the heart of sand invited me to drink the fermented juice of a cactus and dance in the desert and call to the spirits until the visions came
smoky and sour and sweet then chanting and prancing and laughing and sharing stories and water with other gauze-draped celebrants under a crisp blanket of stars
floating on a sea of finely grated quartz dotted by overachieving succulent nettles
sight drifts from medya to the dry horizon to a quiz of hazy dreams looming with scarecrow poise
light disappears as the hardback succumbs to the sinkhole ... zer' can blink us to safety
the grey mist withers me like a fuzzy raisin ... half our group can cast renew
a cat of patchy shadow bares soul-stained fangs ... hornlight scatters it like smoke
i can only windowshop from a glassy arcane shield that embraces whitehearth ... magic can be dispelled
print falls from the pages into a heap of soggy letters and broken diagrams ... oh come on that's just the old language anxiety
our startled stone faces forever stare at a formerly-cursed book ... strong magic half of us would detect well before opening
emmer sykes shakes a wand at us as i race to read it all before i dissolve ... what seriously sykes isn't even alive so this can't happen
the brittle binding releases ivory leaves that flutter away in every direction ... medya can catch them
the storm washes everything away but i see a rainbow and my friends and a damp but intact book resting at my hooves
cactus juice
strong stuff
...
i think i've come down enough to get some quality sleep
i feel good about tomorrow