A place for dreams.

The Hunter and the Hunt.  The wind rolls down the mountain and stirs the ancient trees of the forest, gracefully moving through the leaves in unseen patterns. It dips and rises, carrying with it a multitude of scents. Moving about, almost with a purpose, it reaches a point and descends once more. Down it goes towards a figure barely visible in the underbrush. The wind swirls around him and dissipates - all is still.   The hunter takes note of the oddity that has just occurred but does not allow this to distract him as he sees his prey in the distance. Stalking silently through the forest floor, he edges closer to the animal. He comes upon it in a sunlit clearing. A great stag standing tall and proud, horns expanding out elegantly. Knocking an arrow the hunter sights the creature.  Breathing in, he pulls back the drawstring. The stag’s ears twitch, the hunter releases the arrow, a wolf howls, the stag bolts, the arrow misses. Shaking his head in frustration ...

The Darkness returns. The wooden stairs creaked as we tiptoed across them. Towards the attic, we ventured; a somewhat frightful expectation swam around us. Motes of dust drifted around the room, illuminated by shafts of light peeking through the dilapidated ceiling. This was the first time we had been here, our nervousness overcome by curiosity. To our surprise, the room was a myriad of oddities. From an assortment of jewels and keys to a collection of animal bones and paintings. I glimpsed my reflection on a mirror that hung against a wall - I was young (seven or eight years of age); of course, I did not pay any attention to this. As my friend and I scanned the room, the dust split and a man appeared. He was garbed in grey robes with a silver blade set into his hand. I stood transfixed by his Cheshire smile as he rushed for me. The dagger made contact with the air as my friend tackled me out of the way. Snarling spitting rage, almost beast-like, escaped his lips. He grabbed ...