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Fiona had just received another rambling note from Dory, and was feeling rather bemused and perplexed.

Dory’s notes seemed to make less and less sense. The worst thing was that lately Quintin and Yann appeared to be following her lead. Of course she could be mistaken, the difference in language could be confusing things .. and there was all the merging they had been doing lately which meant they usually spoke in riddles. Fiona spoke very little French, just a few handy phrases such as “hello” and “butt”.

But as for Dory …

Fiona was a kindhearted person and tolerant of others. But these tales Dory was spinning appeared to be increasingly bizarre and nonsensical. Endless beginnings which never seemed to lead anywhere.

Am I being too rational? Fiona wondered, always humbly willing to accept her own shortcomings, or “dark corners” as Quintin liked to describe them.

One day, after a particularly outrageous note from Dory about an orgy in her kitchen with 57 Italians she had to cook for, Fiona felt compelled to gently and tactfully question Dory.

You are just out for revenge, Dory had hissed at her. It’s just a dream, I think … hmmmmm or am I a dream … or is it all a dream ….. I will go and ask Archie! and off she had dashed in a flurry of colourful shawls.

Bugger this, thought Fiona. Revenge had been the last thing on her sweet natured mind. With no more housework left to complete, she decided to go for a walk to the nearby cafe to take her mind from all this madness.

Arona eventually woke from her sleep, still tangled in the images from her dreams. Unable to remember these images she was left feeling as though she were adrift in a boat on the ocean, not caring where the wind and waves may take her.

She had no feeling that morning. It was as though a door had closed in her mind, shutting out the part that could feel. She did not know, nor care, whether she was shutting out joy or sorrow, only that some part of her wanted to be alone.

She remembered the words of the older woman who had sat with her and soothed her to sleep. Or was she already asleep? Was the woman a dream?

Use your magic, she had said.

When she was young, in the Village, magic had come easily to Arona. When did it end?. She screwed up her eyes trying to concentrate. It hadn’t ended all at once. Did it start to end with the cloak her parents had given her?

Arona shook her head briskly and thoughts, like leaves in the wind, lifted and fell back to earth again in new formations.

The candle still burned brightly and her attention was drawn to the heavy wooden door, knowing she could not put it off any longer. In her bag of treasures was a key. It had been given to her at the beginning of her 21 ^st year, as was custom in the Village. It was no surprise to her that it fitted the lock perfectly.

Thank you for having me room, she said as she left.

No, thank YOU, replied the sleepy glukenitch.

The door led directly into another space, larger, brighter. She could sense someone there, but not in solid form. It was a beautiful woman who Arona felt an immediate affinity with, and then a strange sadness came unbidden.

Why sad?

I have no clue answered Arona briskly, quickly shutting the door back on these pesky emotions.

You always know, just feel it

So Arona closed her eyes tightly and allowed herself to feel the answer.

Because you know who you are, and it made me realise I have no idea who I am.

Mmmmmmm, said the woman, maybe you would care to look at my new paintings. Actually they are some of yours.

Intrigued, Arona felt this would be a suitable distraction and she looked with much interest.

The first painting was of a child, in a beautiful meadow of flowers. The child appeared to be completely absorbed, concentrating on a small blue butterfly which had lighted on her finger.
The picture itself moved and changed shape as though it were a portal to another living, breathing world. In the corner of the picture were some other children who seemed to be playing happily together.

Arona, who had felt immediately connected with the young child frowned.

Doesn’t the little girl feel left out?

Go in, said the woman, Go inside the picture and feel the answer.

Oh, and you might want to leave your cloak behind.

So Arona did, and she became the child, but also stayed herself, observing the scene. She felt the child’s happy fascination in her connection with the butterfly. Not just the butterfly. She could feel her connected with the earth, and the gentle breezes and the beautiful flowers … The child was deeply contented, absorbed in the moment, moving happily with the flow of her interest.
I remember feeling like that, thought Arona, before the magic went.
She gently drew the child’s attention to the other children and felt the flow of energy between them. The child was so sure of who she was and where she wanted to be, and Arona could feel the loving acceptance of her playmates.
As the child’s attention went to the others, one of the children looked up and came running over. They sat together and laughed at some funny rabbits which had appeared in the meadow.

