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Dreams to Reality - Gameldar Zidhadel

Have you ever had that feeling like you were called to something? After looking at every angle I would have to say that this is what it is. A calling. It began as dreams. One night, not any different from any other, I went to sleep, but it was not a restful sleep but more as if I had been up half the night, lost in thought or wandering around the woods. But I know I slept for the dream.

In my dream an enourmous, yet beautiful, black furred wolf with silver-grey highlights and a pure white nose, appeared as if from no where and stood there staring at me with careful and knowing eyes. Its gaze was calculating, examining my every move and every step and every thought. But all it did was watch, and track my every step.

Night after night the wolf kept haunting my dreams, ever watching with its penetrating gaze, but never acting nor speaking, although surely it could for it was such a beast, not the common forest wolf, driving by fear, famine and ferocity. No, it was an intelligent and calculating beast, although I hesitate to use the word beast, because it somehow undermines its splendor.

Such a pattern continued for many a night, and I found myself getting wearier and wearier, as if I had not slept at all, but knew only the slumber of the watchman, with an eye and an ear cocked to all the night noises. Other strange things occurred, such as I would wake to find my boots caked in mud, when I had neither been near mud nor lent them to any fellow. Tired of the watching eyes I tried to communicate but found my mouth voiceless and my pleads and shouts deaf. Perhaps my sanity was going, too much bloodshed, and combat, too much stress and tension, but try sleeping or waking, or special miracles of the clerics, nothing could cure my dreams nor my restlessness. I could feel something was happening, but I could not pick what. Did my teeth seem larger, and my stubble grow quicker? Did my eyes see more carefully, or my step be lighter? I could not tell but slowly, ever slowly this feeling grew in my bosom of a pending change, of a sudden fall, of a sudden... there is no word for it. It is not gloom, or terror, it is not fear or loathing, it cannot be described save that it is waiting, ever waiting to happen.

One night, as suddenly and suprising as that first night, the wolf spoke. It was not the voice of one experimenting with voice for the first time, but the sage words of one with knowledge and wisdom beyond comprehension, that had also known how to speak, but had bided their time to the appropriate moment. The words spoken were simple, although their meaning would knock a mountain off its feet, and send it running into the sea. The wolf stated "You are the chosen". Then it disappeared, leaving no time for response or repose. I awoke with these words on my lips and the question in my mind. What did the wolf mean? By whom or what was I chosen? How do I fulfil the role of the chosen?

And more perturbing were the nights to follow. When one has lived with noise all ones life the silence can be deafening. Such it was for me, I slept uneasily, as the wolf was no longer my companion in my sleeping hours. I was alone with the blackness and unconciousness of sleep. Was reality regaining control of my life, as the madness slipped away? Or was it more the cruel trick of some evil deity to draw me further in the grips of insanity? Either, or none at all. I could bring forth no explanation as I stumbled through the days where the sun was too bright and the shadows being my friend. Still the pending... feeling loomed in my soul rendering my somewhat useless with anticipation, as a dog salivates before a meal. When could I know the truth? When would I be the "chosen"? When would the wolf return to answer all my questions?

I was beginning to give up all hope, and slide fully back into reality, when the wolf once again penetrated my dreams. It came silently, and did not speak but presented, and then placed, a silver torc around my neck. A torc made of purer silver than any I have seen before, with the head of a wolf at either end with eyes burning red with rubies. That it was a symbol, and perhaps a source, of power, I have no doubt. It was placed around my neck, never to be removed, until my neck grows cold with the onset of death. Once presented, the wolf left my subconcious reality. But when I woke, the questions of reality were sorely tested, for around my neck I wore a silver wolf torc, the one I was presented with by the wolf, and no replica, I am sure. I dare not remove it, for it was placed such that only as a setting metal holding its final form would it fit my neck and my neck only, nor could I hope to remove the enchantment that it brings. The pending feeling was gone, and only my puzzlement and questions remained, as I longed to dialogue with this beast and know the meaning of his words, of this torc, of his world, and of the knowledge behind his eyes.

I have slept normally since that night, although once my dreams have been interrupted, but now I know that they are not dreams, but of reality, with a segway between the two that is so indistinguishable that it leaves one believing the dream, rather than the reality. In this one 'dream', the great wolf came before me again, presenting me with a cloak made of wolf skin, the present of a dying councilor, a great wolf councilor. And with it came the answer to my questions and doubts. I have been chosen as the defender and protector of the wolves, and charged to defend with my life any of their kind and any they want defended. For my blood is mingled with theirs in some lore lost in history, and as an ancient's decendent I was chosen to defend and protect their race. It is something I cannot, and will not question, but will undertake with vigilence, and dedication. My blood speaks for me, and my heart knows the truth. I am a councillor, Zidhadel - the upright one - and I will serve my kingdom and my blood.

Gameldar Zidhadel.

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