The inked notes I jotted onto my map are still smudgeable, and my face still smells of coconut oil, from when my mother kissed me goodbye. But it was ...inter when I prepared this voyage. Now I’m walking upon a soft grassy bank, into the forestry ahead, on an intensely hot day. And I can’t bring myself to turn around and look for my boat, to see if I shipwrecked or if this is just a dream. Some strange force seems to be moving my legs the way it wants me to move them, and I’m curious enough to. You love it. It's a perfect ass. Everyone wants to lick it.”My sensitive finger brushed across the tile and froze. It passed over the slightest rise. I couldn't even see the dimple in the tile. I stroked the rise, tracing it. Was it an artifact of its manufacture, or the rune. It had a shape, purpose, angular lines.A rune.I drew my wooden dagger and scratched at the tile. Paint flacked off, a thick lacquer glaze. Set into the tile was an iron rune, dull gray. It was Dwarven craftsmanship at its. More

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