In some other place, some other time, there is a person on a hill.
Bands of silver flow across a grass sea, rocks poking their heads above the wavering stalk like little islands. Beyond that is a dense forest, the undulating of its bows echoing the eddies in the grass before it.
They had watched the scene for quite a while, but their window was coming to a close.
That being said, they still had plenty of time.
There’s a little table to their side, the right angles a stark contrast to the chaotic ruggedness of the bark behind. A steaming tea-pot lies on top, porcelain warped and folded between itself. For most observers, it would be rather difficult to tell where the pot ended and the air began - to them, it was an arbitrary distinction. Eventually it reached up and twisted into what less perceptive people would call a spout. At the moment, it was tilted to pour steaming liquid into two collections of similarly confusing geometry.
Another breeze winds its way up the slope, sending a burst of petals and pollen from the forest below drifting toward them. Little scars of colour carved across the sky - ruby, sapphire, topaz, only to fall away, subsumed in the grey-green sea. A pair of eyes wandered up, from blade to leaf to sky, countless bands of stars spilling across the inky dome, and at its heart, a full moon.
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The cup lay poised in their hands, thin threads of vapour stretching up and over its rim to spill out into the world beyond. A moment, split between the warmth of the cup, the chill of the breeze, the light of the moon, and the waving grass. Slowly the tea is lifted to let its fragrance spill in tandem with the steam.
Flavour and scent intermingle across the landscape of the senses to play with sight, sound, and touch. Vanilla and vermilion, saccharine and sunlight, wistful memories and dancing grass all form this one, unique experience as the smell of the tea washes over them.
Alas, they lower the cup and wait for it to cool to the perfect temperature as its steam wafts in the forest breeze. They glance at its twin, perfectly positioned for another to grasp and drink from.
That someone on the hill waits, just a little while.
It wouldn’t be long now.
***
And with that they awoke, the darkness of the room suffocating in its totality. The dream they had was rapidly fading, from details to form to the barest impression. They rolled over out of the bed, into the narrow room as their body ached in protest. A fit of coughing only augmented the general unpleasantness of the situation.
Walking across the cold stones, they pulled back curtains from the small window, the sky stretching black and glimmering with stars. At its heart, shimmering like an iridescence pearl, was the moon, full and pale. The sight brought a fleeting memory, in the shape of a girl’s laugh, and a promise.
“I will make this right.”