Sunbeams filter down through the canopy, rendering me sun-dappled. Having finished a panoply of snacks, I bask. 

But I enjoy the sun’s bestowment for but a moment. 

Then I sigh and reroll the whole scroll, spirit bolstered by my bold soul. I obey, unvexed, the text: I have checked and shan’t object to the next complex task. 

The paper sets the caper: not to Halli or Celest (where skyscraper might taper above into the misty vapor) but nearer to home—just above the place whose scent is a loam poem, Serenwilde (the best, I attest) where I wager it is safer. 

I bow my head and glow silver, I pause, realizing first I must deliver—by way of shiny extravagant magpie—a sliver of cake (just because I’ve tasks to complete means not I ought not help a friend eat) — and then I’m off to the moon this afternoon, the lunar realm, with thoughts of guild advancement at the helm. 

It takes a long time I must admit, but I do not fret and I do not quit, instead I call a friend, I send a tell and, well, I beg, “please aid me in mine attack on Kailak, alack, I can’t turn back.” 

With a friend at my side I succeed; indeed, all I have to do is to heed my friend’s words, their sage advice about the pedestal, their wisdom is incredible. Then “bed” is all
they say. They wave. 

And I return to the Moonhart Mother Tree, just alone now, just me. I draw some dross power for free, see
what’s in the chest, go home, get undressed, slip into bed, take a rest.

I dream of moonbeams.