What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up

Like a raisin in the sun?

Or fester like a sore---

And then run?

Does it stink like rotten meat?

Or crust and sugar over---

Like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags

Like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

Harlem (2), by Langston Hughes

Chapter Three:

The Dream Is Deferred

Jackle stared into the flames, watching them flicker sporadically like broken wisps of veil caught up in wind. The glow reflected on his eyes, bringing out the delicate pieces of gold scattered in the green irises, striking jewels of emerald that shone expressively.

However Puffy wasn't pondering his eyes; she couldn't even see them, his back turned to her as it was. She was thinking about a more recent look he'd acquired.

He waited for her to ask, but apparently Reala had scared her into silence. The moments passed without a word between them. He began tapping his fingers.

The door creaked open, and the low, sleek form of Clawz came through. The catmaren directed his words at Puffy; Jackle, crouched low near the wall, was not immediately noticeable in the rather dim light.

"You spend too much time in here," Clawz commented, jumping on to his favorite chair. "You've been---"

He cut off when he spotted Jackle. "Jackle! Where on earth have you---"

He cut off again. In the flickering light, it looked almost as if Jackle didn't have a head.

There was a moment of silence; then Jackle spoke. His voice was low. "I was with Lord Wizeman."

Clawz felt his fur lay back flat the way it should. "My, you gave me a fright for a second. You just looked awful queer sitting there…"

He trailed off as Jackle turned to face him, eyes glinting with an angry light. "Did I?"

Clawz stared. The picture was grotesque, the floating eyes and mouth lighted by the leaping flames behind and framed with a fire-orange cloak. Jackle's pale face and messy golden locks were gone.

"What happened to you?" hissed Clawz.

Jackle blinked slowly as if he were trying to comprehend the question; for a moment his eyes seemed to almost disappear. "Lord Wizeman thought I needed…some improvements…"

Clawz's eyes narrowed, his bearing returning now he was sure Jackle was still in one piece. "You look like a freak."

Puffy started, and Jackle did as well. His eyes opened wide to stare at the catmaren, anger now replaced by a look of hurt. He did not reply.

Clawz shook his head. "You're going to take a lot of getting used to, Jackle." And with that he began grooming himself, drawing his gleaming claws through shining fur.

Jackle remained silent, his gaze returning to the fire before him, eyes slit with controlled emotion. 'I hate you, Clawz.'

Luna sighed, leaning against the chair back and closing her eyes. A cup of tea, untouched, was in her hand. She was too high-strung at the moment to enjoy tea; her search for Reala had only resulted in shrugs and comments of 'Reala? Haven't seen 'im,' and 'I saw him go that way. That was last night, though.'

Tessa was holding a cup of tea as well; hers was, however, visibly depleted. She was not as flustered. "So what do you think should be done?"

"Reala should be told, first off," replied Luna, eyes still closed. "If he can be found. I can't believe that hasn't been done already."

"Like I said, we were busy," replied Terrance from his perch on the couch.

Beside him, Tessa nodded. "Reala couldn't be found, there was another training mission we both had to oversee, Hadrian was in the Infirmary, and Dysdane---do you really expect her to have told anybody?"

"Still." Luna opened her eyes long enough to take a sip of her tea. "This is a golem we're talking about. Why none of the higher people seem to know about it, I've no clue."

"I do."

A slim-built maren placed his mug on the table before speaking. He was extremely strange in appearance; his body seemed to be all one piece of pale clay, and his head was shaped into a three-pointed floppy that was actually part of his skin. This was Apathy, another maren who had, like Dysdane and Hadrian, been made out of a single negative emotion. Apathy was aptly named; he didn't care about the fact that he was barely finished.

She rolled her head to the side to gaze at him. "You do? Tell me."

Apathy, known as Path, returned her gaze meekly, white, blank eyes without pupil or iris meeting hers. "There's a growing gap between the maren in leadership positions and those below them. I think that any news spread among the masses takes longer and longer to reach the leaders these days."

"I see." Luna's eyes closed again, a sign that she was thinking. "I've noticed that myself. It's as if the nightmaren without any ruling power are becoming more independent. That's good. We need strong fighters, not following sheep."

"So you say," replied Tessa quietly. "But too much independence could lead to trouble."

"I don't think so." Luna opened her eyes and casually began drinking her tea in earnest. "They're a good-hearted bunch, mostly."

Tessa looked down at her own tea, watching the steam rise. "That's what I'm afraid of."

'I just yelled at my brother.

'He was being obnoxious.

'But I've never actually yelled at him!

'Yes, I have.

'But I never meant it.

'So I was being insincere? Fake?

'What am I talking about? I was just letting him know how I felt!

'Why am I so confused?

'He should have accepted me---I've been perfected! He was just being petty…

'Maybe he was jealous.

'He was just jealous of my power.

'No, NiGHTS would never be jealous of my power. He's not that way.

'But then why were he and I arguing?

'I am the general of the nightmaren army now---I have no time for such petty arguments. I need to concentrate on my duty…

'What is my duty?

'I need to go find out.'

Reala turned from the silent contemplation of his reflection and left his room, feeling a bit more content now that he knew what to do. He never considered that perhaps his going to Wizeman was, in a way, only a diversion to help him settle his wounded feelings and confusion. A quick fix.

Quick fixes never work for good.

Gillwing was out looking for Jackle. The demi-maren had been gone the entire night, and he could not wait any longer. His friend was missing, so he was looking for him.

The dragon-like maren flew low over Mystic Forest, wings pumping up and down in heavy, full strokes. The tree limbs beneath him bent down as he passed, blown back by the wind he created while flying; leaves glimmered lighter and darker greens in the sun.

He snorted worriedly. He'd been searching since early morning, and he hadn't found anything. Where was Jackle?

He needed to eat, and yet he didn't want to stop searching. Eventually the pain in his stomach convinced him to turn towards Nightmare Castle, but his eyes still scanned the ground below him carefully, always watching for a bright flame of color. He never guessed that the object of his search was currently in the Great Hall staring moodily at the fireplace. And that object was just pondering his state of being lost, even though he had no clue that he was being searched for. He knew exactly where he was. He was still lost.

A person doesn't have to be in a strange place to be lost; the mind is enough of a wilderness to lose yourself in.