Stranded, on a lonely mountain, a writer emerges from the darkness...

Where the heck have I been all your lives? Well, that's simple. I have been locked away on a retreat of sorts, in an amazing cabin built on top of an old mountain, surrounded by trees and the sounds of a trickling stream and a crackling fireplace. The writing possibilities and inspirations in that place were simply endless. There is something about nature that just puts me right back to the pencil and paper. I honestly ended up scribbling down so many notes on things to do later that I am probably set for life. Or part of my life. Or at least a book or two. Depending on how long I live, how fast I get everything down in a way that people will actually understand, (I'm not kidding when I say that one of my notes is literally "The chicken jumped from my book onto hers when we were reading by the fire. That's how it travels. Elaborate.") and how long it takes to get anything put out into the world, you might actually get to see some stuff. Actually, I lie. You can see some stuff right now. While tossing and turning in a very comfortable bed that should have put me right to sleep, an idea came to me for a fanfic that was based off of Narnia and also a little girl who once asked, "If God only kills the bad people, why did all the horses die in the war too? Were they bad?" I mean, that just breaks your heart, doesn't it? Horses being evil? Oh, you were probably thinking about the little girl. Sorry. So I threw down some notes that became a very short little fanfic about belief, friendship, and accepting that sometimes we just don't understand why things happen the way they do and, just like in dreams, sometimes not understanding is totally okay. I ended up using the recent Prince Caspian movie as my timetable because in that movie Aslan wipes out the bad guys with a river critter in just about the same way the elf woman (I'm allergic to elves, I don't know her name) does to the black wraith people in Lord of the Rings. Also, you will find out who I am if ever you read a book with a joke about every kayaking family owning exactly one orange and one blue kayak, because there was an event going on where we were and I swear we passed a row of cars driving up the mountain with exactly one orange and one blue kayak. It was like a cult. As if the whole kayak thing isn't a cult of its own, right? I don't mean to bash, I am simply baffled. Why would any human want to go hurling down the side of a mountain in white water among all those sharp rocks and uprooted trees? Someone educate me on rafting and elves. Not to worry, I refuse to be offended by a proper education.

The Dream

What you see in this post belongs to me. I wrote it, not anyone else. Livejournal has the right to use it because if they didn't you wouldn't be able to read this here, but these words are mine and I own them. Thieves will be hunted down and have fingers pointed angrily in their direction. I don't own Narnia, or Aslan, or the little girl that is in this story. The girl is real, and depending on what you believe, Narnia and Aslan may or may not be, but that's neither here nor there. I love Narnia and Aslan and I only wish to honor that fandom by using it (in my own roundabout way) in this short reflection. If anyone legally objects to my referencing the DVD or writing something about a happy lion who is wise and chats with a girl, then you should look at the Magicians book series and see how much you can really rip off a story. Honestly though, love was all that was on my mind when writing this, not theft of location or character. Enjoy.

