14.2 of 27 – Driftspire: Lindisfarne – Before dawn, dreaming
Part 3: Driftspire’s Tidemark
Brigid dreams in crow-black ink and saltwater glyphs — names she realises she wrote herself, now unspooling like psalms soaked through by rain.
Felreil stands at the edge of her sleep, voice soft as worn vellum: “Of course you dream this — Lindisfarne slipped it into your borrowed rib, knowing you’d carry it like a wet stone, like a crow’s secret; it weighs exactly what silence did before it learned how to sing.”
She begins, “The Book is an echo of—” and he finishes, “—what the tide has always hummed: I am the ink, you are the calligrapher … try not to smear my glory with the heel of your hand, Brigid, Scribe of Lindisfarne.”
“But I don’t remember,” she says, and Felreil only smiles: “You’re not a pilgrim—you’re the storm that reminds ruins how to sing,” and with that, he moults into feathers and is gone.
The tide shifts; her dream exhales.
What remains is a single line, curled like a shell in her palm: Let the Book choke on our tidemark—you are tide, and I am the moon’s pull.
Felreil’s Footnote: “Some truths are not carved, but poured. If you would taste the full ink of this glyph’s colour, the Liturgy waits here.”
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Written for Denise’s Six Sentence Story including the word “Tone”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
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