The world is waking from its Dream. But here, on the wooded edge of the world, the Dream is never far, a colorful haze on the day's horizon or lights splayed on the night sky. It reveals new wonders as stretches of land rouse from their slumber, just as the black wadi, with their bounty of herbs and fungus, awoke some fifty springs ago. The Dream even deposited the gobeol village Bright Ridge here, washed away from distant mountains and flowing with silver and jewels.
But the Dream never lies easy, as ravening creatures glimpsed in nightmare emerge from its promise as well. The folk of these lands understand that with possibility comes terror, and they guard against Dream-born danger even as they rejoice at the discovery of new awakenings.
Only the wise wonder why the Dream once gave the world the beauty of the gael and the precociousness of the gobeol but now births only monsters. Were the Dream folk a rare gift, or is the Dream disturbed into malevolence? Can such questions even be asked of the Dream? In the end, they can only advise to safeguard the waking when nightmares walk into day.