"Any ships docked here bound for Egjora?" A man in a well-tailored black overcoat inquired from the guard outpost stationed by the harbor. "None yet so far sir. If you come back in an hour or two, we'll be sure to let you know." That was the last thing he heard from the guard approximately two hours ago, on the dot. One look at the harbor told him there had been no new arrivals at the port, and this bothered him greatly. The only way he could go to Itjivut was by stopping to change ships at the Duchy of Egjora, as few had reason to sail to the ice island directly. He could technically swim the entire length of the way, but why bother when there were ships willing to take him there? Time seemed to crawl at an unbelievably slow pace today. What could possibly be delaying new vessels from coming in? Was it pirates from Vilpamolan again? It was always pirates, wasn't it. Sodding scoundrels obstructing the flow of business. Gerard had been lucky to have run into the blasted bilge-rats three times over the course of his lifetime. How many years had it been? It was likely in the tens. He had their dimwitted foolishness to thank for throwing him overboard into the stormy seas, not knowing that he couldn't drown. They never bothered to check if he had sank, moving on to their next place to plunder. Of course he paid them back by encasing the chain connected to their anchor in ice, thereby preventing them from being able to drop it when they needed to.

With nothing to do but wait, he took out his violin from its case and idly pulled the bow across the strings. The tired, low-pitched sound from the strings perfectly expressed how he was feeling at the moment: disappointed and frustrated. As a small consolation, he began to play an old traditional folk song from the Highlands whose lyrics told the story of a man who had been lost at sea for months. The drawn-out lull of the first movement inadvertently was causing the harbor guard to fall asleep, until the man was jolted awake by the screeching second movement. Frenetic tones rising and falling, pounding and crashing like the violent tides of a skiff tossed about on the high seas were enhanced by the tension in the strings. Notes punctuated the feeling of desperation and mounting anxiety as images of that weather beaten ship came to mind. Gerard by now had completely forgotten of his impatience in waiting, and was fully absorbed in his music. His playing drew the attention of a small crowd who stopped to see what was going on. 

A new city meant new dreams. The vastness of the world never ceased to amaze the young dream-walker, no matter how familiar the scenery became. Deserts and rocky canyons were commonplace around Karkhata, thus she never tired of the sea. The sea by Adeluna was colder than Arri, and the air was drier than the humid heat of Abed. White, fluffy clouds drifted by against the pale blue sky and the cry of seabirds echoed overhead. The waters were darker here, sloshing brine against the barnacle-encrusted posts of the kingdom's pier. Every now and then, a rare piece of sea grass or a strange conical bladder-shaped weed floated on the water. She often tried to reach out to them, but they would drift further away when she ran her fingers through the seawater. The beaches here were less sandy, and more akin to cliffs. Low-lying creeping plants clung to the edges of the rocks as the tides washed over them with each passing hour. When the tides ran low, she found a plethora of curious things: strange star-shaped creatures attached to the undersides of rocks, black clams closed tight and glued to the pier, little flat disks which were hard and light that bore an asterisk pattern in the center, and spiraled shells resembling spear points.

Walking along the posts of the docks, a bewitching melody drifted on the winds. Gale looked about, until she saw a lone man all in black playing an unfamiliar instrument. It was smaller in length than a sitar, and instead of plucking at the strings he pulled a bow across them. His movements were quick, the motion as if he were sawing a plank of timber. His chin rested on the body of the stringed instrument as it rested against him. There was something about the song that drew her to him. His skill was phenomenal, and if she were to close her eyes she could imagine the white frothy waves swirling and clashing against the ships. She stood a few meters away, in wonder. When she listened to the music everything else around her seemed to disappear. As the song came to a close, she clapped loudly. "What a beautiful song! I have never heard of such music that captured the essence of the seas in a storm so well. Efendi, what is this song's name?"

Gerard opened his eyes when he heard a girl's voice ask aloud. Expecting one of the city's children, he was surprised to see her fiery-red hair and foreign attire. Back in his estate in the highlands, people with a ruddy red tinge to their hair were more commonly present than anywhere else. Her accent certainly wasn't that of a highlander, but it wasn't anything he'd heard of recently. The girl's colorful attire wasn't nearly as bombastic as Abedi fashion, but had elements of Arriese style too. It was a balanced display of symmetry and color–which he approved. It wasn't every day that he found someone who could appreciate the finer points of music, and contrary to the typical empty praise he would usually garner her compliment pleased him. Anyone and their uncle could say that they liked something because it looked or sounded nice, but he hated those kinds of compliments the most. They were empty, void of true meaning. There was no worth in saying you liked a song without any solid reasoning behind your opinion. What he wanted to know was why the people liked certain songs over others, what parts they enjoyed, and what parts they didn't. If the crowd wanted to simply show appreciation, he would rather they stick to applause and whistles.

