((Logged 2/4/2001))

Citan's Dream: Misguided Ski Slopes
On you walk down that pathway, until you find yourself high on a hillside... 
which is peculiar, since you never walked up nor down any slope. But, sure 
enough, here you stand, high above the world, with a view from white horizon to 
white horizon, once again in brightest day which reflects off the gleaming 
snows. But you can see nothing of the frozen lake... instead, all that can be 
seen is--what else--more snow! The snow stretches as far as you can see, broken 
here and there by the thick clumps of pine trees and four half-built snowman. 
One seems to only have one coal for its eye, another an empty bottle in its 
hand. Another has gold stones for its eyes instead of coal. The last is not even 
built past a vague description of its form.
[Exits:  <U>p the hill, <D>own or <W>est.]
Contents:
Primera
Khiea
Citan

He has remembered form because... because else, he may remember Nightmare. 
Because Khiea is here, and he is pleased for that. True... the location was not 
quite necessary--she was here, he was there, but the two terms were synonymous. 
He sits upon the snow, white feathers of his cloak upon the white drifts formed 
from flakes which trickle down even now. His eyes are closed. For he is 
concentrating, splitting down his mind to only the sharpest concentrations that 
forget all else and allow Khiea to maintain the rest. He has forgotten even his 
sense of self--left it behind to sit here calmly in the snow and converse with 
Khiea on quiet levels of the subconcious that he has had to discard in picking 
up that of Jesiah's. Another young girl is out there somewhere. And he has 
promised to look for her...

And is it a problem to the dream princess that Citan be focused so entirely on 
something else?  Never.  For Khiea is dreaming, and is, better yet, content 
enough to be away from Nightmare, to settle into a world of ice and snow 
instead.  And let him be focused on someone, far away and unknown to her- if it 
is so important to him, and to others that walk these dreaming lands, she can 
only smile and dream on, keeping everything in balance as she sits in the snow.  
And while it is odd to have him be distracted so.. It is all for good cause and 
reason.  So Khiea finds a tiny reason to smile, amused as yet as she is always 
by the snow, traceing designs through it with her hand.  Is it supposed to be 
cold?  She does not factor that much in.  It is merely a curiosity to deal with 
while waiting in wonder of what shall come of Hyuga's searching.

Primera does not dream often of snow.  And why would she, raised in Aquavy, 
where snow is uncommon in the generally warm reaches of the islands?  For a 
child rests in Nisan, distraught by so many upsetting thoughts, worrying of 
guilt and a meeting distressing, and finds herself asleep only by fatigue, when 
wish had failed to give her decent rest.  And she dreams, and that is strange.  
It is stranger that she dreams of snow.  It is a strange feeling, falling from 
conciousness and finding oneself in a world that seems just as real, a film that 
leaves no fatigue to plague her but gives her a world of confusion.  And weakly, 
weakly, does Primera open her eyes, and find a vastness of white to greet her, 
to find herself as another pale blue and white form among a world just as 
quietly hued, if not for the breaks of trees.  Silent and perplexed, and more 
than a little frightened, she shivers in habit, rather than meaning.   For she 
knows not how or why she is here.  And she does not dream of snow.

Ah. Here. He has... has he found her after all? The thread of Citan's 
conciousness reels back upon itself, a sensation much like the one he might have 
had when still placing divisions between wake and sleep... when one returns to 
open their eyes and find their bodies to be one with themselves again. Citan 
blinks those blurred browns, gratefully taking the threads of his mind back from 
Khiea with careful mental fingers. "Ah... thank you," he smiles, touching 
emotion carefully in gratitude that is more coherant than his voice. "I 
believe... is this Primera after all?" And a faint strength in him now from... 
pride. That such a search could have been done. That such a search could have 
been performed through such a means, and to have found what he had hoped for.

And Khiea smiles in responce, ever content to do favors.  Is it not lovely to 
get praise for what one has done?  Especially for those who think as children do 
so very often.  And it was only a little thing, to manage something important.. 
So Khiea is merely content, given something else to smile about in all of this 
grand flow of recovering from her loss before.  And.. She turns her gaze 
quizzically to the one that Citan is so proud of finding, silver eyes held in 
curiosity.  And they settle upon Primera's form a while, as she notes lightly, 
"I don't know..."  She tilts her head lightly at an angle, and notes, a bit in 
sadder observation, "She's very afraid.."

