My distressed groan greets the rising sun from my spot atop the boulder; the bright spark over the hills forcing my hand after many minutes of denial. With a final moan my eyes peek open into the morning light as I glare at the horizon.

Oh Lord, I beg of you, deliver me from this mortal coil. Body bruised, battered and broken. Your blessed son is so weary. So very weary. And coffee. He needs coffee.

My fingers curl and uncurl, working through a harsh stiffness afflicting every joint in my body. Rock, rain and stab wound wove a night of tight and gripping unconsciousness. My body wrapped around itself in a shivering ball of stress.

The sun breaks over the horizon by the time I’ve restored my range of motion to something resembling normal. Bit by bit I work through the symphony of aches, not stopping until I reach my left shoulder. Keeping the injured arm cradled to my chest, I test out the wound. Like touching an open flame, the lesson is learnt quickly and definitively. No needless moving of my shoulder, on pain of – well, pain.

I ease myself into a seated position and soak in the warm rays of light, content to bask in the gentle heat of the morning. All the while I furtively check out the sun from the corner of my eye before letting out a held breath.

Thank God.

As far as I can tell, it’s just a normal sun. No Erdrich abominations gouged into its surface. Just a big friendly ball of warmth and light. I swear to myself that if I ever come across a Sun Cult in this land then I will, if not join, make a nice donation to the cause. If only to spite its creepy lunar counterpart.

For the first time since arriving, a hint of a smile breaks out onto my face. It comes and goes, but leaves a lingering spot of warmth that stands against the tide of despair surging around the corner. With a moment of calm, questions that I decidedly put to the side in the heat of the moment are much harder to ignore.

Where and I?

Why am I here?

How did I get here?

Questions that are hard to ignore, but harder to answer. At least for now, I have no recourse to even begin tackling them. Everything has been one long train of pain and confusion since I’ve arrived with no one to look to for guidance.

My eyes lazily sweep the rolling hills in front of me, tracing the rises and falls for lack of something to do. I feel oddly safe on my big rock. Maybe it’s some animal instant about holding the high ground, but I’m hesitant to move on to the surrounding fields. For the moment I’m safe, if hungry and thirsty, and that’s a bandage I’m reluctant to rip off. So I sit here while I’m able, taking what solace I can in this small piece of calm.

The sun has broken the horizon by the time my reprieve ends, new worries pushing for my attention. I clench my hands and let out a sigh. Shortly followed by another.

A look behind me reveals news both good and bad. The good: there’s no blood on the stone where I was sleeping, which leads me to believe my wound stopped bleeding fairly quickly last night. It might have been absorbed by my shirt, but I’ll take it as a sign that the the wound isn’t as bad as I previously thought. I’m no doctor, but this seems like a good start. Not bleeding out in my sleep and all. I still feel a nagging worry about infection and other health issues I’m ill equip to handle, but I take comfort that it’s a problem for the living. Which was by no means a guarantee.

The bad: And it is bad. The dagger is no longer a dagger. It’s a handle.

The little slut. It kisses me only to flee in the night. Didn’t even leave a number.

It sits to my left, in the same place I dropped it the night before. Only without the pointy part that gave me a welcome slap on the back. A closer look shows that the blade is simply gone. Not snapped off or broken, merely not there.

Cautiously, I pick it up and tap the end of the handle against the stone. Making sure it isn’t just invisible and waiting to cut me as soon as I drop my guard. After the disappearing act the masked lady pulled, I wouldn’t put it out of the realm of possibilities. Truth be told, after what I saw last night, the realm of possibilities has become a whole lot larger. Something to keep in mind. My quaint earth sensibilities no longer need apply.

Magic, or something very much like it, plays a role here. Magic. A grin breaks free despite my souring mood and a stream of giggles, actual giggles, burst forth. Magic! Granted, potentially horrifying and life threatening magic, but magic all the same. Speaking of…

I tap the handle a few more times before tentatively touching the end where the blade would normally be attached. Nothing. Empty air where there should be cold metal. Concerning. And pretty detrimental to my future ability to survive. I snake my finger through the end ring and let the handle drop down to rest against the rock. A dagger would have been nice to have.

At those words, the world lurches violently to the side. My head feels full of sloshing liquid and I collapse bonelessly against the rock. I struggle and fail to right myself, my limbs too weak and unwieldily to complete the simple task. Countless minutes pass before I finally gather the strength and am able to push myself back upright. I teeter back and forth, my body wracked with shivers. Through clenched teeth I take long hissing breaths, hoping beyond all hope that whatever is happening will pass. Time ticks by as I stand on the precipice of hysteria, pins and needles screaming throughout my body. Eventually my muscles unclench and my head clears enough to ask some important questions. Such as: what, why, and how do I make sure that never happens again?

Moving to stretch my cramped muscles, I look downwards and mentally flinch, my body too weary to follow suit. Adding onto my mounting bewilderment, the dagger is once again whole. Standing still and upright, most of the blade sits fitted deep into the boulder top. Eyes wide, I flick the handle, but the blade stays solid and stuck into the rock.

I turn to my left and right with exaggerated care, before looking back down. Thoughtlessly checking for confirmation on what just occurred. I know I just giggled my way through the wonder of magic, but seeing it point blank leaves me more wary than jubilant.

Dangerous. Very dangerous.

A few seconds, give or take, and my hand would have been significantly more aerodynamic. A phantom pain pulses in my hand where I had just been touching the bladeless handle.

A fat bead of sweat slinks down my forehead as I consider the implications. The blade didn’t shoot out as far as I can tell. It rematerialized, instantaneously, and removed everything in its path. Namely, about five inches of solid rock. And if that little trick comes part and parcel with the fit I just went through… That was decidedly not fun and whimsical. Magic is not something I can afford to play around with or take lightly. All I can hope is that it’s like working a muscle and I unknowingly lifted a weight I wasn’t strong enough to handle.

My thoughts soon move to what exactly caused the blade to reappear. I cast back through my memories and circle around my last thoughts before everything went sideways. I was bemoaning the lost blade. Thinking how nice a full dagger would have been. My eyes roam up and down the blade. I was wishing for it. Wanting it. A nervous energy swirls in my stomach. I need to be careful, by that same pattern I should avoid… what? Not wanting it?

Realizing my mistake I tense up in dread anticipation. A few seconds breeze by in silence before I allow myself to relax in surprise.

Huh. Okay then.

So I may need to do a little more work on my hypothesis. Expressing desire doesn’t seem to be the trigger. Or, at least it’s not that simple. Another item tacked onto my growing list of unanswerable questions.

I run my hands through my hair while my eyes trace the red corded handle. With trepidation I run a finger through the end ring and give the dagger a quick pull. My eyebrows quirk up as the blade easily rises an inch out of the stone. Removing the finger and wrapping my hand around the handle, I yank the blade up and out of the boulder. Like a knife through butter it slides out, leaving a perfect mold in the rock face below. Held in the morning air, the mental reflects the early sun back into my eyes.

I honestly feel more exhausted then when I woke up. There’s an appealing urge to simply lay back down and embrace the quiet oblivion of sleep once more, to deal with anything and everything later. But my tongue is thick in my mouth reminding me just how thirsty I really am. I scan the surrounding fields and catch a sparkle between two small hills. Moving my head back and forth I come to the conclusion that with enough squinting, it could be seen as a source of water. Maybe. Hopefully. I’ve had too much experience with disappearing acts and I can only pray to my my new solar overlord that its not a mirage.