Arona returned to the cave.

You look troubled

Well, Arona felt a little perplexed. It’s all very well playing with butterflies and rabbits in a meadow, but it is not terribly practical.

On the contrary, perhaps it is very practical. Would you like to see another of your paintings?

Suspended gracefully between two posts was a beautiful, glistening spider web. Little drops of rain hung like jewels on a chain. An enormous spider waited patiently in the shadows. As Arona watched a small insect happened at that moment to be caught, and the spider began to creep along the delicate lines.

Arona shuddered a little. I might not jump into that one .

The woman laughed, Use your magic Arona. Weave your magic web and let it all come to you.

Oh you are the second person to tell me to use my magic. An old lady came to me in my dreams, I think.

Well I gave her the same advice, years ago.

More damn riddles, Arona thought to herself, and the woman laughed.

One final painting of yours I would like to show you. It is beautiful is it not?

Arona stared mesmerised for a moment, and then leapt right in.

She sat among an audience, captivated by the dancers on the stage ahead. Beautiful music played and it reminded Arona of the music she had heard earlier. The dancers leapt and twirled and Arona was enraptured.

Dance Arona, she heard the woman’s voice

I can’t dance like that, I’m not good enough.

It doesn’t matter

And Arona could not hold back any longer and entered the body of one of the dancers. She did not know the dance so she made up her own steps, and strangely this seemed to fit perfectly with the other dancers.

Back in the cave the woman seemed to be listening to something Arona did not think she could hear.

Things are shifting she said

Oh lordy, are they said Arona, What should I do now?

Feel the answer

Arona felt. I am very hungry, eggceptionally so.

That morning Fiona’s boyfriend asked her to marry him. He even had a date in mind. Over the weekend she had told him how she was feeling. She thought she had spoken plainly enough and he had gone away. She had a bad weekend but yesterday felt she was starting to be more herself again. So it came as a surprise, and she had to explain again.

And then she went to bed, and pulled the covers over her head, and let the sound of the rain falling outside soothe her.

She had a funny dream. She was in a courtroom seated on a little wooden chair, wearing a beautiful dress made of exquisite lace. In her arms she held a baby. She had dreamed of the baby before, but in the previous dream she had felt only repulsion for the funny little thing with its exhausted tiny body, and extra long hair. This time she was holding it protectively.

On one side of the courtroom were a group of people looking very serious and professional. She felt them to be mainly doctors and lawyers and they wore dark suits. On the other there were people chanting and waving placards. Some were meditating, others were dancing and they looked like crazy hippy people.

The two groups of people were fighting over something, shouting backwards and forwards, and it seemed to be something to do with her. She was getting more and more tense as she sat on the little chair with her head down and listened to the two sides, till it seemed she might explode.

Suddenly she looked up and she saw a funny Chinese gentleman, smiling and winking at her. He held out his hand to her and, holding the baby gently with one arm, she took it gratefully and they escaped from the bedlam.

When Fiona eventually decided she could emerge from beneath the covers the rain had stopped.

Bugger this! she said

She put on music loudly and danced around the house doing the housework…..

Sanso was used to travelling alone. He’d been exploring this cave on his own for several years now, and it suited him, on the whole. No need to confer, or compromise, or rush to keep up, or slow down to let others catch up. He could follow his own impulses without hindrance. He did meet others on his travels, but only at the cave entrances, or rather, the times and places that the cave entrances revealed. He never felt an urge to settle though at any of these places, always compelled to return to the caves mysterious and ever changing labyrinthine tunnels.

The disembodied voices and coloured wispies were always with him in the tunnels. Sometimes one would be louder than another for awhile, then another would assume prominence. The bleakest coldest times were when he wasn’t noticing them; that’s when he found himself going round and round in circles, lost in the maze.