And wouldn't anyone be afraid, when thrown from Nisan to this world of snow, and 
given not even the faintest clue as to how?  As to where?  Primera does not move 
from where she has shown up, kneeling in the snow, casting a darting glance up 
between them both.  Not people she knows.  And that only makes this situation 
worse, to be somewhere odd with people just as unfamiliar.  But then she turns 
back to the landscape, confusing as it is.. And mouths but faintly, 'Where....'  
Words have uses, now and then.  She is merely too uneased to give this one 
breath.  But in this world, perhaps that is not a problem.

Let logic have its wonder, and emotion by its side. For Khiea is far better with 
the latter, and Citan... a creature of conclusions. "Please do not be afraid, 
Primera," the Guardian attempts to gentle, holding out a palm in an invitation. 
"We are friends. We have been looking for you..." And with great success, 
apparently. But the hold here is still tenuous, and Citan shifts his attention a 
fraction to turn it back upon the endless circuitry of the minds which hold this 
land together. "Please do not be afraid. This is Citan." Ah. Someone is glancing 
away from himself again. "And this is Khiea," he adds, turning his hand towards 
Khiea in a smile. "We have been worried about you... how have you been?" For a 
moment, the Guardian wonders if Khiea's side would have been better... would 
colors and butterflies be more calming than this realm of white which mirror's 
Primera's silvered hair? He... is not an expert on such things. Can you think of 
something, Khiea? "Do you like it here," he continues softly, watching Primera 
now with a gentled look in his eyes at the girl's confusion. "or would you like 
to change locations?" Springtime comes to even this mountain. Springtime... and 
the pale greens of fresh grass and newly bloomed flowers.

"This is any pretty place you would like it to be, Miss Primera..."  Is age a 
requirement for formality?  Never, from the self-proclaimed princess.  And she 
spreads her hands, in display, and allows a tiny butterfly to find itself there, 
and flutter free, a smear of pastel color on wing that would be worthy of her 
own dream.  "This is nothing.  And nothing to worry about.  So its okay, don't 
be scared..."  It is hard to talk like a peer to someone half your age.  And 
easy to sound either way- older or younger or a peer or nothing.  She smiles, as 
the butterfly takes flight.  And then, she reiterates what Citan has said, in a 
quieter, more childish wording, light and hopeful, "Are you happy?"

Primera looks between them once more, more slowly this time, wondering how they 
can so easily ask her to be calm.  She is in a field of snow, facing a girl who 
is conjuring butterflies and a man who is dressed in white and claiming to be a 
friend.  It is.. One of those moments in which she wishes, most dearly that 
Stein was here, so she could just cower behind him and have him make sense of 
this.  But this...  She does not know where she is.  Has she been kidnapped from 
the kidnapper?  But there is something about this world which seems too fluid, 
too strange to be real.  And at the same time...  She -tries- to calm, if just 
confused still, watching the butterfly take off, color among a world of white.  
And she smiles, weakly, and speaks, words ever light, always shy, "Nice to meet 
you..."  So many words!  But they could easily be spoken or thought, in this 
land of dreams, and so easy to not know which one she is doing.  It is... 
Peculiar, this place.  In a way she can not even put her finger on.  And she 
blinks, wondering at their questions...  They searched for her?  Was worried?  
She feels so.. Guilty to have so many people worry for her, when she was in a 
perfectly lovely place and was absolutely fine.  Especially when she does not 
know: "Why?"  She asks,  carefully and confused.  For why would strangers go to 
such lengths for someone who was in no trouble?  And then, she adds, as a 
distant after thought, "I'm fine..."  But emotions ring loud enough to counter 
that.  Let them be unspoken, as she does not know how far they carry.

She is far, far better than he... for there is a strength in innocence that, 
regretfully, Citan has no longer. And it is not a trait that can be falsified 
easily in any great strength--here, at least. "Thank you," he repeats to Khiea, 
this time with the sigh of relief from having her near. He... is not the best 
soul at this sort of thing. "Do not worry, Primera," he repeats, hoping that the 
assurance would help. "You are simply sleeping. Wherever you are now--where -
are- you, Primera?" he interrupts himself to wonder, bemused amidst the random 
flickers of images he had had to search through to look for this single sleeper. 
All incomprehensible for now... "But you are perfectly safe. This is a dream, 
you see... you are in no physical harm here." Unlike Khiea, Citan cannot express 
such brilliant cheer so easily. Hence why the ease of communication between 
their minds is so calming to him... subtle touches of humor here, and faint 
flickers of curiosity there. Simple things. With the force of the rest of his 
emotions locked in the world which partners this one... but that needs not be 
touched at this moment. Khiea is his heart right now. He is analysis and the 
untangling of images. "Jesiah," he offers weakly at last, uncertain entirely as 
to how to finish that phrase--the sudden flash of... what was it? Something is 
catching at him as he speaks that name.