Without further ado, he addressed the girl's questions to the letter. "This particular one is called 'Old Seamus and the Sea'. It's an adaptation of a highlander folk song that was passed down through oral tradition in areas close to the coast. The lyrics detail the story of a sailor who set sail on a sunny day only to be caught in a fierce maelstrom once he was out of sight from the shore. The second verse focuses on the man's struggle against the fickleness of nature, and how he bravely fought against the seas themselves. In the end, the man impressed the naiads below so much that they lifted his vessel up above the waves and carried him out into calmer waters. There is a good deal of repetition of the chorus and the ditty's refrain, but simply hearing the score alone doesn't do the original justice." Near the end of his answer, he had to curtail the length of his explanation lest he go on about the minutiae of music theory. Admittedly he had let himself become overeager in sharing his passion for music with one who might be a fellow aficionado. People who shared his interests were becoming increasingly rarer nowadays. 

Gale listened to the musician, spellbound as he explained in great detail from his knowledge of the song. It was called 'Old Seamus and the Sea'. She certainly had never heard of it until this very moment, yet it was as beautiful to her as those of her homeland. It was rhythmic with a jocular tone and underlying beat of determination that she could imagine people dancing in a circle to. The man then paused, realizing that he had spent the past ten minutes talking while she stood listening attentively and concluded with his opinion on the song itself. She wondered to herself why he didn't try singing along whilst playing, but guessed that he might not have chosen to do so due to possibly lacking skill in that area. Perhaps she would get the chance to hear that song again in the future, this time with both the lyrics and the melody together. 

While others might have lost interest from his drawn-out and lengthy response, the dream-walker instead found it enlightening and thus, enjoyable. Most of what she knew was limited to what her master had taught her and what she had learnt from walking the dreaming realm. From the way the man spoke of the music, it would appear he was quite learned in this subject. Clasping her hands, she inquired of him: "Was the story about Old Seamus true? Did the sea-maidens really carry his boat out of the storm?" These were pressing matters she wished to know. The tale sounded just as if it had come straight from a dream. She had heard of mermaids and great sea monsters that terrorized the ships upon the seas; water spirits who could both aid and destroy those who encountered them. 

Gerard hesitated when she asked him to confirm the old sailor song's credibility. "…Well I can assure that at least some of it should be. I wouldn't know if naiads truly did help the man, but I'm absolutely certain that there was a storm. From how I see it, there was a sailor who was caught too far from shore when a storm hit, while the shock and heightened emotion he experienced during that time likely influenced his perception of the whole ordeal. If, hypothetically there was a man named Seamus that is. Sailors have been known to exaggerate when recounting past details to an audience." Even he didn't know how true the song's story was or not. The song had been around for several generations in the highlands, and he had only built up his estate there in the past few decades or so. It was unfortunate that he would have to disappoint the girl with reality.

"Though if you're one to believe tall tales, at least those beasts of the deep are as real as day. They're incredibly rare to spot, so don't expect seeing mermaids sitting on every rock and snag however." And it was a good thing too, for there was one mermaid in particular he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy. When the sea created her, he was sure she had come out a few eggs short of a dozen. And as if it weren't enough, she was blonde. Her very existence was an insult to blondes and mermaids. The crowd that had gathered to hear his music was dispersing, leaving the two of them and the occasional passerby by on the docks. He took another look at the harbor and frowned again. Still not a single new ship had docked. Hadn't it been at least thirty minutes? Gerard's right foot tapped the ground in impatience. With this level of progress he'd be here all day.

Gale's curiosity was sated by the musician's answer, and wasn't disappointed in the slightest. It was to be expected that there were times when tales were greater than what they were in truth. That was something common in the realm of dreams. Dreams themselves were often exaggerations and altered versions of things found in the waking world; one had to learn to peel off the layers of symbolism and context to find the kernel of truth within. Sea monsters and the roars of dragons could translate into shapes in fog or the loud rumbling of the earth moving beneath one's feet. "Ah I see…That explanation would not be impossible. Surely there must be naiads in the ocean though; if there weren't any then they wouldn't have described them that way."

