Sounds of hooves and rigid wheels echoed between spruce giants as a caravan trotted through the forest.
Wagons led by horses carried humans and resources alike in a migrating herd.
Most voices held low under the covers of cloth and wood. Only those outside of the wagons leaked into the ensemble of hooves smacking against the ground.
"So where are we going now?" Nott's voice poked out with his tilting head, trying desperately to grow away from an awkward silence.
Mitchel shifted, meeting Nott's eyes, a sigh escaping him. "We're heading to the next checkpoint... actually, the next checkpoint after that. The caravan will be moving for a few days."
The sound of his voice and glare of his eyes were both sharp but visibly weighed by exhaustion, hints of listlessness seeping in. "The Dread is supposed to be heading directly toward the last checkpoint and the next. But after that, we should be safe to rest for a while."
"Since Agnes is steering the horses, we should be safe to let our eyes rest for a bit..."
Mitchel's arms curled up into a knot, and his back slouched against the wagon. "Better to be well rested in the case that something comes." He added tiredly as he closed his eyes.
Reidnott didn't move, he didn't even reply to Mitchel. Instead, he sat back, staring at his smooth hands and traced the lines alone for a moment, his thoughts undressing themselves of layers to make more thoughts.
Then, in answer to a passing question, he turned to see a lofty woman next to him. There was an older, smart-looking lady. Her rough blonde hair was tied into braids and knots; beads and metal decor hung between threads. She wore a thin hide sarong over dark brown shorts and the same white tunic as everyone else.
She stood out among her peers, and many of the other caravan members with her alabaster skin, decorated in deep black tattoos, shaping images and runes in patterns that looked almost religious.
"What's the matter, Nott? You have a rather curious look on your face," The lofty woman's gentle voice broke the building silence and said with a wide smile.
A chilling cold ran down Nott's back like the northern wind, making him freeze for a second, questioning if he'd been caught eyeing her. "Oh, sorry, Thyra. I was just wondering about your tattoos, and the meaning behind some of them."
"You know it isn't polite to stare at a lady," Thyra giggled, "but if you are curious, I can indulge you."
Nott coughed and lowered his head to hide his flushing face, the realization that she had in fact seen him staring. "Y-yes... thank you."
"You can relax, Nott." She continued her giggle with a leaning head. "You're understandably curious. Especially considering your background."
Her voice remained warm and inviting. Through her tone bled the showing of decades of knowing mettle for dealing with troubled and easily distracted youths.
"In fact, I'm surprised you haven't asked up until just now. Usually, when you're not sleeping, you're wandering off exploring new things."
Nott's muscled seized in reflex of Thyra's words, holding his head hung and forcing his eyes to open in broad arches. 'My background? She can tell me about... the other me?'
The pits of his eyes filled with stirring shadows, masking his desire to hear more. Nott was completely in the dark regarding who his former self was. Any information, even fragments, would put him leaps ahead.
But his hopes to hear more were cut short by her continuation...
"They're mostly stories, but some are reminders, like these..." Thyra lifted her left sleeve a little, "...these represent my mother, father, sister, and late brother."
She pointed at images toward the top of her bicep, tattoos depicting curved bone thorns, four clear holes carved into them. One of the holes had a dot in it, marking her late brother.
Then, her right sleeve—a similar image—this time with five clear holes. "And these represent my husband and children..."
"...they're in a different caravan. Moving... to the fjords..." Her gaze trailed off to a pause, taking words with them.
Thyra's aura seemed to dampen with that. The weight of history bled through her eyes, words and emotion. Pulling down her smile to break its beautiful line. She tucked in her feet closer and gripped onto her knees like she was trying to protect herself from an invader.
For a moment, the aftermath let in awkward, solemn silence that felt like an eternity to break in and place shattered dreams on her shoulders to slouch them. Nott sat completely still, not speaking a word to respect her boundaries.
"I would go over the stories, but I don't think you'll be too interested in them." Her own voice reeled her back into reality as she shook of the weights and relaxed her body, letting the sleeve float back down. The burden seemingly fell, yet strings cast in fate still held down the ends of her cheeks.
"Mostly just history retold of the world before the dreads, something everyone knows just as well as I do."