And it is nice to be useful for something, even if it is just the ability to 
smile and think of brighter things, to explain a world of dreams in terms of 
thoughtless innocence, rather than in terms and logic.  And watch what a nice 
mood this has all put Khiea in!  For those little flickers of emotion are so 
bright in responce to the support they are given- watch her applaud and be 
amazed of the work of finding one little soul in all the dreaming world, and 
watch her in that same breath bring up a pride for being innocent enough to be 
able to talk to her.  "Its nice to meet you too, Miss Primera!  And its 
wonderful that you're fine.  It doesn't matter if we were worried if you're 
happy, right?"  And smile enough and be cheerful enough to return a little shine 
of colorful glitter to your dress, to the tiny sphere of world around you, "This 
isn't a bad place to be.  This is only a dream..."  Repetition?  It matters not.  
Throw the line between themselves if just because it is necessary to repeat.  
This is only a dream.  Is it not pretty?

"Sleeping?"  That isn't something she had considered.  With this all being just 
some peculiar dream?  With peculiar figures that she has never seen before, and 
a situation that she seems ever a bit too aware of.  Strange, to remember a 
dream, to think through it... Or perhaps this is only normal?  And she shall 
remember nothing in the morning, as always such with dreams.  Still...  It seems 
odd.  And she calms a bit at so many mentions of such- if this is a dream, then 
it makes sense to conjure butterflies, right? And for that girl to catch glitter 
and color in the snow, and for everything to hold a look of perfection and 
nothing of chill.  And if this is a dream, there is nothing to fear.  And 
Primera finally -does- relax a bit at that thought, as wary as she is...  But 
all such calm and all such rest are all for naught in the breath of a phrase.  
For that -name-...  Her eyes widen fully at the mention of that set of 
syllables, equal in meaning to /him/...  And respond in a wordlessness as loud 
as the shouted, at the emotion that sparks in responce to that.  Can a child, 
young and innocent, hate?  Bitterness and pain.  For that is the one who 
/abandoned/ her, who left her all alone for so long, who left her to worry and 
sorrow and sigh with no one to even care.  And her gaze drops so sharply at 
that, to stare between locks of her bangs at the snow.  And her hands lightly 
clench, a twitch of a gesture.  And that is nothing of notice in compare to 
those thoughts, the emotions which seem conjured by the mention of that little 
name.  Place of peace, this dream?  Never, to say such a word.

And his hands rise to cover his ears as if she had screamed the full weight of 
years of scorn without end--he is distanced, yes. He is distanced, but for one 
who had been searching through conscious and subconscious... listening to 
feather whispers in images, and glimpsing ideas that were tantillizingly just 
over the horizon. For that? The flare of emotions inside Primera is like an 
explosion to paint the skies bright crimson. "Ah... I apologize," he manages, 
lowering his hands to the snow. His focus leaps so quickly to check upon Khiea 
that he forgets to turn his head and check upon her with eyes alone. "I 
apologize," he repeats. For it all. For everything. "You are safe here... but 
why?" That last is whispered in confusion, even while part of him dives to 
search for the source of it all.

Khiea had not predicted any such emotions from this small little child, so shy 
and quiet a moment before.  Crying out, Khiea flinches, clamping her hands 
before her eyes, as if but blocking her eyes could block away that emotion.  So 
sudden, such anger!  And Khiea pauses there, frozen in that pose, and shivers a 
little, finally.  "Father...?"  And isn't that a confusing mix of emotion.  Just 
take a shard of what you know of Primera, and the meaning of the name that just 
brought such pain.. And then find reason to whimper, but a barest catch of 
sound, and note that word in question and statement both, remembering your own 
burden with that word.  And shudder and.. finally drop those hands, slowly, with 
no other word for mention Khiea does, her gaze fallen to the snow, that cheerful 
glitter lost.  And it was her fault, for being so brilliant and to edge so close 
to that child in mind to calm, only to find that it has bitterness, too.  And so 
the little princess falls to quiet, hurt a little by those thoughts.