The dream-walker herself wondered if she would ever see a mermaid if she stayed around the coast long enough. Most of the strange beasts and creatures of myth and legend she knew came from the books Master Rashaad had. They were inches thick and bound in treated leather and bindings, and they were illustrated with richly-colored pictures drawn on by hand using ink. She remembered the elaborate floral bordering around the edges of the script, the crimson reds of flowers, the deep greens for leaves, the dark black and brown that colored bears and horses, and the rich blues that were only used in a few spots of the ornamentation. The blue she learned, came from a powder made from a stone that was both rare and prized for its beauty. It was from there that she learned their names: manticore, djinn, shaytan, amphisbaena, catoblepas, chimera, naga, and garuda. Her master would read the stories written about the beasts to her and the other children before she had been chosen to be his apprentice.

She watched as the man in black looked out into the harbor and looked upset. The tapping of his foot and the furrowing of his brow was just like how the merchant men from Sardonia acted when their camels were being stubborn when it was time to depart with the caravans. Turning her head to the side, she asked the bard: "Are you waiting for something, efendi? You keep looking out toward the sea."

The girl's voice interrupted his fuming over the lack of punctuality of the local ferry system. "Hm? Yes, yes I am waiting. Just when is that bloody barge going to pull into the harbor? What kind of transportation system allows themselves to run behind schedule? This is absolutely unacceptable! In fact, it's downright criminal! It's been more than thirty minutes, and only now is a ship leaving the docks." Gerard complained bitterly, jabbing the bow of his violin in the direction of a skiff floating out to sea. "I am a busy man, and I have places to be. If wasn't in need of using the local ferry services, I wouldn't be standing here–twiddling my thumbs. What's with this outrageous delay anyhow? Unless they ran into a feeding leviathan, I'd like to see the captain explain his tardiness!" 

Looking for a place to further vent, he turned to face the guard patrol booth only to see the man on duty was missing. The nerve of that man! What excuse did he have to abandon his post in the middle of duty? He was just about to give said guardsman more than a piece of his mind, only to incensed by another act of wanton negligence. Unless he was relieving himself, Gerard wasn't letting him off lightly. The majority of his anger was due to the man giving him false hopes on the arrival of the ship that carried passengers to Egjora. If he didn't know, he should have simply said he wasn't sure instead of telling him to wait. The bard gritted his teeth as he slid his hand holding the bow of his violin over the instrument's strings, letting out a screeching note to punctuate his discontent. By the gods, if there was one thing he hated more than incompetence–it was lateness. If he had jumped into the sea hours ahead, he would be halfway to his destination already.

Seething in silence, his young listener came up to him and looked at his expression for a while. She must have thought to give him a little time to simmer down before speaking, which was prudent. Right now he was a loaded arbalest, with the bolt loaded and mechanism ready to fire. After realizing she was still staring, he turned to her suppressing the majority of his irritation in his voice. "…What? What do you want?" 

"…I wanted to ask you where you planned to go. Is it far from here?" The dream-walker had seen that he was upset, and it was due to the ship he was still waiting for. The world was wide, and there were still many places she had not yet seen. Travelling the world was a means towards drawing closer to her goal of finding a way home, but she was in no hurry. Haste makes waste, as she learned at an early age. One must have prudence to stop and pay attention to the world around them, and in turn gain a more complete understanding. She knew not when she would find what she sought, but along the way she would learn the dream of each and every place in this world until her goal was attained. So far she knew three places: Arri, Iria, and Abed. Each dream of each city was different from the rest, and Adeluna would be her fourth.

The musician responded, his voice not as furious but still tense. "I am–or would be, heading towards Egjora. It's relatively close, just south of here. Which is why no new ships coming in within the past two hours is incredulous." He seemed to realize she had never heard of it, and continued with a sigh. His furrowed brow softened a bit. "From the looks of you, you've never heard of it then? It's formal name is the 'Duchy of Egjora'. It's a large island, with deciduous forest and a colder climate than Adeluna. The government there isn't a monarchy like other places, and it's effectively run by the wealthy elite. Nobles, with no royalty in short. But I'm only stopping there briefly to switch to another ship bound further south. I doubt you'd be interested in that place. It's a frozen wasteland, and even the waters around are frigid beyond belief. If it wasn't because I had business there, I wouldn't be going." 

