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I found.” He crouched down, settled the rifle across his knees, and tilted his hand into the dim, wavering light.
    Dallin squinted, reached out and plucked a textured, triangular stone from Wil’s palm. “Arrowhead?”
    “Chert,” Wil replied. “From when the Clans were still wandering folk.” He wasn’t smiling yet, but his voice was, and his face in the soft gold of the failing fire was full of interest and discovery. “See those marks there on either side? Pressure-flaking, which means it’s old old, ancient old—like the-first-people-who-used-stone-tools old.”
    Dallin’s eyebrows went up. All thoughts of allowing violent dreams and gloomy conjecture to spoil the pleasant moment were decisively throttled and pushed away. He held the little projectile back out between his fingers. “How do you know all that?”
    Wil shrugged. With a small frown, he took the relic back. “Dunno,” he said quietly. “Sometimes I just know things. Most of it’s pretty useless, generally, but…” The tip of his finger ran lightly over the edge. “People aren’t the only ones who dream,” he murmured thoughtfully.
    “The stones and soil have longer memories and sleep more deeply.”
    Dallin opened his mouth… closed it. Decided he had nothing intelligent to say and so kept his lips buttoned tight. There were only so many fantastic anecdotes he could take in at a time, and he’d reached his limit days ago. And he didn’t even want to think about what it might be like to not only have the charge of tending the dreams of all the people in the world, but the world itself — rock and stone, leaf and soil. Once again, watching Wil quietly 65

    The Aisling Book Two Dream
    communing with something he himself would likely have passed over as just another stone amidst the debris of nature, Dallin readjusted his definition of ‘sanity’ and…
    wisdom, perhaps?
    “You’re like a crow, picking at shiny bits.” Wil flicked a doubtful look at him from beneath dark eyebrows. “In a very good way,” Dallin assured him. “ I never would’ve seen it. How did you find it? In the dark, no less.”
    Wil thought about it for a moment then he leaned in, dropped his voice to a whisper. “The voices in my head told me where to look.”
    Dallin blinked. He almost scooted himself back and away, but didn’t want to do anything that would close Wil up again.
    Voices ? As if everything else wasn’t bad enough, and now there were bloody voices ? How much more—?
    A stifled snort, and Wil shook his head. “You should see your face,” he chuckled.
    Dallin could’ve punched him right in the mouth. “Oh, funny ,” he growled. Except it sort of was, and ridiculously relieved, he couldn’t keep the grudging half-grin from off his face. “That sense of humor of yours is either going to do me in or get you throttled,” he grumbled. “I’m knee-deep in the surreal, and you’re cracking wise.” He shook his head, trying not to laugh. “Seriously, how’d you find it?”
    Wil shrugged, flipped the stone in his palm then pocketed it. “Dunno,” he said easily. “Just did.” He stood. “Millard called me a crow, too.” A peculiar little smile was working at the corners of his mouth then he looked back at Dallin, curious. “What’s a chimera?”
    Dallin winced. It had been nearly cheerful between them for a moment there. “Well…” He rubbed at his brow, considered dodging the question—sometimes lies really were kinder than truths—but decided prevaricating 66

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    would be disrespectful at best, tentative trust-breaking at worst. “It’s a dream.” He made his voice even, straightforward. “Usually an unattainable dream.”
    He watched closely as Wil took this in.
    “Huh,” Wil said, thought about it for a moment.
    “Sometimes I wonder…” He trailed off, frowning off into the darkness. “Have you noticed that Aisling means Dream and not Dreamer?” His voice was soft, somewhat flat, the humor of