream. Again. But this time the dream was here. In the desert. And now. Or not quite now. Eight hours hence, sixteen prior? Or possibly some days before. Some days after? The present time and season, but with the hours turned from night to early morning. Clear and bright. Chill and hopeful, before the weight and heat of the day would overwhelm it.
The same place and time (more or less), but also sharply different.
Shadows moved across the sands. Shadows without bodies to cast them. Large and small. Some solitary. Others massed.
From the mouth of his cave (in his dream), Elias looked down the hillside and over the plains beyond. And everywhere he looked, dotted shadows juddering, itching and scratching across the land.
And in the rock around the cave mouth, the same. Silent motion. Busy. Just drifting; or swirling, rushing. Frenetic as if chased, but all around, the shadows. Shadows which looked for all the world like the outlines of fish.
Yes. Shadows of fish. Moving through the sand and rocks.
petermcgladdery 