Gerard was drawn into a conversation with the polite bystander who had so graciously appreciated his performance. As he talked with her, his initial irritation and anger was subsiding as his attention was taken off his dissatisfaction with the ferry's punctuality. He told her about where he was going, and what he was planning to do after. Unlike how he felt with most people, he didn't feel bothered. There was something calming and pleasant about her, and she wasn't foolishly nosy like most people her age. If all people were like her then he wouldn't mind living in the city. "Do you dislike the cold?" The girl asked again. She was probably wondering due to his mention of Itjivut and Egjora's cooler climate. He thought for a while before giving her his answer. "…No I don't. I'm used to swimming in the cold ocean waters and rivers after the glacial snow melts in Terra. But even the ice floe-filled water down south is difficult for me. It's slightly better in the water than out on land due to the wind chill factor, but I don't make it a habit to pass by there. What I truly dislike are the hot and humid environments. If it's a dry heat, I can just use water to cool myself down. But with that stuffy humidity everything gets soaked with sweat." 

"Oh I see, so that is why you wanted to travel there by boat." The girl concluded. Realizing he hadn't given her the courtesy of an introduction after getting carried away, he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck and set his instrument down. "Oh by the way, the name's Gerard. I realized I haven't asked for yours after all this time, so I apologize for that." He truly did feel bad. Here she was being such a nice person and that made him ashamed of his own lack of civility. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Gerard. I am Gale, a traveler of dreams just as you are a traveler of the sea." She then placed her palms together as if in prayer, and bowed to him. Gerard appreciated the gesture, but felt at a loss as to how to react. Normally he expected rudeness and for people to keep their distance. Being respected like this was…strange. And she wasn't attempting to kiss up to him either. Often the common folk would either become defensive or lather on the compliments when they saw his attire. It was how people acted when they thought they were interacting with nobility. Ironically he had no noble heritage whatsoever, so it was his attitude and how he carried himself that gave them that impression.

"So Gale, enough about me. Where are you from? And what exactly do you mean when you say you are a 'traveler of dreams'? Are you perchance a diviner or an oracle of some sort?" He had heard somewhere that there were those who prophesied future events through interpretation of dreams. The scope of the arcane arts was so broad these days that he couldn't tell if certain occupations were new or had received a revival of interest in recent years.  

She took Gerard's words into great consideration before giving an answer. "…When I am in slumber, I travel the dreaming realm wherever the flow of dreams guides me. I do not interpret dreams as a way to predict future events, I merely observe and seek the hidden truth that lies within the shifting images." The dream-walker clarified her occupation to the bard as she then continued to answer the rest of his questions. "I came from a land called Karkhata, however from what I have learned so far it does not exist in this place. It is in another world, another plane far from here. There are few similarities between my homeland and here unfortunately. Thus there is little else I can tell you of it. If one was to describe it, it would bear the greatest resemblance to Arri and the sacred  island of Abed when combined together." Gale hoped this explanation would suffice for her new acquaintance. There was naught more she could do in conjuring a better comparison.

The man mulled over her answer, and nodded when it satisfied him. "I see, so a place with lots of sun and a very involved social atmosphere. I can see where the design of your tunic comes from. It's very colorful, but not gaudy. Was it a center of trade, perhaps? Desert climate or semi-tropical?" She rubbed one of her temples with her index finger, trying to recall. Her memory at times wasn't the best, but anything after her first meeting with at that time her teacher-to-be Rashaad al-Halim, she remembered clearly. "I suppose it was a desert, but there wasn't much sand. It was more dry, with sparse vegetation while having more moisture within Karkhata's bounds. It was founded upon an oasis, I think. They grew roses there." The last bit was added to aid in supporting her guess. She didn't know much about the rest of her world outside of her homeland. It was only until she had been transported here that she began to experience different climates and weather firsthand.

"Roses? Sounds a lot like Arri then. Again, I'm still not quite clear on what exactly it is that you do? So from what you've told me, you can move freely when dreaming in a state of…alternate consciousness outside of your own 'sphere'–so to speak–that everyone enters when sleeping?" He asked. Gerard's brow furrowed again as he crossed his arms trying to figure this out.