As if to try and release the tension in the air, Nott's eyes lit up in response to Thyra's follow up, birthing bright and new shining stars behind their transparent barriers. "I'd like to hear if that's okay."
His intention was indeed to lighten the mood, but he held an ulterior motive, an honest one. Information. While these stories may be commonplace for everyone and their mother, for him it was a beautiful crop field waiting to be harvested for him.
"Alright then. But I'm not going to trace along my body if that's what you're trying to do!" For breath, she stared at him coldly, devoid of her playfully teasing attitude. Then, as quickly as it came, it left, and her face lit up with life again to match the rugged boy, laughing outward and fixing herself to face toward Nott.
"Ahhhh~" Thyra let out a harsh sigh that faded softly, her body truly relaxing as she caught herself, it was almost like she released a lifetime of stress in that one breath.
Finally, her eyes turned to one of her tattoos for a moment; on her hand were two runes making a name.
And she spoke:
"Draumheimr."
A realm of dreams. Its runes stood for "Dream" and "Realm", or "Home of Dreams" depending on where you hailed from.
This was a world where gods favored humans they liked, gifting them powers and making them something called a Dreamer.
The youths that were gifted would transcend their peers with unfound intellect and attain impossible beauty, alluring every eye that passes them. And elders would regain their youth, returning to their prime once again, some even going beyond it and changing the flow of life around them.
Dreamers had become something commonplace as time went on. Despite this, they were still somewhat scarce due to a pressing matter that continued to make their numbers dwindle.
Dreads. These were creatures born and cast from fear in the shadows, forcing humanity to steel themselves and hide their fear even in the direst of moments. These monsters wore bodies in shapes and sizes that would usually only be considered a myth.
Usually, a Dread would just represent someone's fear, but there were rule breakers. Dread's that took the form of someone's hopes. these ones were especially dangerous as they had a tendency of drawing in rather than scaring away.
No one really knew where these beasts came from other than manifesting from fear itself, but they had plagued humanity, tearing it from a prideful race with towering monoliths down to a small hand full of cities and settlements. The rest, the unlucky—outcasts—were forced into migrating caravans that were mostly unprotected by the power of dreamers.
The main cities were tranquil havens risen by the strongest dreamers that banded together, no fear dared grow into a dread unless truly harrowing.
In particular, one of the cities—the largest one... revered as the harbor of watchers and guardians. Vardholl. A city that towered both above ground and below it. Known for being religious in its underground chambers and impossibly tall spires. It's most important key note was that it was the home of the most powerful dreamers.
Vardholl was raised from the rubbles of humanity's past and became a stronghold that rippled change across the world. The image of hope itself. The symbol that people needed to realize: "It's not over yet. We can continue fighting."
And around that symbol, new cities rose, creating a circle of strongholds that stood almost like shields for the main body.
"I've yet to finish these tattoos so it ends there. A little something inside me hopes to put a new story on it, one that isn't just the dirt and trees of history. Something really special." Thyra leaned back, shifting toward Nott as if expecting a response from the curious boy.
Nott immediately picked up on this and drew out of his mind, and bowed his head in satisfaction to the information he recieved. "I see. I haven't heard that story yet, thank you."
This was beyond what he was looking for. He half thought it might just be the story of a hero fighting against some horrible evil or a god who created a world over a few nights. But he got a hard, cold reality with extras that could even be useful to him later.
'Monsters. Born from fear, feeding off of it, and some even look like a visage hope itself... That's really something else.'
"Really? That's odd considering you and your people..." Thyra's eyebrows mirrored each other in surprise at Nott's words. Why would she expect a native like herself to not know the most basic of history?
'And my people again...'
"Hey," Nott tried drawing Thyra's attention, leaning in, "what do you by my people—" His question was cut short by the caravan coming to an abrupt stop.
'Why did we stop...
"I'll go check it out."
Nott picked himself up and climbed out of the wagon to see what was happening, there he saw Agnes grinning at him.
"Hey~" She said, leaning toward him. "I'm tired, wanna learn how to steer?"
"..." Nott looked at her with a straight face, his voice flat and serious. "No, not really."
