#prettyweed
SIDE A
The hut is comfortable whenever the hearth is there, that is forever. Logfella doesn't know the time for there's no time in here, but he counts his fifth nap and twelfth stack of logs and that's enough. Ok, obviously he is surprised after all this time – the Scythian is still lost in dream-walking & her eyes flutter who knows where, beyond the wall or towards the sky. What is she up to?
She's always sitting by the fire and warming her bones oh yes, to the point that when she finally comes back her cheeks are flushing with heat and she can't keep herself on her toes. It's just a woodman cutting logs, a shepherd girl and a normal dog & yet everyone sees she's not that well-rested.
He wonders why she never gets enough of that stuff. He already thought Girl had too much of a dreamy-eye & who could guess all that super endless dream-walking wouldn't be enough for the Scythian?
She gets worse when she rests– just a few seconds, her skin is always tense with working muscles & the sweat drops are lit by the fire as she grinds her teeth in her sleep.
He can't avoid watching for long, as much as he tries not to have the heebie-jeebies & then not to fail so much at hiding it. Since her first nap his quiet woodman's life has had a new burden made of wood and worries, and oh his shoulders feel so overworked sometimes. She really should know when she wakes up. A good telling-off is due then, but not for now – now he just holds her hand & does not worry for not even the end of the world could wake her.
Logfella is not a hero & isn't super awesome as she is. Yet he has the eye of a worker who knows when you must and mustn't sleep, so he is afraid. For he sees her vanish in her dreams, a little bit more every time, & every time he prays not to see her get lost in them.
SIDE B
Her dream-walking turns into dream-running if so can be called her drifting down the airy peaks.
This had never happened before, not even when she was a little child & her dreams made the weirdest things ever. No – flying is a totally new power that must have something to do with magic. And could magic be the subtle anxiety too? For that's what captures her very often, with no meaning nor explanation.
It's once again the same dream with the same sights & events. She wanders into nowhere as usual until the Scythian appears – that's where it all changes, when mysterious powers force her to chase her silhouette while crying in fear & worry.
No matter what the Girl does or how hard she tries; her steps are too weak & short to reach for her. The dream-walker Scythian is not like the Scythian at all. She seems to slip between her wide-spread fingers, lone and untouchable in her holy aura, & although her dark hair & flesh & green garb feel as real as reality they're just too far from her grasp.
She never told the others about it. One day only she asked to hear her own thoughts from the Megatome & surprise of surprises, no trace had been left of those dreams.
The Scythian as well probably doesn't remember the tiniest bit of her presence. She lonely dream-walker remembers & stays in silence – but her head is strong & she won't give up, not until she'll find her sleeping by the hearth. When she sits & eventually gets caught in sleep nets, with the Scythian beside her busy with her eternal light snoring, the Girl feels she's ready to try, knowing that she'll once again be too slow & too late.
The Girl just loves dreaming. She has always chased a cryptic something in the moon's different faces, since the day when Caucasian wayfarers started to pass by & tell the tiny baby girlie how dreams held secrets & predicted fates.
It's the present and future she looks for every night – but today's future, the one she's worrying about, is not hers. Anyway, as hard as she tries, the Girl won't see what future could live in a silhouette so shaky & fading too fast even for a dream.
Now that I know this section even exists (wonderful!) I am posting to this account all my Sworcery fanfiction, already found on Archive of Our Own and other personal accounts.