The electric blue wispy had been around alot lately, comforting him with little explosions of pinprick blue lights, and a golden mustard yellow one. English, not French mustard, he reminded himself, although he didn’t think it mattered and wondered why he’d thought it.

Sanso had been almost crawling for some time in a particuarly cramped and difficult tunnel; bent double for most of the time, his back was aching and he longed to stretch out. The thought of going back, retracing his steps, was unbearable, so he continued, and tried not to be discouraged.
‘Find something to appreciate, Appreciation is the key’ the voice of the blue wispy sounded amused, but in a kindly and endearing sort of way. Harumph, muttered Sanso, easy to say! It would help if there was something to appreciate!

Just then Sanso heard another voice, muttering something over and over again. ‘… dragon egg dragon… egg dog egg … dragon dog egg…’ What the heck was that all about?

Moving along the wet and mossy tunnels was not as easy as he had first thought. The way the power of the dragon worked was not just like creating new tunnels and filling the old ones… he was just recreating the whole cave keeping some stuffs he liked and rearranging others. He’d been keeping the sandy rookery for Malvina all along as she had convinced him to do so. But was it only for Leörnm, the eggs would have been lost with all these reconfigurations.

“It is not a matter of importance to a dragon”, he said to Malvina once.

“That’s why you’re here for, I’ve created you to keep some of them and allow them to hatch.”

Since his arrival in the cave, Írtak was fascinated with all these galleries… he had the dim impression that it was not only the expression of the dragon fantasy but was expressing much more of his being… He’d been busy trying to find any sense but nothing yet.

An unusual noise.

He stopped and listen to the sounds of the cave… there was clearly a human voice, swearing it seemed, and quite grumpy… who could that be?

Arona was lost. She had been lost for quite some time now and had got over the initial surprise this realisation had given her. It was not very often now that she questioned her decision to leave the others. She had tired of their endless journeying, always in circles, always moving and yet never seeming to move beyond the confines of the small village.

One day she told them she was leaving. She wasn’t even sure if they heard her but still she set off, wearing her heavy black cape and carrying a small bag of her most treasured possessions.

Arona had not been sure of the cape, it was so heavy, yet she feared the cold nights and loved the security of it’s warmth. It had been a gift from her parents, a long time ago, when she was just a child. Wear this cape and one day it will bring you happiness, her mother had said.

Her mother said many odd things and had left on a journey of her own a many years ago, so Arona had never really been able to find out what she meant. Magically the cape had grown with her body, moulding itself to her.

The worst of the winter cold was over now and Arona found the cape almost unbearably heavy at times, yet she could not quite bring herself to leave it behind. Sometimes she would take it off, relishing in the lightness and feeling the warmth of the sun on her body. She always put it back on though, just in case she needed it one day.

Arona pulled out a well worn map from her bag. The map had been a gift from a travelling wizard who visited the village a few years ago. Arona had given him food and shelter and he repaid her kindness with the map. He seemed to think it was quite generous of him and Arona had thanked him politely. To be honest it was not really much use to her as she had no sense of direction, not even knowing which way north was, and not knowing where she was going anyway. She preferred just to follow whichever way seemed lightest at the time. But it was handy having the map because when she met others on the journey who asked her where she was going, she would wave her map at them. It made her look good, she thought, and saved her from too many questions.

That day as she sat on a rock pretending to ponder her map she became aware of a faint sound of music in the distance. She had not heard music for such a long time. Once on her journey she had passed a wandering minstrel and begged him to play for her so that she could dance. In exchange she had lent him her cloak for a while to keep him warm.

She felt the music beckoning her.

Fiona loved Quintin’s drawings. They had a feel of magic and lightness and she was entranced by them. They were like the children’s films she had been watching lately, with many layers to them and touching something inside her mind, a distant memory which felt strangely close.

Her own drawings felt heavy to her, and she had made a decision not to paint again unless she felt inspired. She did not really understand inspiration, only knew that she was tired of trying so hard.