[quote=absimiliard]Agonizingly, desperately, the Curious Captain pulls themselves to their feet. With the night’s passage most of them has become flesh once more, only some of their chest remains blood-stained snow. Where flesh has returned it has returned changed – now burnished to deeply-tanned bronze by the Sunlight. The Tiger slowly rises to follow their friend.
Terribly slowly, excruciatingly, the two climb up from dark coolness into the sweltering heat of the temple. Long ago there was Harmony and Order here, now there are stone-colored ancient trees growing up amidst ruined walls.
The pair stop, unable to proceed in what was once a walled garden. The Captain collapses, back against a wall, "We’ll never make it past the lilies and the trees like this." The Tiger nods, and whimpers as a leg protests action. Above them the sunlight shines shines through a tiny round window into the vegetation beyond. As the Tiger and the Captain collapse into pain-filled sleep the sunlight focuses and a small fire begins to crackle and smoke.
In time the forest outside the garden walls burns. The forest fire rages out from the temple, scorching the land as the dream the friends are in dissolved into another dream. In the garden perfumed smoke drifts – intoxicating. As the fire burns away the last of its meal, and begins to sleep itself, the Tiger wakes. As it rises, and wakes the Captain, they discover that sleep or the perfumed smoke has healed them . . . somewhat.
Still limping, the Captain swearing, they set out from the Temple into the a new jungle. "Time to find that mirror again," the Captain notes. "I’d like to try to send this letter – if I have the strength – before we attempt the lilies." As they search a last, plaintive, comment from the Captain, "Do you think she will forget me? What with her new love, Mr. G__? I could not bear to lose her.
The Tiger shakes its massive head, but is far too wise to reply, perhaps its great-grandmother Constance is wrong about ‘all muscles, no brains – if you like that sort of thing,’ after all.
On a small, damasked, table, a letter from dreams, on the back of it in the corner of the paper, a small brown smear – dried blood.
"I wish I had better news, but the past seven days have been difficult. The journey has been long, and is now grown terribly hard. Dawon and I must attempt to pass the Lilies of Gold, and their allies the Trees, but I fear our wounds may already be too great. Rest tonight should recover us enough to continue, I hope. They are the last thing between us and the Misermere.
Yesterday we found, and engaged in battle, the Oorts, one of the Fingerkings. We prevailed, and have wounded it and driven it off. I believe we saved the woman it was possessing, I wish so at least. I hope the costs shall not be proven too high. Dawon is limping and cursing, but he shall recover.
If we can not pass the Lilies I fear I may have to turn back. All the effort I went to in obtaining the finest of Mrs. Gebrandt’s nostrums has proved an ill investment. Here her bottles are nothing more than images, memories, and the one I tried did nothing to cure my wounds. I fear our progress has now slowed such that I question if we can succeed in reaching the Hanging Mountains. We shall persevere. I should not like anyone, even if just my dearest friend, to think me inconstant in achieving my goals.
I should have preferred to keep much of this from you until my return, I recall how you worried about Mr. Black, but you asked me for truth. I hope I have not chosen poorly. Please try not to worry, if not for your sake then for Mr. G__, let him see your smile – it lights your face up so, like a new day’s dawn illuminating the world – something I now know of. A grand benefit of coming here, I have, at last, seen the Sun, well, A Sun.
Your dreams of Serpents and rotting flowers worry me. It sounds as if even without mirrors you are terribly close to the Marches. I have heard it said that the eyes of a Correspondent are like mirrors, or maybe it was that Correspondence written on eyes turned them to mirrors … . blast, I can not recall it. Perhaps you can recall the reference, you are ever the more clever of the two of us, but I wonder if perhaps your eyes are the mirrors linking you to the Marches. Your dreams are terribly strong, I barely dream at all in comparison. Something to discuss on our reunion.
Much as that new dress of yours, I must see it. I’m not so certain of tiaras, but they would suit your hair so much more than mine that I should consider my judgement on them to be, shall we say, ‘less than infallible’.
I am pleased to hear of your progress in the Labyrinth. I was certain my recommendation to the Keeper would be justified in time. I can not deny that some of the prisoners are unjustly imprisoned, but it is so difficult to tell who was just guilty of offending the Duchess by hunting cats for secrets – just an example – from those who hunted them to kill them, because they were possessed. I have come to trust the judgement of Mr. Inch and the Keeper in these things.
Your most recent letter intrigues me – a knife that is both blade and mirror. I think I could desperately use such a thing here. I must look into obtaining one somehow when I return.
Be well in all things dear heart. I shall write again when next I can.[/quote]
[li]
Wow, I guess the Writing Widow won’t make an appearance… (no connection to this plot) I like this (even if I prefer Prof. Strix comics)