I am the one called Wander, and ahead of me the road widens into an open square in a village of some sort. The sky is blue above my head and the moon, visible as a pale fingernail low on the horizon, is one I’m sure I’ve seen before.
When you spend your days walking a road between worlds, you learn to look for moons. The same moon doesn’t always mean the same world, but a different moon almost always means a different one.
You wouldn’t know this moon, my treasured correspondent, but you might well take it for your own at a glance, particularly when it’s washed out against the morning sky and so far from full. If you saw its face bright and round against the black, I think the differences would be more striking. It is not your moon, but it is a moon after the same model.
Ahead, there is a sound of children playing… no, not playing but singing. I can’t yet make out the words, but something about it sets my hair on end. It is not exactly mournful, but peculiarly lacking in joy. I don’t know yet why my road is bringing me here, but I know this visit will be no pleasant idyll.
When you spend your days walking a road between worlds, you learn to look for moons. The same moon doesn’t always mean the same world, but a different moon almost always means a different one.
You wouldn’t know this moon, my treasured correspondent, but you might well take it for your own at a glance, particularly when it’s washed out against the morning sky and so far from full. If you saw its face bright and round against the black, I think the differences would be more striking. It is not your moon, but it is a moon after the same model.
Ahead, there is a sound of children playing… no, not playing but singing. I can’t yet make out the words, but something about it sets my hair on end. It is not exactly mournful, but peculiarly lacking in joy. I don’t know yet why my road is bringing me here, but I know this visit will be no pleasant idyll.