And watch that anger wane in that moment, as the child looks up, startled to all 
the distress about, bright enough to /feel/.  And it is not her emotion, nor her 
distress, that echoes on the wind about her, catching and recoiling as if her 
thoughts had weight.  And she is confused now, if not a bit out of sorts, 
distressed by the mention and thought of that word of the person she wills not 
to call 'father'.  So she pauses, blinking those dark eyes up at them, before 
she responds, voice less warm, but now in strange wonder of this odd happening, 
"Its all right..."  Somehow, not quite.  But it is nicer to say such words.  And 
she allows her expressions to settle to nothing determinable as she drops her 
gaze back to the snow, poking at the snow beneath her in a half hearted sort of 
gesture, "'Why not' would be easier."  And that is a peculiar phrase, and a 
clarity of thought, that she responds with so shortly.  There are less reasons 
to love than to hate?  How peculiar.  Full turn around from her mindset before.  
And yet she is so -vibrant- in such thoughts...

Calm. Calm. Let it all be well... let memories not shatter this world into that 
which is but a breath beneath. Let all things be -calm- in this suffusion of 
child's minds gone wrong or trained or scarred and spurred in their youth. And, 
in a curious sense--is it hers or his--the reaction to one's parent is... 
understandable. For in searching for patterns, Citan must fall back upon what is 
provided. And between Primera and Khiea? "It is all right..." There are less 
reasons? Ah. There are... well, the Guardian cannot fault that. His only slight 
defense is the combination of the two--love and hate, right and wrong. It is 
fine. It is all fine. His mind opens up like the soft fluff of featherdown, 
scattering the snow about to rise slowly in a reversal of a storm. Let things be 
wrapped in peace--the only peace he truly knows, of distance and acceptance all 
the same, a single world of white. Citan blinks hard behind his glasses as a 
circle is cleared around the three of them, that the feathers not distract by 
blinding with their lack of color. They are in a snowglobe. And all around them, 
the world is rising... let us look at that a while. Let us look.

Calm?  Calm.  How Khiea needed that reminder, that careful warning.  Just a 
quiet note of a gesture before her, mild as it is, to encourage her to back away 
from that thought entirely.  Do not share this thought, or delve into reasons of 
what upsets this other child so much, Khiea.  Calm.  And Khiea closes her eyes, 
turning to such calmness for the need of it, abandoning those worries which 
pained her but a moment previous.  Calm.  "It is all right..."  Is it?  Let it 
be.  And mildly does Khiea open her eyes, to stare out at the world enclosed...  
And she is a little apart, now, from this dream, shied away from Primera and her 
thoughts...   Just ignore them all, and hope for better.  Let the child be as 
she is.  And look...  Look at all the world.  For there are more pleasant things 
to think about.

It is so hard for Primera to make sense of these people, to make sense of this 
world.  For none of it falls to reason.  And with a sigh, she folds her hands in 
her lap, still sitting in the snow, and wonders by those repeated words, given 
again and again in a hope that they can be a promise, or a truth, if noted 
enough.  It is all right?  Primera can find no reason to be further cross with 
these people, to all the worry they seem to have.  And she does not understand 
them.  That is all right.  For, placing aside those unpleasant emotions and 
turning to the world, she watches it in change.  And she tilts her glance, 
amused distantly but yet confused.. And merely speaks shortly, "Strange 
dream..."  Bother not with additional words, with exclaimations or particles 
that would serve as only worthless sound.  That is enough.  For if this is her 
dream, it is the strangest one she has ever been partial to.

"Thank you..." Citan relaxes himself as the world is renewed once more, the 
silence of thought blanketing the three of them and keeping the balance in 
order. He raises one hand with the palm to the ground, catching one of the tiny 
wisps of down as it rises. Closing his fingers loosely and then turning the hand 
upwards once more, Citan smiles at the tiny whisper of light within. "Do you 
like it here?" he queries mildly, opening his fingers at the lilt of the 
question. Fireflies... were they thinking of fireflies? Whatever those tiny 
lights are that lift themselves from his hand and rise with the slow grace of 
soap bubbles are, they are... calm as well. "Will you come back more often and 
stay with us, Primera?" A question innocent and pointless. A question that 
serves more than the immediete purpose. "What would you like? Where would you 
like to go?..." Soft wonderings which discount worries that might be attached to 
a less sleepy mind. This is a dream, is it not? Let wishes rule.

