Meadow One
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"I came from the Past; I intend to never return hence."
– the Traveler in the Meadow
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My days always counted for more than I could imagine, even before I left the Meadow. When the Hill seemed incomprehensibly tall; even then, I knew more awaited on the Other Side. Before my friends arrived, I sensed special days on the horizon. This way seemed always with me... even from my first thoughts, at the Dawn of my Imagination.
The Meadow persisted; I seemed a fleeting vapor, by comparison. Certain stones in the Deep Copse (at the Center of the Pond of the Ages) spoke of times so remote, that even Time herself felt immeasurably brief by comparison. We waited for our moment to feel solid in the passing of the thick years, but never did this experience enfold itself around us. All of us felt constantly immaterial, under the weight of the Ancient Shadows of Cold Cle'Garthu. Where the Gloaming glimmers, no hope of brilliance blooms.
My friends arrived in time to save me from my chilling fate, and we left the Meadow together. Never intending to return, we ventured out from the place of my earliest memory.
Just beyond the Western Wall of the Meadow, lay the Road up the Hill. I didn't feel empowered to take that walk, so early in my experience. Ready for adventure – accompanied by my friends – I set out in the direction of the Lands of Mystery, which lay at the very feet of the opalescent rising sun. We hoped to make it well on our way before lunchtime would require a break in our travels.
After hunger and fatigue set into our bones, we arrived at a bend in the road. Up ahead we beheld great dusty plains, filled with flowers the color of the misty skies of the first dawn of my recollection. Upon the stamen of each delicate bloom stood a singular drop of effervescent honeydew. We would have tea and cakes with our afternoon meal! Glendale – my youngest companion, of this journey – fashioned dough of crushed wheat flour, mingled with the misty morning moisture that magically gifted itself to us that beautiful day. Under the shade of a Gentagonal Sporeblanque Heathing Dronikantor – which sprang up, as mysteriously as its name tangles with our conscious wonderment – we ate our fill of afternoon snacks.
Then came the Wolf of Redingorok; to tell us three riddles, profound.
The first riddle gave Glendale a headache trying to comprehend, but Martin Fish (a marine companion of mine) solved it in a few seconds.
The second riddle stumped the entire crew, so we ask for reprieve until dawn. The Wolf granted our request under the condition we share milk and cookies with him. We obliged, then went about the business of setting up tents for the evening.
That night, under a starlit sky, I dreamed of a City by the Sea. Its emerald streets followed the form of the contours of a great and multifaceted diamond-shelled conch of megalithic proportions. On the plateau (facing the highest ridge of the superstructure) a vast throng of itinerant guests waited under the shade of endless groves of Silver Gloaming Heather. What they waited for, I didn't hazard to guess. But they seemed content; I mingled in amongst them, to learn the secrets of the city. I asked an old woman, as concerns the nature of their gathering.
"We wait for 12:34, as always," she answered my inquiry.
Then I woke up, and prepared an answer for the ever-questioning Wolf.
"Whence cometh the 12:34?" asked our Canine Inquisitor.
"From well before – and far beyond – the City by the Sea," I answered.
