The Arc Of A Branch (Part 3)

4.Engage in reflection upon oneself – in solitude and in the company of your most haunting thoughts.

Arc tried to catch some sleep. But the wind would not allow him to. Outside, the sandstorm was almost as violent as the one inside him.

Finally, he settled for laying on the chair and staring up at the ceiling. Though he tried to push back, in the absence of any distractions, his thoughts returned to haunt him. Unwillingly, Arc found himself reliving his most important moments after moving down from the mountains. Strangely, almost all of them were with Feyn. His mind inevitably returned to that fateful night he had fed intoxicants to it. Though it had seemed quite exciting then, he had only realized his terrible mistake the next morning when he woke up to a completely different Feyn.

Overwhelming emotions assaulted Arc every time he thought of Feyn. He felt he ought to be happy when thinking about his only friend, but the memories brought only misery. In the end, when he could no longer bear it, he stood up and strode over to his backpack. There was every indication of it being a very long night and he had no intention of spending it being tortured by his waking dreams. He pulled out a handful of dried kanab leaves from the satchel and walked over to the fire. He threw them into the fire and sat back in his chair, waiting for sleep to come.

5.Begin to build a Wall.

As the kanab fumes filled the room, Arc felt himself being lulled into a deep slumber. But it was not without dreams.

He dreamed that he stood outside, in the sunny desert. He spotted a movement a little way off and began moving towards it. Coming closer, he saw that a wall, still in its preliminary stage was being built around a lush green orchard. Arc easily stepped over the low wall and into the quiet cool of the orchard. Shielded from the harsh sun, he sat down leaning against the inside of the wall. He picked a stone and began to draw on the soft damp mud. After some time, he saw that he had ended up with a large number of apparently unconnected curves. He regarded it for a moment, then rubbed it out with his palm. He stood up and walked back into the desert.

When Arc woke up, the sun had risen. The sandstorm still blew outside the door, though not as ferociously as before. He got up, stretched, and was extremely surprised to see that he was standing on a piece of cloth from the pile in the corner. He picked it up and was further shocked. On the cloth, drawn with a charred piece of wood was the exact same design that he had drawn in his dreams. He now saw, however, that the curves were not entirely unconnected and that they seemed to form some kind of pattern. He felt as if he should recognize what he was looking at, but the idea was gone before he could chase it. After a moment’s thought, he folded the drawing and stuffed it into his backpack.

The exact same thing happened the next morning as well. Waking up after another night of intoxication, Arc found at his feet an exact replica of what his dream-self had sketched on the mud. This too went into the backpack. The following week was filled with kanab induced stupors. Arc kept returning to the desert of his mind to find that the wall around his orchard had grown each time. He would then sit in the shade and sketch peacefully only to wake up and find the same curves at his feet.

Arc was mystified. But he found that it was becoming easier and easier to control his mystification.