"This is a very lovely place to come to, now and then, if you would like..."  
Repeat his words in your wordings, Khiea, for even that can be a distraction 
from your worries.  Is there anything unique you can say to a girl you do not 
know, who worries at the strangeness that you have encouraged and adored?  
"There are other parts of here, too.  Some are very, very pretty, and full of 
flowers and butterflies and rabbits.  If you would ever wish to come back, I 
could take you there."  And Khiea finds the strength to smile once more, at such 
a prospect, to think of returning to her more cheerful dreams, and to come with 
another who might find it nice...  Even if this girl has such bright emotions.  
Even so.  That is not a problem, much, "And there are lots of friends here.  
Would you come back?"

Strange and stranger yet, and yet oddly not distressing.  It is a pity that 
Primera has become that slightest bit more wary of such open kindness in this 
recent time, for all the uneasiness she faces these odd people with.. But there 
is hope of calm there, too.  Besides their knowlege of that horrible name... 
This is not a bad place.  And they are not bad people, however strange they may 
be.  And if it is a dream.. What harm is it?  Primera considers this, while 
watching the world about, fluid and perplexing when logic is thrown to its mass, 
but... Pretty nonetheless, "Other places?"  Well, that is tempting, isn't it?  A 
prettier place, with less snow and more color... But still she seems oddly torn 
between agreeing and being wary of such people, "I don't know."  Short and 
simple her words, for a greater confusion.  And yet.. She adds mildly, after a 
pause, attention scattered as children's often are, between the world, these two 
people, and the odd questions they ask, "It's not a bad place..."  She speaks, 
it seems, in dreams more than in the waking world.  Which is easy for she who is 
prefered mute.  But who is to pin this down and proclaim that she is speaking 
words?  But..., "I don't understand."  That is her little worry here, of 
everyone and everything.  It is pretty, but odd.  And different.  And unnerving 
in that way.

"It is all right," Citan assures. And assurance always. "This is a dream... only 
that." Only that... but what -is- a dream, when it comes down to it? Reality and 
nothing but. These things are as simple as the snow which tumbles into feathers, 
which tumbles into the sky. "Perhaps you would prefer Khiea's?" he adds, a touch 
hopefully. For Khiea understands--can understand, in so many ways that he can 
only see from a clinical degree and never embody--Primera and what she might 
prefer. He... and children. Old sorrows and those new rise now, but Citan places 
a firm grip upon them and ushes them gently back away. "With rabbits... and many 
flowers, I believe," he continues, plucking at threads of ideas here and there. 
Yet in the end, he must mentally offer up helpless and empty hands to Khiea in a 
note of his own inabilty. Khiea is better than he, wiser and understanding. She 
is -far- better.

"Oh, yes, there are lots of wonderful other places here... There is.."  And 
Khiea pauses, like a child in pause to recollect her thoughts, listing through 
them all with pauses between, as if this were all but a neat and simple thing to 
explain, "There is here, and there is a desert.. And there is a place that is 
not very pretty at all and looks like the real world... But I don't know if 
you'd like any of those?  And there is my favorite place, too, of course.  And 
that's all green fields and pretty oceans and flowers.  Would you like that?"  
And there is enthusiasm there, the cheer of a child once more, addressing a 
playmate.  Would you like this game?  Or maybe that?  Watch her take these 
prompts and flourish as Citan can not in addressing this child.  For Khiea has 
no issues in addressing children, "There's a swingset there, and a full teaset.. 
And a lovely room to watch the stars!  If you'd like to come back, ever... I can 
show you that place."  And Khiea smiles, of pride and of the cheerfulness of 
thinking of her dream, the worries of fathers forgotten.  They do not exist in 
Khiea's dream, after all, "And you can be a princess, too, there!"

Primera blinks strangely at all of these strange offered images and all of these 
given comforts.. And yet she does pause to wonder merely, "Whose dream?"  For.. 
This is so unlike whatever she has ever dreamed before.  And it is odd to doubt 
that this might not be hers...  Is she not here at all?  But she -thinks- she is 
real, that she is herself...  And it is a thought quite quickly dismissed.  For 
her eyes widen lightly at Khiea's little litany of beautiful things, of games, 
fields, flowers and oceans... And princesses?  What is it about those things 
that strikes a chord in the hearts of young girls, and makes them drop their 
worries and -dream-?  "I..."  That is a broken thought.  For Primera seems 
stunned by that concept, enough to resort to wasting breath, or thoughts, or 
however she might be speaking, to spare a wonder to silly expclaimations, "-
Really-?  That.... That sounds nice.."  And she is almost surprised by her own 
words, to find so swiftly something beautiful in this world ot think about.  
Does any of this make sense?  Not in the slightest.  But for all the confusion 
and unease that has come with Primera's coming to this world, this is the first 
time she is -curious-.