Her face dropped in disappointment, and a desperate frown grew from her dying grin. "Aw come on!!! It's easy, I swear!"
Agnes stomped her feet lightly and waved her arms around like a child having a fit, almost hitting Nott in their waves of attack.
"Fine... fine. I guess it couldn't hurt." Nott sighed and surrendered himself to Agnes. And with a prideful look of victory, she turned around and walked to the front of the wagon, climbing up carelessly.
"Uuuup! Uf—Need help princess?" Agnes gave Nott a smug look.
"That would be lovely, my dearest knight." Nott swooned, fluttering his eyelashes like a damsel peacocking, offering his hand in a dainty fashion.
Agnes ripped his arm upward with a grunt, and shifted over, gathering the reins from a tied loop and pinching them down with her thumbs. Nott slipped in next to her, with plenty of space to spare.
"For starter's hold the reins evenly to keep the horses moving straight like I am now." She said, raising her arms, the reins were in fact even, her grip was tight but left plenty of slack.
"Make sure to not pull back too hard, or the horses might back into us." Her words jumped over hurdles in a rush, clicking puzzle pieces together.
"And to steer, you can pull one arm out in the direction you want, but don't pull too hard. The further out you pull from and the harder you pull, the tighter their turn will be. See? Like this... notice how their heads turn with me?"
Her eyes filled, and stars of childhood passion poured out, revealing a hidden love for all things equestrian.
"And just like this, you can make them move. Not too hard, right?" Her voice seemed to fade in and out of Nott's attention as he assessed her body language, still catching the information and holding onto it.
The most important things were the way she held the reins, they seemed to be the most comfortable position for her, pinched by her thumb and and rested against her four fingers, easing as it stretched away from them.
And the way her elbows sat. She kept them mostly pointing out to give her fluid control over how she tugged and gripped on the straps.
Or how when she steered; her hips and waist seemed to bend a little with her steering, and her torso leaning to the same side, as if she was trying to use her body to control the horses from the caravan's seat.
Years of prospective hobbyist experience bled through the cracks in her measured motions.
"Are you even listening? I don't want you running us off the path or getting us lost." Agnes' voice sliced through Nott's trail of thought brutally, instantly making his head shoot up.
"Hm? Yeah. I got the gist of it, so can I give it a try?" Nott stretched out his arm, requesting the reins.
Her focus met with his hand, then locked with his eyes. "Look, I don't want you running us off the path or getting us lost. Can I trust you?"
"... Did you ask me because you thought I would?" Nott's face dropped deadpan, making sure her gaze was well met, and said with a flat voice. "I'm confident I can keep us safe with the caravan."
"Alright. And I guess you can't really learn without getting hands on anyway. I'll climb into the back for a bit and rest then."
Agnes seemed to relax as she pulled the wagon to a stop to hand him the reins and climbed down.
"Let me know if you need anything." She added, leaving behind the wagon, the sound of a faint click signaling that she was on board.
Reidnott as well. He let his body loosen up and his face return to its neutral position.
'Finally.' His head rocking backward for a moment, giving his thoughts a chance to stretch before occupying him.
Gathering himself, he straightened up and loosened the reins from his grip, mimicking Agnes' movements almost perfectly, even going as far as reflexively replicating her quiet kiss in the air that passed under her own recognition.
With that, the slack let on and the horses started to move, slow at first—then they got faster, their hooves trotting louder and the rattle of worn wheels picking up with the pace , melding back into a metronomic rhythm.
'I must be in school again. Too much information, too fast.
Actually, I don't even know what school is really like now that I think about it.'
The flood gate was opened. Several questions sprang into his crowded mindscape, adding to a long list of many others. Questions like:
'How come I seem to know some things, but can't scratch out anything for other things?' Or questions along the lines of: 'What exactly does Thyra know about my other self to speak so confidently about him?'
His mind even treaded further back, latching onto his first moments back. 'Where are my memories? Both my own and Reidnott's. They've just vanished and left me with a blank canvas.'
And then snapped back to the telling of Thyra's story, each syllable and vowel echoed through a vast expanse, cleansing every thought to leave only itself.
"This was a world where gods favored humans they liked, gifting them powers and making them something called a Dreamer."
'How does someone get the gods' favour?'