Out Of The Mists Of Dreaming

She came not out of the golden skies of the mornings, but out of the heavy mists that haunted our dreams. She was there first as a heavier darker shadow amongst shadows until she stepped out barefoot on the dew-sodden grass. She wore a thin blue dress that clung to her body, dark with moisture around the bottom and halfway up her legs.

She stepped forward as the mists curled away from her and waked towards us without a trace of fear or hesitation. She knew already that we could not harm her, that she would be the one and we would follow, even though, as yet, we did not even know her name, or even if she needed one.

She stopped a few feet in front of us and just waited. Behind me, I could hear the rest of our party as they, slowly, one by one, knelt in the dew-heavy grass. Soon she and I were the only ones standing.

She just looked into my eyes, as though she had all the time in the world, and I had none. I could feel my knees bending before I had realised I was even going to kneel. I, who would never kneel to any man, there in the cold wet grass; I knelt to this nameless woman. But I knew it was right, for as I knelt and she took one more pace forward the mists swirled away and the sun shone down on all of us.