"At the moment, this dream is mine," is the ever-mild reply from the man who 
kneels in snow that is feathers that is snow. "The far more beautiful realm 
belongs to Khiea... I apologize for not taking you there," he explains, running 
a hand idly through the snow around him that tickles more than chills, "but I am 
afraid that I had to work from here to find you, because of the 
concentration..." The last word dies off as he realizes just how unimportant the 
additional information is. Indeed, such references could only confuse... and 
they are all confused enough. Why not be simply pleased that the trick was 
possible? The entirety of existance does not have to be puzzled out in a single, 
frantic evening. "We might even see your dream if you wish it, Primera?" Citan 
smiles now, relaxing and letting the snow trickle through his fingers. "We can 
go wherever you wish. We will be here whenever you search for us--or at least," 
he amends, "this world will be. Which -is- us..." And would Khiea enjoy Primera 
about? A friend that could meet and laugh and play although continents may 
separate them someday? Another lovely, precious land to explore... a realization 
of a hope that was glorious in coming true. For the more Citan delved into the 
minds of sleepers, the more his faith was affirmed--all souls, all with 
beautiful and depthless worlds within. 

"Really!"  And Khiea has not been this happy since she was forgotten and left 
aside, tempted to such a brilliance of a beam by the concepts of an appreciated 
dream and a friend.  And she is so proud and so content with this, all details 
thrown aside.  Those do not matter, do they?  The finer wonders of what brought 
Primera here in such unease, or what brought out such pain in her.  Khiea can 
understand what she has seen and forget the rest.  For this is a matter of 
flowers and butterflies, and nothing of grief, "This is Mister Citan's dream 
and.. Isn't it nice?  But mine is much more colorful.  And.. You think that's 
nice?"  Chime a smile!  For this is only getting better, the more she lets her 
imagination run on this prospect, "Oh, I'd love to show you my dream, then!  We 
could play hopscotch!"  Khiea pauses to clasp her hands gleefully together, mind 
running with thoughts of games and wonderful things to show of, the miracles of 
sharing a favorite toy, "Oh.. And you must have beautiful dreams, Miss Primera!   
And we could go visit there, too!"  Ah, these dreams which -are- us.  But that 
is to be expected, so many months half stuck in a world without reality.  For 
these are people, expressed in symbol and hue, these dreams.  And so much of 
them all are beautiful.

So this place is a dream of many people?  Primera can only blink in response to 
that.  For that makes no more sense to her, in all this confusing, nonsensical 
place.  But dreams are dreams and dreams are harmless.. And to all fo Khiea's 
enthusiasm, and all so many thoughts... Primera can not help but smile.  It is 
so -easy-, in all of this beaming joy of Khiea's, to forget that someone 
mentioned an unpleasant word here, or that she fell asleep in fretful worries 
about a brother she could not decide to glare at or to worry of.  It is 
addictive, such amusement, which flies upon the air... And all too tempting to 
think of.  "I have a dream, too...?"  No, do not try to understand this place, 
and merely shake your head to it all Primera.  And laugh, quiet a noise, to all 
of that which is being thrown at you now.  Strange, this world, so full of 
emotions.  And so full of such pretty thoughts!  "I'd love to see that!"  She 
replies, finally, smiling to this offered image.  For even shortly spoken, it is 
remarkable how this goes.. For simply distracting one away from their worries in 
offer of a better thing is...  A wonderful tool, in one way, and a remarkable 
calm to another.

Where the layers and layers of the Guardian's experience fail, it is the 
innocence of Khiea that pulls things through. And how many in the waking world 
view this state as being something -lesser-? How many indeed... let that thought 
pass as the clouds might across the afternoon. "We all have dreams, Primera," is 
the response as winter turns its face away, springtime making its rare 
appearance here on the mountainside. Snow does not melt here--it only rises back 
into the sky in trails which glitter before they are gone. For it is not always 
blindingly still here, held within the crystal trappings of ice. There is the 
sun here, and renewal. "We... -are- all dreams..." is the fainter murmer, and 
Citan banishes it all with a gentle smile. "Someday, we may go to yours. If you 
wish. For now?" For now there is sunlight trickling down, and the opening of 
pale cherry blossoms along what one could have -sworn- were evergreens before. 
"There is time to enjoy things as you wish." The Guardian's robes melt away back 
into the layers of the courtly magus again--mix He and She, and there is but a 
crossing of sensibilities and kindnesses throughout. And color.