The morning sun has long since passed, its light swallowed by the blackening sky. I feel the chill breeze as it snakes through the mountain passes to my right. The gathering clouds signal a storm chasing its way across the upper reaches of the Dream Valley.
Such a sight I recall from years ago, my first visit upon the heights of High Song Pass. The memory still stirs my soul as for the first time, I put behind me the mundane farmer's fields of the Middle Valley of the Chrystum. Before me lay the valley that truly holds the beauty of my lands; the Dream Valley. I stood that day on the precipice that began my journey of self-discovery. The endless lands of summer that day took hold of my heart and pierced my soul. Had I not discovered the scenic beauty that day, I would likely not walk the paths before me now.
The wilderness to my left, though scenic holds not the untouched timelessness of the Dream Valley, a land held near sacred in the lore of my peoples. It is the last vestige of what we were, of what it means to be Sheima. My first night, my own dreams touched the lore of that landscape as its world unfolded to me in my sleep; truly a dreamland.
I take in the peaks before me and may only imagine their views into that valley. Though beauty is fleeting, none could hold the mesmerizing quality of the lands below High Song Pass. It shall ever be emblazoned in my memories.
The wind whips down upon me through a cleft between the mountains and I pull my cloak up tight about me. I feel the first drops of the coming rains. I now wish for one more day in my friend's cottage. It is not to be. I must look ahead; only ahead.