Note passing dog-gods.

You say "Wait, what?" But I'm serious. I have not a freaking clue in the world where this one came from. I'll do my best to recall all of it.

So it starts out that I'm in this place. It's like an Amazon place. Or, rather, a Mayan place, or something similar, judging by the style of the old architecture. The place is like a little village, and one section of it is pretty much abandoned because, as the people told me, "God willed it so." I get the feeling it had been some kind of illness that made everyone avoid that place.

Being brave me, I went to the abandoned sector. There was a mostly dried out pond with chunks of the architecture scattered in it. I pulled a few pieces out, to study them, and saw the carved square line geometric pattern on it. I heard a rustle behind me, and I stand up.

Here, my dream detours for a minute. Now I'm in a rather sanitary, white room. I have a broom. Theres a little dog-thing running around on the floor. I finally figure out that it's an Arctic Fox. It's very shy, and so I put the broom bristles close to it, to try and get close enough to pet it, by obviously getting close first without risking my fingers. It sniffs the bristles and then bites them, but I keep trying for a few minutes. Then I get bored, open the door, let it out, and then walk out myself.

I'm back where I started. I've heard the noise in the forest, I turn around, and there's this great, shaggy, black wolf ... thing... behind me. I understand that this is the God they were talking about. A wolf god. His head is on level with mine, or at least, I know he's as tall as I am, if not bigger, but he seems smaller. He growls at me, and it's blood-curdling. I freeze. I haven't got a clue what to do. My hands tremble. There's something in my hands. I look down and see this scrap of notebook paper. I uncrumple it and read it.

"Why have you come here?" it reads. It's not in a language I understand, or know, but I understood the meaning as clearly as if it were written in English.

I reply to the wolf, "I'm curious."

The first piece of paper blows away, and is replaced by another, this one stuffed in my sock. I fish it out, and read it.

"You must do this."

I haven't a clue in the world what it is I must do. I tell him so. Again, the paper blows away and then there's another piece of paper in my hands. It's a poem. Or something. Maybe it was a prophecy. I don't know.

"Purple is the storm cloud
Ash is what remains
And over the bridge
is gray's domain."

"I'm confused, what is this?" I say. But he turns away and walks into the forest.

So now a woman appears, and she has a basket of ashes. She asks me to hold the basket, and then dips her hands in the ashes. She pats my face, coating me in white ashes, until I am as pale as a ghost.

It seems now, a few days later in the dream, when a note flutters to my feet, my face still white with ashes. It says "Purple is the storm cloud, and your face is white with ash." The woman reappears with a ceramic bowl of smushed purple berries. She dips a finger in and smears a purple spiral on my forehead.

And then, again, a few days later, I'm digging through a box of random stuff. The phrase "And over the bridge is gray's domain." runs through my head, as I pick up a chunk of soft, black coal.

I know then, what I have to do with it. I paint my white and purple face with it, a thick black line that extends from temple to temple, around my eyes and over the bridge of my nose.

And then I know, without knowing how I know, that the wolf god is behind me. He never introduces himself, so I haven't a name for him or know if he is a god that ever existed at all, but he bows to me, and I know it's a symbol of respect and acceptance, and then I see the woman with her face painted like mine, and then all the people, with their faces painted like mine.