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Stubbornness and Illusions - Faer - 04-30-2021
A small, feisty little goat paraded up and down the crags of the mountain. What a peak it must be, if a famed lighthouse could drive most folk mad. Climb the mountain. Drive your inhibitions close. Then nothing. Then it’s gone.
Faer must have climbed the mountain more times than they could count. Every time, every time the lighthouse was within reach — madness. No rhyme, no reason to define the cause for the endeavor. In natural form and in animal form, Faer failed again and again.
‘Mort-blessed,’ they thought. Tiny horns had been so itchy with the seasons fading into the next. And every time a suggestion came from a low-hanging branch or a jagged rock face, you could bet goat-Faer rubbed their wee little head against it to relieve the itch.
They did so again. And relented... The air became more restricted as they climbed closer to the top. Faer gave out a frustrated bleat. They knew they ought to have brought a sweater to carry... Or even their short hooded cloak. But to find a goat in a cloak or a sweater, why that would give them away!
Natural goats took notice and merely watched. Something was unnerving about this little goat angrily tap-dancing up the terrain. Closer, just a bit closer. The lighthouse in its misty glory would be within reach. Just a little bit closer!
Faer awoke in the labyrinth, cold and disoriented. They had this dream for over a week. They weren’t that rash to attempt such a feat, yet the Call to be something more weighed heavy on tiny cloven hooves. Around them was the sleepy maze of Queen’s Gambit. The story long forgotten by the wee goat, curled up near the neat little walls.