He dreamt us into existence.
On March 15, 1908, he walked down the North Road from the direction of Gods’ Hollow. Witnesses saw him moving at a steady pace, a gentle smile on his painted features, the dead hawk upon his head nodding regally with every step the stranger took.
By the time the man reached downtown Cross, he was not alone.
Several young boys had seen him, and they had rushed from their homes to follow the stranger.
He smiled at them, patted them on their heads, and spoke in a language no one understood.
No one except for Duncan Blood.
Duncan met the stranger on the street, and they exchanged words for several minutes before they both let out pleased laughs. Together, they sat down on the sidewalk and spoke for hours. Food and drink were brought to them, and a fire was built close by. Finally, the men stood up, and the stranger left the way he had entered the town, trailed by children.
When asked, Duncan explained how the man’s name was Dreamer, and he traveled the lanes between reality and imagination, sometimes drifting into worlds that were not his own.
The Dreamer had known of men such as those in Cross: pale and strangely dressed. But none had survived the winters in his world, and often he dreamt of what might have happened if such people had not died beneath the snow.
“He dreamed us into existence,” Duncan said. “Each and every one of us, all our pasts and those of our loved ones.
Those around him laughed, finding Duncan’s statement funny.
Duncan smiled and asked softly, “Who is to say that he did not?”
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