The Dream A fanfic of sorts based off Aslan from Narnia Giving little regard for anything around her, a girl came crashing through the wood. She flew through patches of sunlight and shadow to her unknown destination, brushing past limbs and swishing through bunches of deeply green leaves. He was out there, she was certain of it, and whatever it was that pulled her to wherever she was going shouted at her to move faster still. It was difficult to tell her age, though a guess aimed in the years before her teens would probably be accurate. Her golden hair was extremely long, and it flew in her wake as if the strands had become one long train of silken fabric. But the girl gave little thought to how graceful or clumsy she looked as she went first in one direction, then spun on her heel to continue on another, seemingly random path, all she knew was the invisible pull to Him and the joy that would fill her on His return. Flashes of color filled her vision as she tore through the greens and browns of the forest, feeling the soft, rich earth under the soles of her shoes and smelling the freshness of the world drenched with a recent rain. The strobe sensation of sun and shade ceased with stunning abruptness as the trees gave way to the vision she was so eagerly seeking. In a small clearing, was the gentle gaze she had been racing to find, but in the blink of an eye, the image was gone, as if it had been made of only the leaves and branches around her. Undeterred by the change in her vision, she returned to her fast-paced charge under the trees. The warm and loving soul she sought was there still, the face in the trees was only the sign that she was following the path that He intended for her. Twice more she found the softness of his gaze. And twice more she realized it was made by the brown shades of the world around her. After an immeasurable time had passed, the trees began to thin and gradually, like the blending colors of a rainbow, gave way entirely to a seemingly endless field, stretching as far as her eyes could see. The tall grass swayed like the waves of an ocean and one could easily imagine that all of her running had brought her to His country. It was here that she found him, not as a mirage or a guidepost, but the real and true lion, stretched out in the sun, tail twitching lazily, deep eyes smiling at her arrival. Crossing the distance between them, the girl flung her arms wide as she rushed to wrap herself around his thick neck and bury herself in his soft mane. The sound of his rumbling chuckle filled the air and rattled her heaving chest, then grew still and the whole world seemed to grow silent without it. When she finally pulled away, the first words out of her mouth weren't of greeting or relief over seeing him, but were spoken with the frown of concern. “Why the horses?” A gentle breath released from him as he moved to sit, regarding her from a more serious position, as this was a most serious topic. “It was the time for change. It was their time. It is the price everyone pays for freedom in any land.” “But how many of them really knew what they were giving their lives for?” “Sacrifices come at a price. That is why they are called sacrifices.” She sighed, accepting that no question would change what had happened and that no words would bring back the innocents that were lost. “The good of the many,” she recited to herself, only to be given a silent nod in answer. “How old are you now, wherever you are in your own time?” asked the girl. The deep, rumbling chuckle came again. “Why does it matter?” “Because time seems funny now,” she answered, glancing down at the young, lightly tanned skin of her hands as if they held the answers to all of time and space. “I feel as if years have changed us, but I don't know why.” “Most who come to this place age on while they are here,” explained her friend. “Some live entire lifetimes before returning to their own land. Those ways, for you, work backward. While others come here to grow, you come to remain as you were.” The words rolled around in her mind as she tried to make sense of them, but she could find no answer or question that could ever follow what she had heard, in the end, she remained silent and still, soaking up the warmth of the light and the cool of the breeze and the essence of simply being here, with Him by her side. The stillness remained between them for a while, one as comfortable and natural as being snuggled down in a favorite blanket on a cold, snowy day. As the sun shone on their friendship, the girl grew weary and rested her head on the soft, golden shoulder, its rise gentle rise and fall settling her into a deep and peaceful slumber. When next she opened her eyes, the main menu of a Prince Caspian DVD was playing on the television. Realizing she had drifted off, an old woman lifted her head from the arm of her sofa and reached to take the remote in her hand. Her wrinkled, aged joints creaked as her body stretched and her fingers held the tremor of age as they pressed the button that would bring silence to her small room. Realizing she had fallen asleep, either here or in some other world, or maybe even in both places, the woman who had once been a girl smiled. “I have missed you,” she said to no one in particular, for the room was empty of any other physical being. As if in answer, the rumble of a truck could be heard outside, beyond her walls, making its way to somewhere else in this world that had forgotten all of what could be and replaced that knowledge with what they believed simply was. But the woman knew better, and she added a laugh of her own to what no one else heard; the chuckle of a lion who went by many names in many worlds, one that she had always called friend.

If you don't know how this one came about, you should read one post back, where I am talking about spending time up on top of a mountain with crazy, superstitious kayakers. If you don't want to go back that far, you are lazy. But I will fill you in anyway because I enable laziness that way, since it's good for business. A girl I know once asked why God killed horses in the civil war and in Prince Caspian Aslan wipes out part of an army, including the horses. While on my retreat in the mountains, listening to the the stream that ran past where we were staying, I was reminded of that girl and her question and just happened to link that to the scene in Prince Caspian. While I never mention names, the lion is intended to be Aslan and the girl is intended to be that girl that I know. I never do tell you if this takes place in Narnia or in a dream, and I never will. That's what faith and belief are for.

Temba, at rest.

Last entry of the night. I promise. What do we all think about Star Trek Discovery? I guess I really don't need to ask, because I already know I will get three kinds of answers. I love it. I hate it. I'll wait and see. Oh wait, there's a fourth one. Why is CBS making us pay for this? I have plenty of opinions, but I will keep my mouth shut for now. Engage me and we'll talk more. See what I did there?